CHAPTER TWELVE
Summary: Hermione Granger, one of the brightest minds of her generation, makes a decision that will ultimately change her future plans. At twenty-three, she finds herself moving to a strange town that's a hell-mouth for supernatural beings, pregnant, and in way over her head. And the father of her unborn child? The tall, dark and handsome werewolf, Derek Hale. Rated M for a reason.
Disclaimer: I do not own canon events and characters, they belong to J.K Rowling and the creators of Teen Wolf and MTV. This is purely for entertainment purposes and I am not making a profit from the posting of this. This is set after Season 3, and everything from season 4 onwards doesn't happen; so no deadpool, Beast, Dread Doctors, Wild Hunt or Hunters. Allison still died, Liam will still be appearing, and there is no Kira or Malia. Derek is 22 and Hermione is 23. I'm fudging the time line a bit, too.
Page count: 9
The next morning found Hermione waking up to being surrounded by warmth, but it was comforting giving the slight draught in the room as the window had been cracked open at some point during the night, obviously Derek's doing.
Hermione lifted her head and looked around to see Crookshanks and Magic both curled up at the end of her bed, snuggled together and sleeping while the early morning sun shone through the curtains and bathed a patch on the floor.
She felt Derek shift behind her as he slowly woke from sleep and his grip on her automatically tightened, pulling her back against him and his nose burying in her neck.
"Morning," she said, sighing softly when he nudged her hair back from her neck and nuzzled at the spot.
"Hmm," he hummed in reply. "How'd you sleep?"
"Perfect," she answered.
"I suppose I did wear you out," he muttered and she lifted her hand to slap at the arm that was thrown over her waist and pressed to her stomach.
"Shut it," she warned, but there was no malice in her tone.
She tried to shuffle free from his hold but he held tighter. She huffed in annoyance and gripped onto his arm, lifting it from her waist, only for him to wrap it back around her.
"Bloody hell, Derek, will you let go? I'm not going anywhere, I just need to stretch," she rolled her eyes.
He muttered something but she wasn't able to hear or understand him, but he did release her from his hold. She rolled onto her back and lifted her arms above her head and stretched her body out, her back making a satisfying 'clicking' sound and she sighed, brushing her hair out of her face and then dropping her arms onto her stomach, staring up at the ceiling.
"So, are you going to tell me how you got your scars?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbow and one hand slipping under the blanket to splay across her stomach.
She wondered if it was a wolf thing, him wanting to touch her stomach all the time because he did it at every opportunity that he was presented with, especially since the day she'd healed him and they revealed their true feelings towards each other.
At his words her entire body went rigid and he shifted his eyes to her face, frowning slightly.
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, I'm just curious about the situations you were in that resulted in such injuries," he spoke. "It might help me to better understand everything that you were forced to face."
She breathed out and closed her eyes, before titling her to the side to look at him.
"I'll make you a deal," she said. "If I tell you and you show a single ounce of pity for me, not only will I hex you, but I'll make sure you're never able to have children."
He raised an eyebrow. "Seems a bit drastic," he replied, looking more amused with her threat than frightened. "But seeing as I've already knocked you up and my wolf-line has a successor, I'll agree to those terms."
She frowned at him. "You really want to know how I got my scars that badly that you'll willingly risk the chance of never being able to have another child?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I do,"
"You know it's not a bluff, right? I really would do it."
"I know, especially with your hormones acting up, you're more likely to do it now than you were before," he said.
Her frown deepened before she shook her head and then turned to look back up at the ceiling.
"The small burn on my right shoulder, I got it during the Final Battle that ended the war. I was hit by a rogue Incendio, it's basically a ball of fire. You know the mark on my right forearm is from when I was bitten by a werewolf. The small collection of little scars by my right hip, I received them during the time that my friends and I were fugitives. The last year of the war we were forced to flee due to Voldemort not only taking over Hogwarts and killing Dumbledore, but he took control of our government and we were the three most wanted fugitives in the world. We survived in the wild for the better part of a year while trying to finish the mission given to us to destroy Voldemort once and for all. My friend, Harry, he walked into a trap and in order to save his life, I pushed the both of us out of a two story window. The scars are from the window glass shattering."
His hand moved to the scars in question and flittered over them softly, absentmindedly counting that were eight of the little raised marks.
"The large one that travels the length of my torso and basically cuts me in half, it's the one that frightens me the most," she spoke, her voice sounding as though she was in a world of her own, and when he let his hand move to trail the scar, she shook her head, blinked and turned her head to look at him. "At the age of sixteen, I almost died. My life flashed before my eyes and I was convinced I was going to die," she said quietly and he kept his gaze locked on hers. "I know Hogwarts, a History explains what happed at The Department of Mysteries, but a lot of it was left out, it being deemed too traumatic for young children to read. During the battle, it's hard to remember actually as there was so much going on, there were so many shouts and cries and flashes of light and explosions that I've blocked a lot of it out. But, I remember what he did to me," she whispered.
"I can't forget about it no matter how hard I try. Antonin Dolohov, he was some sort of charms prodigy when he was younger and he was well known for his practice of the Dark Arts, but also for creating his own dark curses. At the battle he cursed me and all I remember is heat and fire and burning and screaming, and I woke up in the hospital two weeks later. The healers had never seen anything like it, it was as if there was cursed, dark fire inside of me and it was burning me up from the inside out. The only reason I survived was because I'd managed to hit him with a Silencing Charm, forcing him to cast non-verbally, and not only is it difficult to perform magic without a wand and non-verbally, the magic tends to be weaker, too."
"I was on bed rest for a month and I had a treatment regime of ten different potions a day for the following three months. It took me a week before I could even sit up by myself, and it was three walks before I could walk."
She startled when she became aware of the low growling that was coming from beside her. She lifted her eyes to Derek's face, seeing his dark orbs shimmering with anger, his jaw tense and he reached over and pulled her into him protectively, his chest touching her side.
"You can't kill him," she sighed.
"I'd like to see you stop me," he muttered darkly.
"You can't kill him," she repeated. "He's already dead." The rumbled growling stopped but the anger didn't leave his eyes. "I saw it, two spells collided and they ricocheted, hitting Dolohov in the back. He didn't see it coming. I checked the body myself when the battle was over and we started collecting the bodies. By the time the battle was over, his body was cold."
"He's lucky he's dead,"
"Well, you can calm your wolf, he's gone now and he's left me a lovely souvenir," she sighed, reaching up to brush her hair back from her face with her left hand, and in the process, he caught sight of the hideous scar on her arm.
His hand flew up to grip at her wrist and he turned her arm over so he could better see it. The word 'Mudblood' carved into her with ugly and jagged lettering, looking as though a child had done it.
"What the fuck is that?" He asked, his voice low and dark, each word pronounced carefully, dangerously.
She flinched at the sight of it but took a calming breath, wincing slightly at the tight grip he had on her wrist but actually helped to pull her from her memories. Seeing her pain, he loosened his hold slightly.
"I was eighteen," she said quietly, lowering her eyes to lock on a spot on the wall over his shoulder. "During our time on the run, towards the end of the war my friends and I were captured by the enemy side. We were taken to their base of operations, my friends were taken to the dungeons and seeing as I'm Muggleborn, hated and expendable in their eyes, they kept me on the upper floors. Bellatrix, the right hand to Voldemort tortured me for information, and I mean literal torture. She used The Cruciatus, an Unforgivable and the use of it earns you a one way ticket to prison giving how dark it us. Think of every form of torture possible and then roll them into one and the pain doesn't stop; they don't stop until you're begging for death."
"She grew bored of my unwillingness to answer her questions and turned to other means. Using a cursed blade, she carved this word into me. It will never truly heal and it can never be fully covered with the use of magic, which is why I use makeup or sleeves to do so."
"I'm going to kill her," he snarled out.
"Can't, she's dead," she said flatly. "Molly Weasley killed her in the battle. Not only had she lost Fred, but Bellatrix went after her only daughter and youngest child, Ginny. In her grief, she was able to overpower Bellatrix and she killed her. I know for a fact the bat-shit crazy witch is suffering in hell, and it's the least she deserves."
He took a steadying breath to calm himself and he released her wrist, allowing her to fold her arms around herself.
"What does it mean?" He asked softly.
"It's a derogatory word for someone of my blood, a Muggleborn witch. In literal terms it means that I'm filth, an abomination, someone not worthy of my magic and life," she answered. A furious, horrified look entered his dark eyes, and much to her surprise, they flashed bright blue. "They believed that Muggleborns were stealing their magic and it being the reason for their children being born Squibs, a witch or wizard that has very little magic or no magic at all, making them non-magical. In actual fact, it has to do with all the inbreeding that had been happening for centuries."
His arm wrapped around her waist and he tugged her even closer to him, pulling her onto her side to face him and wrapping his arm around her. She went willingly, finding comfort in his presence and the rumbling in his chest and she pressed her forehead to his chest, sighing.
"She branded me so I would never forget where I belonged in the world, so that I would never forget that I was worthless and beneath everyone else. Dolohov's scar is the most frightening, but Bellatrix's is the most traumatising. There aren't many people that know of my torture, only my friends and one of the Weasley boys and his wife, as they were the ones to heal me and their house was being used as a safe house." His nose nuzzled at her temple and his breathing disturbed her hair, tickling against her skin. "The scar on my throat, that's also from Bellatrix, when my friends broke free and they came to rescue me, Bellatrix held a knife to my throat." His grip on her tightened and yet another growl fell from his lips. "With the help of a little house-elf called Dobby, he saved us, but in the process he died with a knife to his stomach."
She blinked back the tears that threatened to fall at thinking about the energetic, helpful house-elf. She calmed herself and then pulled herself free from his hold, shifting to lay beside him on her stomach, allowing him to see her bare back when the covers shifted to her waist and she pulled her hair over one shoulder.
His eyes trailed the skin revealed to him, seeing several differently sized and shaped scars, but his attention was caught by the black inked symbols that ran the length of her spine, ten symbols to be exact.
"You have a tattoo?" He said and even he heard the surprise in his voice.
A sparkle of amusement flittered through her eyes as she pushed herself up onto her forearms and turned her head to face him.
"Yes, I do. Surprised?"
He nodded. "It's not something I'd expect to see on you."
"Why not?" She arched her eyebrow.
"You just don't seem like the type," he said, unable to find another way to explain his thought process.
"Hence the reason no one knows about it, they'd either be too surprised to say anything, or they'd berate me for making a stupid decision and not acting like myself. But you see, it's my life and my body and I chose what does and does not happen, no one gets to make that decision for me," she spoke, and as he listened to her words he suspected there was a deeper meaning behind them, as if she was trying to tell him something without actually telling him.
"What are these symbols?" He asked, reaching out to trace each one with his fingers and she shivered under his touch, earning an amused look from him.
"They're ancient runes; it's the ancient language of magic."
"So each symbol is a representation of something?" He guessed.
"Yes, in order from top to bottom the runes represent strength, friendship, family, magic, earth, wind, water, fire, love and finally, survival. Each one means something to me. Now, shall we get back to my scars before I bottle it?"
"I don't know what that means, but sure," he shrugged.
"The three claw-like scars on my shoulder are from a bad tempered hippogriff, a magical creature that's half eagle and half horse. The three circle marks close to my waist are from a mermaid."
"They're not real,"
"They are," she promised.
"No, I don't believe you."
She snorted at him. "Alright then, but I was sent to liaison with a group of mermaids and it didn't end well, one of them threw a trident at me and it caught me, luckily it didn't do any serious damage. This was during my first year on the job, I wasn't far off twenty in age. The slight indented scar on the small of my back, that one's from a Hungarian Horntail Dragon." He scoffed and she rolled her eyes at him. "It was my own fault really. Last year I was visiting Charlie in Romania since I had to carry out an inspection to ensure everything was up to standards on The Reserve. Charlie was tending to a newly hatched dragon and I got a little too close, someone startled it and it lashed out, catching my back with its tail. Charlie spent the entire week I was there apologising," she shook her head. "I also have a scar on the back of my left calf, and I got it when I was fifteen and it was during the time of the Triwizard Tournament. Seeing as I was used as bait for my then boyfriend, Viktor, to rescue, I was placed into a magical sleep and held under water. When Viktor rescued me, he had to fight through a horde of grindylows, which are basically water demons. They have really sharp claws and one latched onto my leg to prevent me from escaping, but Viktor managed to get it off. And as far as I know, that's the origin story of each scar."
"Christ, Witch, do you ever rest?" He said.
She snorted at him before lowering herself back onto her stomach and lifting her arms to cushion her head, as she watched him watch her.
"So, what's yours?" She asked him.
"Hmm?" He hummed in question, his fingers moving down to the small of her back and then up her spine, repeating the process.
She lifted her arm and hooked it over his shoulder so she could tap at his tattoo, alerting him to the subject of her question, before bringing it back to pillow her head.
"The triskelion, the triple spiral," he spoke. "It's a pre-Celtic symbol that has different meanings to different people. For my family it represents the rise and fall within the pack. An Alpha can fall to an Omega, an Omega can rise to a Beta and a Beta can rise to an Alpha. It's a reminder that you should never abuse your power."
"That's actually quite insightful, you can apply that logic to most aspects in life," she said.
"My mother used it to help ground us and teach us to control ourselves at the full moon. It's the symbol of my family. If another werewolf pack were to see it they'd know that anyone carrying the symbol on their person or that was marked with it on their body, belonged to The Hale Pack. Before she died, my mother was highly respected within the werewolf community, mainly because of her power and kindness and the ferocity she had when it came to protecting her pack. Because of her, The Hale name holds a lot of weight within the community and it's not often someone dares to cross us."
"I get that, I suppose it's similar to me, only it's my name. When someone from my world hears my name, they either freeze in fear or they get all star struck. It's why they let me do what I want as long as I don't break the law, they're afraid to anger me."
He snorted at her. "I can imagine," he said amused.
"Well, I told you the secrets of my scars, and I'm no longer hiding my true self from you."
"And?" He prompted, knowing she had more to say.
"And I think that means I deserve you getting me a chocolate milkshake."
He raised an eyebrow. "And where the hell am I supposed to get a chocolate milkshake at..." He looked over to the alarm clock on the bedside table, "Half eight on a Sunday morning?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "That's for you to figure out, after all, it's your super sperm that got me pregnant, so you have to give me everything I want, including chocolate milkshakes at odd times of the day."
"You think I'm obsessed with your hair, well I think you're obsessed with my sperm."
She shrugged once more. "You're the one that did this to me, so I'm holding you accountable."
"It takes two to make a baby," he replied.
"No, it's definitely your fault," she said adamantly and he snorted at her.
"Fine, you want a chocolate milkshake? For breakfast?" She nodded instantly. "I'll see what I can do."
"And feed the animals, too, would you?"
"What am I, your servant?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Obviously, you knocked me up so you have to run around after me and do everything I tell you to."
"If you say so, Witch," he snorted, before he threw the covers off himself and stood from the bed, completely naked.
Hermione's face flamed red and she buried her face in the pillow. "Derek!" She squeaked in embarrassment, her voice muffled. "Put some bloody clothes on!"
His laughter filled her ears and she lifted her head to glare at him, before remembering that he was naked and she buried her face into the pillow once more.
"I don't remember you being this embarrassed last time," he said amused.
"Last time I snuck out before you woke," she replied. "Otherwise I probably would've been."
"It's a shame you did," he told her, leaving out the room –still completely naked- with Crookshanks and Magic following behind him and he chuckled when a pillow hit him in the back.
~000~000~000~
Derek was gone for fifteen minutes and when he returned, he was wearing a pair of underwear and carrying a bowl and spoon in one hand and a bottle of chocolate sauce in the other. Hermione moved to sit back on her bed after shutting the window and putting on her red silk robe, a gift for her twenty-third birthday from Fleur.
He climbed onto the bed beside her and propped himself up against the pillows before presenting her his offerings.
"Vanilla ice-cream and chocolate sauce is the best I can do," he told her.
Much to his amusement, a little pout formed on her lips but she still took his offering, setting the bowl in her lap and Derek was sure she'd poured nearly half the bottle of chocolate sauce over her ice-cream, before a sigh left her when she placed the first spoonful in her mouth.
He looked away from her and to the bedside table on his side of the bed, noticing the few stacked books and he took the first one from the pile and flipped through the pages curiously.
A few minutes later he felt her eyes on him and he turned to look at her, seeing her watching him with her head titled to the side and the spoon still in her mouth.
"What?" He said, cocking his eyebrow at her.
She titled her head to the other side, pulling the spoon from her mouth as it twitched into an innocent smile. If she didn't have his attention before, she certainly did now. Her eyes slowly traced his form, staring at his face and moving down to his torso and continuing south, pausing at his boxers –much to his amusement- and moving down to his hands holding the book, before they traced his legs which were crossed at the ankles, and she moved her eyes back to his face.
"What?" He repeated.
Much to his surprise she put the bowl and spoon on her bedside table, reached over and took the book from his hands and threw it to the end of the bed, and then she promptly straddled his lap, positioning herself over his groin and trailing her hands up his chest and looping them around his neck.
Again, he raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk pulling at his mouth when she tilted forward and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, him feeling the coolness of her lips due to the ice-cream she'd been eating. She pulled back and before he could comment, she leaned forward and kissed him again, this time with a fire and heat that came out of nowhere.
His hands came up to smooth over body over her robe before he realised she was still naked underneath and he slipped his hands under her robe, gripped at her hips and pulled her closer to him, a growl rumbling in his throat when she nipped at his lip, soothed it with her tongue and then slipped it through his parted lips, him tasting the ice-cream and chocolate she'd just been eating.
She pulled back from and he watched her with dark eyes as one of her hands moved to smooth over his chest and the other scratched at the back of his neck, just below his hairline, pulling another growl from.
She titled her head to the side, once again, an innocent smile pulling at her mouth. She was up to something, he knew it.
"You know, I just love chocolate," she said softly. "I've had it with every combination under the sun, some disgusting and others delicious and I'd thought I ran out of things to pair it with." He raised an eyebrow. "But then suddenly inspiration struck, and now I just can't stop thinking about it."
She bit her lip and reached over for the bottle of chocolate sauce that she'd left on the bed and he watched her with his dark orbs as she flicked open the lid, squirted a small amount onto finger and then sucked it off, his hands tightening around her hips as she kept her eyes locked with his as she did so.
"I'm very curious," she told him, leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his neck with the bottle still in her hand. She pressed her mouth against his ear, her breath tickling him as she spoke her next words. "How would it taste if I were to eat off you?"
And as she said those words, she tipped the bottle and the chocolate sauce was poured over his shoulder and neck, the thick, gooey substance trickling down his chest and she latched her mouth onto his skin, licking and sucking.
He had a feeling he was going to love those particular hormones.