Title: And We'll Stir the Stars
Author: Reinamy
Fandoms: Teen Wolf & Harry Potter
Pairings: Peter/Fem!Harry (pre-relationship)
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (for canon-typical violence, mentions of past suicide attempts (offscreen), language, and Peter being usual creepy self)
Content: Dimension Travel, Master of Death HP, Fix-It, Angst, Canon-Divergence,
Summary: When Peter Hale happened upon a hitchhiker who might not be human, the very last thing he should've done was open the car door and let her in. But then, when has Peter ever done what he was supposed to?
...
"You know, it's not very smart to be out alone at this time of night," a man's voice called out. "Anyone could snatch you up and have their wicked way with you."
"My condolences to anyone foolish enough to try," Harry said just as a sleek black car pulled up beside her. Peering out of the driver's window with an arched brow and a skeptical half-smile was a man, perhaps late-twenties or so, with windswept hair and eyes that might have been light during the day but beneath the moonlight were as dark as the night sky. He cocked his head to the side and sniffed, so subtly that anyone else might not have noticed. Unfortunately for him, Harry wasn't anyone else. Immediately ruling him out as human, Harry watched as his brows furrowed in confusion and the smile fell from his face.
"What—" he paused, seemed to change his mind, and asked instead, "where are you headed?"
Harry's lips twitched. She knew what he'd been about to ask, and was pleased he hadn't. It had been a while since she'd last played guess who with someone who knew the rules of the game.
"That's a great question."
"That's a—you don't know where you're going?" the man asked dubiously, pulling the car to a crawling stop.
"Nope. I never know where I'm going until I get there."
Dubiousness turned to incredulity. "Right. And how's that been working out for you?"
Harry hummed. "Alright so far. You'd be surprised at the things you come across when you let your feet take you where they will."
The man snorted and drawled, "I'm sure," before drumming his fingers against the wheel. "I find myself in quite the predicament," he told her.
"Oh? Anything I can help with?"
"On the one hand," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I can't, in good conscience, allow a teenage girl to wander alone on a deserted road at," he glanced at the dashboard, "ten p.m. On the other hand, I find myself questioning your sanity and am reluctant to let a potential psychopath into my car. You see my dilemma, don't you?"
Harry caught his mocking grin and returned it with one of her own. "Yes, that's quite the conundrum, isn't it? Let me go and hope I don't get hacked to pieces by some crazy nutcase, or let me in and hope I'm not a crazy nutcase who'll hack you to pieces. Decisions, decisions."
As she spoke, the man's lips stretched wider, revealing a sharp-toothed grin that would have done the job of convincing her he wasn't entirely human if she hadn't figured it out already.
"I suppose I could try to convince you that I'm not a nutcase," she continued, "but I think you and I both know I'd be lying." She only noticed the flash of color that flared across his eyes because she was looking for it and promptly narrowed the list of supernatural creatures with a keen sense of smell, the ability to take human form, and irises that glowed blue from thirty-nine to twelve. "If it helps, I don't have any intention of hacking you to pieces…unless you give me cause to do so."
"And what would you say constitutes a cause, my dear?"
Harry waved her hand airily as she rocked to the heels of her feet. "Attempted restraint, assault, possession, turning, etcetera. You know, the usual."
Another flash of electric blue, there for no longer than a heartbeat's pause. The man hummed thoughtfully before unlocking the passenger side door. The click of the lock sliding out of place was loud in the silence, as was the groan of leather as he leaned across the console and pushed the door open.
"It's your lucky night that I'm not feeling particularly inclined to do any of the above," he said mildly, staring at her with piercing eyes that hooked into her deep. He had a curious tilt to his mouth that reminded her of a child shaking a present to figure out what was inside.
"Well, aren't I fortunate then?"
A soft huff of laughter. "Come in. I'll drop you off at the next motel we pass."
Harry bestowed him with a cheerful grin and went around the car before sliding into the passenger side. She shut the door and dropped her rucksack between her feet, then settled in. The seat was surprisingly comfortable considering the material, and she leaned into it with a contented sigh.
"Much obliged, stranger," she thanked him, eyeing him from the corner of her eye as he hit the ignition and the car silently propelled forward.
"Peter," the man corrected her after a moment of deliberation. "Peter Hale."
"Harrietta Potter," she responded. "But call me Harry."
The man—Peter—nodded once before returning his attention to the road.
"So tell me, Peter, where are we headed?" Harry asked after a moment of silence.
A beat, and then, "Beacon Hills."
At once Harry felt a rush of something hot and tremulous rise from the pit of her stomach to the center of her chest. She knew that feeling intimately; it was the same one she always got when fate steered her onto the right path, a hum in her soul that indicated she was going where she was needed.
"Beacon Hills," she echoed, tasting the words. "Yes, that sounds right."
She ignored the look her temporary companion was giving her—
(though perhaps not-so-temporary since she'd felt that same nudge, that same vibration, from the moment she'd laid eyes on him, as if he were integral to whatever task the universe was currently assigning to her)
—and stared out the window at the blurring scenery, the racing shadows, the haze of a black sky as it stretched out before them, stars like white breadcrumbs upon a dark road.
Beacon Hills, she thought again, wondering what was going to happen in the town that called the likes of her there.
The only thing she knew—the only thing she ever knew—was that it wouldn't be good.
"Something's burning," was the first thing Harry said after nearly a half-hour of silence. They'd passed a sign that read 'Welcome to Beacon Hills!' a few minutes ago but had yet to come across evidence of an actual town. Forest reigned everywhere, straddling the wide strip of road and encasing it with silhouettes of trees that stretched to the skies. The lack of human presence felt wonderful even as she acknowledged that such bareness made the town ideal as a supernatural breeding ground.
"Pardon?" Peter said, tilting his head to glance at her.
"Something's burning," she repeated, staring out into a sky that revealed nothing. "Can't you feel it? Immolation. Someone," she said in a hush, "has been naughty."
"You're not making any sense."
Harry shook her head. "I'm making perfect sense. You simply lack precognition. Hey, Peter?" she asked before he could respond. "What's in that direction? Say...six miles up ahead?"
He followed her finger, pointed north-west, and his face went tight with suspicion. "It's the Beacon Hills preserve."
"It won't be for much longer if no one puts that fire out," Harry said, ignoring the sudden harsh clamp of a hand over her shoulder as Peter wrenched her closer to him, forcing her to turn away from the window.
Harry supposed it was a good thing that she was basically immortal. She hoped that whatever creature Peter was had the ability to heal if they ended up wrapped around a tree.
"What are you implying?" the man growled, eyes burning cobalt. His teeth were elongated, cuspids knife-point sharp. Harry's list of supernatural candidates narrowed to six.
"Come now, Peter. Surely you can tell that I'm not implying anything."
For a moment Peter simply stared at her, glowing eyes boring into hers as if he could pull the truth from them. A second later and he was turning away, hands seizing the steering wheel as he pressed down hard on the accelerator until they were driving at a speed that turned the world around them into a blur of shadows.
"What are you?" Peter grit out, eyes trained on the road in front of them. He swerved suddenly, pulling onto a side road, and the car screeched horrifically. Harry was sure that if she were to turn around she'd see smoke wafting from the skid marks on the asphalt.
"I'm sure you have more important things to worry about," was her reply. She ignored his furious growl and stared out of the window, face turned towards where she knew the fire was rapidly spreading. The pressure inside her was building, an insistent tugging that something was about to happen that shouldn't, and that she needed to stop it before it did.
If anyone asked, Harry wouldn't be able to tell them why the events she intervened in were so pivotal, just that they were. She wasn't privy to details, nor was there anyone to tell her what the consequences of failing would be, but she was intelligent enough to piece together a picture and more often than not, it tended to be bad. She'd figured out a long time ago that she was usually prodded towards events that would trigger catastrophic instability in a region. Things that, if left unchecked, would spiral out of control and disrupt a natural balance. It was just a feeling, but as it was the only thing she had to go on she went with it. Having a reason for the impossible clusterfuck her life had become made her endless existence almost bearable.
As a positive, it was always nice to think of herself as some sort of homeostatic control regulator that limited the influence of positive feedback mechanisms.
Hm. Perhaps that's what she should start telling people when they ask.
An enraged snarl redirected her errant thoughts and she turned to find Peter glowering westward, eyes wild and nostrils flaring as if he could finally smell that which she'd sensed long ago. The insistent tugging in her gut grew painful and she swore under her breath before demanding, "Stop the car."
The only response she was given was another snarl.
Harry rubbed a hand over her chest and scowled at him. "Listen, wolf, it doesn't matter how hard you're hitting that accelerator, we're not going to get there in time. Unless you want whoever it is you're worried about roasting to death, stop the bloody car."
Seconds ticked by where Peter visibly warred with himself, and Harry could almost see his internal struggle. Clearly instinct was propelling him forward, urging him to devour the distance between him and whoever he needed to save. Harry was almost certain she was going to have to resort to drastic measures when the claws on the wheel loosened their grip and the car came to a screeching stop.
Harry wasted no time in unbuckling her seatbelt and scrambling out. "Come here, quickly," she said, and was gratified when Peter was suddenly in her space, glowering down at her.
With a huff, Harry wrapped her arms around his waist and ordered him to close his eyes. He tried to argue, of course he did, but she silenced him with an icy glare.
"I want you to close your eyes and visualize wherever it is you're trying to get to. Imagine it clearly. And don't argue with me, Peter, just do it."
Peter snarled again, but it was heavy with a desperation that Harry felt deep in her bones. His impotent rage and fear had him shaking against her so forcefully she had to clench her teeth to keep from biting through her tongue.
Harry closed her eyes and gave Peter a moment before she pushed them forward. The world narrowed and constricted until it felt like they were being squeezed through a spiraling tube and then it was over and they were landing somewhere in the forest.
Peter, to his credit, didn't freak out about being transported several miles within the span of seconds. He took a moment to steady himself and then he was off, sprinting through the trees towards a house that was visibly burning in the distance. Above it, large clouds of smoke were billowing in the air, turning the sky an ashen gray. It was a miracle she couldn't hear sirens and had to wonder at that.
Things suddenly became a lot clearer when she caught sight of a group of people surrounding the house, still and silent, all of them carrying weapons of some sort. Without hesitating she sent an immobilization spell at Peter's back, stopping him just before he breached the tree line and entered the group's line of sight.
She came up behind him and hissed, "Don't be stupid, they'll have you killed before you make it to the porch!" She let that sink in before she stepped away and released him from the spell. At once he turned on her, lips peeled back in a snarl, and Harry knew it was taking every ounce of restraint he had not to ignore her words and skewer her on the spot. Lucky for him there was still some semblance of common sense in that attractive skull of his and he grudgingly backed down, releasing a shuddering breath.
" My pack—" he started, but Harry cut him off with a curt:
"Needs you alive."
The words seemed to do their intended job as Peter closed his eyes, pained. His next words were said through clenched teeth. "What's the plan, then?"
Harry grinned at him. "I distract the hunters while you figure out what's stopping your pack from leaving that house." And there had to be something. Harry couldn't imagine that anyone would rather burn to death than take their chances fighting hunters. Numerous and equipped they might have been, they were still only human.
"You—" Peter started, then stopped, seeming to remember that the tiny girl in front of him wasn't as normal as she appeared. After a second of consideration he nodded.
"Be quick about it," he ordered gruffly.
"Don't get shot," she retorted, rolling her eyes. She walked away without a backwards glance. The moment she stepped into the clearing, purposefully crunching a twig beneath her boot to divert the attention her way, she was immediately on the receiving end of an assortment of weapons, ranging from guns to crossbows and what looked suspiciously like a flamethrower. She made a mental note to steal it later.
Harry raised her hands in the universal gesture of surrender and sauntered forward with an arrogant grin. "You mean to tell me there was a bonfire party and I wasn't invited?"
There was a low, threatening growl behind her, but she ignored it in favor of watching the hunters. She didn't have to wait long; soon a figure of a woman stepped forward, gun raised threateningly, and Harry quipped, "Don't shoot; I'm white. Wait. I meant human, haha."
The woman—a tall, gorgeous blond who definitely fell into the category of Harry's type—narrowed her eyes and paused, but didn't lower her gun. "Oh? Then what are you doing out here, little girl?"
"Oh, you know, just taking a nice midnight stroll in the middle of the woods by my lonesome in the hopeful event I find a group of suspiciously armed people standing around a suspiciously burning house. Nothing out of the ordinary. And yourself?"
The woman sneered at her. "Cute. You—"
Whatever she'd been about to say was cut off when a scream, followed by a round of gunfire, went off behind the house. Harry rolled her eyes, because seriously, couldn't he have waited thirty more seconds? Aggravated, she used their distraction to petrify as many of them as possible. Two men unfortunately managed to escape, but Harry let them go, opting to follow the sound of screaming all the while hoping Peter hadn't gotten himself into too much trouble.
With her luck she really should have known better than to hope for such a thing.
What she found when she rounded the house was Peter standing with three corpses at his feet and a massive arrow protruding from his stomach. She didn't have to be told that it was poisoned; his pained expression was evidence enough.
"Didn't I tell you not to get shot," she groused, scrunching her nose at the gore littered at his feet.
"Fuck off."
She ignored him. "I can extract the arrow but I'm not sure what can be done about the poison, and frankly, we don't have the luxury of time to figure it out."
"It's fine. Just get it out."
Harry considered retorting something witty before changing her mind. Not giving him time to tense up, she summoned the arrow to her with a nonverbal spell. The sound it made as it was wrenched out was frankly disgusting, as was the rank blood that squirted from the wound.
Slowly, Peter straightened his spine, one hand clamped over his non-healing gut. Harry knew enough about werewolf biology to know that whatever poison was used—and she figured it was probably some variant of wolfsbane—would slowly work its way through his system until it reached his heart and he succumbed. Considering the position of entry he likely didn't have even an hour to spare, which meant they needed to get his family out and figure out how to clear his blood stream fast.
"Mountain ash," Peter gasped after a moment. "They encircled the house with mountain ash. I can't get in."
Mountain ash. Of course it was. One of the few substances in the world immune to her magic, which meant rather than summoning it all or banishing it she'd have to go inside the house and either manually disrupt the line, or apparate everyone out.
"Figures," Harry muttered, glancing at the blazing house. "Where are they now?"
"In the basement. All of them," Peter said, grimacing as a heavy crash sounded, loud even to Harry's inferior ears. "You have to hurry. Please. "
Harry's heart clenched at the look of utter desperation on his face and she nodded once, wordlessly, and turned towards the house.
Harry couldn't die—numerous attempts on her life, not to mention the handful of suicide attempts she'd made over the centuries, had made that clear. Regardless, that didn't make her eager to rush into a burning building that was probably just a beam or two away from collapsing in on itself. It didn't help that she loathed fire—had since the time she'd been trapped in a room full of fiendfyre when she'd still been mortal, and that one time she'd fallen into a volcano a few decades after realizing she no longer was.
There were few things that frightened Harry anymore, but the possibility of burning alive was definitely at the top of the list. With a muttered, "Try not to die before I get back, alright?" to her companion, Harry steeled herself, cursed whichever deity it was that enjoyed sending her into these kinds of situations, and bolted into the burning house.
They were in the basement, just as Peter said they'd be.
By the time Harry made it down there she was singed, bruised, and just about done with the night.
The entrance to the basement was obstructed by a wave of crackling flames that licked the ceiling. Harry coughed and re-cast the firevious charm on her skin, knowing she had to pass through it in order to get in. For all that the charm protected her from getting terribly burnt, it was still overwhelmingly hot. And as lovely as aguamenti was, it simply wasn't effective enough to put out the entire house, and only an idiot would attempt a higher-level conjuration spell while inside such an insecure structure.
It would be terribly awkward if she had to tell the werewolf outside that the family she'd tried to save from burning had drowned to death instead.
"Can anyone hear me?" Harry shouted over the roaring flames.
The commotion from inside the basement ceased at once and not a second later did an authorative woman's voice call out, "Yes, we can. Who are you?"
"Harrietta Potter, pleasure to meet you, I'm sure. Now would you and your family mind clearing away from the door so I can bust the bloody thing open?"
Another pause was followed by the sound of barked orders and stamping feet and then a short, "It's clear."
"Bombarda," Harry cast, eyes fixed on the metal door. A deafening crashing sound shook her eardrums as the spell made impact and the door was wrenched from its hinges and thrown into the opposite wall. Bracing herself, Harry stepped through the door, hissing as the flames licked hot stripes against her skin. The second she was over the threshold she dusted herself off, as if to rid herself of the remnant heat, and studied the group of people who were staring at her with open astonishment.
And it was a large group, nearly twenty total, and most of them children. Harry forced herself to remain calm as an infant's wail pierced the air.
There'd be time for retribution later, she told herself, and took another step forward.
Feigning cheerfulness, she wiggled her fingers at Peter's pack.
"Hullo. Name's Harry. Peter sent me. But talk later and survive now, yeah?" Before she could be interrupted she said, "So the bad news is that there is absolutely no way to walk out of this basement without catching on fire or being impaled by falling wood. Never mind the situation with the mountain ash."
Several people winced, and Harry felt a momentary pang of guilt at perhaps being a tad too insensitive before forcing herself to continue. She could worry about diplomacy after the risk of being barbecued had passed.
"The good news is that I can sort of teleport—"
" Sort of teleport ?" someone whispered harshly.
"—so we do have a way out. Unfortunately I can only take two people at a time, so…" she trailed off and swept her gaze across the group. "Who's first?"
"The children," the woman who'd spoken earlier commanded. Harry didn't need to see her red eyes to know she was the Alpha. "Connor and Savannah first."
And just like that, whatever spell was gluing them to their spots was broken. They organized themselves and rushed to place an infant in Harry's outstretched arm. Next was a little girl, probably no older than four, and she was set against Harry's hip.
"What about the hunters?" the woman who'd handed off the infant asked, staring between Harry and the child like she desperately wanted him safe but couldn't bear the thought of being separated from him.
"Peter and I took care of them," Harry assured them all, then quietly to the sobbing child at her hip said, "It's alright, love, we'll be out of here in no time. It's going to be a bumpy ride so hang on tight, yeah?"
And then the world twisted, contracted, and they were gone.
Both children were howling when Harry landed several feet away from Peter, who'd been staring intently at the house from his haunches but was now rushing towards them, eyes glowing like stars. Peter gathered the children to himself and they immediately quieted, sniffling into his taut neck. He clutched them like they were the most precious things in the world and sighed.
Harry didn't think about the way her heart stuttered as she returned to the basement, where two more kids were instantly pushed into her arms. The boy, Liam, was crying, but the girl, Cora, only glared at her mistrustfully even as her chin trembled and her hold on Harry bruised.
Two sets of twins followed, then a young pregnant woman who Harry took alone because she didn't want to risk it, and finally the remaining eight adults. The Alpha, who introduced herself as Talia, and her mate, Dave, were the last to leave, and right on time since the roof of the basement collapsed just as they apparated.
From the lawn, Harry watched as the house crumbled with a groan before being engulfed in an upsurge of fire that seemed to touch the sky. And that was when the sound of sirens finally hit her ears, faint over the cries and clamor of the pack she'd saved.
"What are we going to do with the…hunters?" a man who looked eerily like an older version of Peter asked, staring out at the bodies that lay petrified on the ground.
Peter…who Harry had completely forgotten about in the chaos of getting everyone out alive.
"Shite," Harry cursed, stomping over to him. He looked up at her with fevered eyes, face ashen beneath his damp bangs. "I can't believe I forgot about you."
Peter, and the woman who was tending to him, snorted.
"Lovely bedside manner," he said dryly, and Harry felt her lips twitch despite herself. "If you could be a dear and retrieve the arrow from Geoffrey over there and give it to Mark—the one clinging to Cora, yes, him, with the tattoos—he'll handle it."
Glancing skeptically at him, Harry did what he asked. Mark, who was Peter's nephew and conveniently a hedgewitch, scolded the older man for not alerting him sooner and pushed him carefully onto his back. She watched, fascinated, as Mark collected some of the black sludge from the arrow tip, rubbed it along the veins of a browning leaf, lit it all up with a snap of his fingers, and then shoved the glowing ashes into Peter's gaping wound.
Harry would never admit to anyone that when Peter convulsed and roared, she took a hasty step forward as if to wrench Mark away because bleeding hell, what kind of medieval healing was that?
She didn't have much time to wonder at her strange reaction before she was pulled aside by Talia, who wanted to discuss what to do with the hunters. The ones Peter killed had been dumped into the burning house, but when Cora suggested they do the same to the others, she was scolded by the Alpha to not stoop to the level of beasts.
Which Harry thought was hilarious. And ironic. And wow was she glad that Cora had been the one to suggest it first, because she did not want that disappointed look aimed her way.
As far as Harry was concerned, it would have been justice served.
Whatever they decided to do in the end, Harry wasn't there to hear it. She cast a notice me not spell on herself and blended into the trees just as blaring fire trucks and wailing police cars swarmed into the clearing, their flashing beacons like dancing spots behind closed eyelids.
With a whisper, those who'd been petrified suddenly came to awareness. They tried to stand, only to be forced down by the surrounding police. Those who made attempts to flee were quickly dispatched and restrained. Eleven men and women were rounded up and shoved into holding vehicles as the Hales watched on from beneath their shock blankets and oxygen masks, wide eyed and grim.
Harry made her leave when two teenagers came crashing through the shrubbery, pale and shaken as they watched the scene with dawning horror. She turned away just as one of them stared straight into the cold eyes of the blond woman and croaked, "Katie?"
The girl next to him grabbed his arm to keep him still.
Her back to them, Harry never noticed the pair of glowing blue eyes staring in her direction, watching her steal away like a shadow caught by dawn.
"I'm sorry, but I can't help you, Peter," Alan Deaton told him with a regretful sigh. He'd been doing that a lot since he found out the Hale pack had almost been decimated on one of the rare nights he'd been out of town.
His face was as neutral as ever but it did little to hide the guilt cloying beneath his skin, rancid like burnt rubber and tar. Talia had tried to assure him it wasn't his fault—Hale Emissary or not, he had obligations outside of the pack and couldn't protect them from each and every threat aimed their way. Apparently her words hadn't done their job because he smelled no less guilty than he had before.
"What you've told me about the girl…it shouldn't be possible. I've come across accounts of beings with an aptitude for telekinesis, or invisibility, or teleportation, or impenetrability, but not all four." Deaton pursed his lips and tapped the ancient tome he was perusing. "And you say she smelled human ?"
"…Somewhat," Peter admitted. He didn't have to try to recall what she'd smelled like—her scent was imprinted in his nose as strongly as if he'd last seen her yesterday, and not the week it had actually been. "She smelled…strange, like thunderstorms and yew and something else that I can't describe as anything other than death. But beneath all of it was definitely the scent of a human girl."
"Did she say anything strange to you? Anything that might have indicated where she was from?"
Peter considered it. "She had a strange accent, though I can't pinpoint its origins. She used British and American colloquialisms, so the accent could probably be explained away as a mélange. As for context—" Peter tried to remember her exact wording, "—she mentioned that she never knew where she was going until she got there. She knew what I was before I transformed in front of her, but didn't know who Iwas."
"And she was apparently able to sense the fire at a distance that shouldn't have been possible, and was acute enough to determine it was foul play," Deaton continued with a sigh, looking increasingly out of his depth. "What did she look like?"
"Short, probably just touching five feet, and slight, almost waifish. Bronze skin. She had messy black hair that came down to her shoulders and green eyes. Bright, like moss. She looked maybe seventeen, though I personally wouldn't count on that being the case." Her eyes, her mannerisms, the way she spoke and held herself—they told another story.
"Any indistinguishable features? Scars, markings, tattoos...?"
"No, nothing like…wait," Peter paused, leaning forward in his chair as a memory of a partially concealed scar beneath her fringe came to mind. "Actually, she had a scar on her forehead. It looked like a thunderbolt. It was silver and jagged at the edges." He stared intently at Deaton, who'd gone still. "Does that mean anything to you?"
"It could mean a number of things, depending on the origin of the mark," Deaton replied vaguely. Peter watched as he stood from his chair and ambled towards the heavily crammed bookshelf. "For instance, if the mark is Elder Futhark in origin it could represent the rune for sowilo, which translates to 'sun' and symbolizes…" he trailed off as he pulled out a thick, leather-bound tome from the top shelf.
When Peter cleared his throat Deaton simply uttered, "I need to do more research. I'll call you if anything turns up. You can see yourself out, Peter." And then he was lost to the tower of books before him. Peter stood, knowing it was futile to continue questioning him when he was in one of his moods, and grudgingly saw himself out.
He checked his watch. It was about time he met up with Tara and Mark anyway. Deaton wasn't the only person he had on the case; his Alpha might have unwavering faith in the Druid's abilities (and loyalty), but Peter didn't trust anyone who wasn't Pack to that extent. Besides, only a fool would put all of their eggs in a single basket. The task at hand was too important to risk by being careless.
Peter burned with the need to find the girl who'd saved his Pack. He needed to learn who she was, understand how and why she did it, and figure out what the hell she expected from his pack in return.
He'd learned long ago that gift horses were often Trojan horses with mouths that hid fangs, and Peter hadn't become his Alpha's lefthand and Pack's spymaster by being trusting.
His wolf bristled beneath his skin at the thought of the girl—grew agitated, impatient, wanting —and he placed a fist over his chest to soothe the beast as he made his way to his car. He felt his eyes burn the moment the door opened and her lingering scent hit his nose, and he lowered his gaze as he took a steadying breath and slid inside. His wolf howled, soul-deep, as Peter was enveloped in their combined scents. It was maddening. It was intoxicating. Only his pride and rationality kept him from sealing his nose over the seat she'd occupied and inhaling as much of her as he still could.
This was another issue that he'd eventually have to deal with, but for the time being, ensuring the safety of his Pack was his primary concern.
Harrietta Potter won't be able to evade us for long, he promised his pacing wolf.
His instincts told him that they were going to cross paths again soon, and if there was one thing a werewolf trusted, it was that.
Whether their inevitable meeting would end in laurels or bloodshed—well.
Only time would tell.
fin.
Author's Note: I just wanted to write a TW & HP crossover where the Hales don't die and Harry and Peter are both borderline-crazies in love. Unfortunately, neither Harry nor Peter turned out as crazy as I wanted them to be. Also unfortunately, I couldn't commit to a full-length fic, hence this one-shot.
Despite the open-ending, I hope this was entertaining for you all!
Thanks so much for reading! Comments are super appreciated, as always.
Happy Halloween! 🎃
