Derek had never been a heavy sleeper (which might have something to do with spending the majority of the year around people who'd be more than happy to have him thrown to the dementors), but ever since the fire, he was lucky if he got more than four hours of sleep a night. Still, tonight he'd been dozing off, and when he heard a muffled bang, he disregarded it as yet another nightmare.

But when a second bang was heard right outside his door, the adrenaline kicked in. As the door swung open, Derek got to his feet, wide awake and with his wand pointed at the intruder. The intruder, whose face was covered by a red hoodie, seemed surprised that the door had given in so easily.

"Hnngf," the figure said as he stumbled inside, unable to stop himself.

"Stupefy!" Derek called out, but missed as the other person tripped on the trunk a few feet in front of the entrance, purposely put there to surprise unwelcome visitors. Derek was glad to see it had worked – most of his plans didn't.

As the trunk was knocked over and the intruder along with it, the figure desperately grabbed for something to hold on to; the closest thing at hand happened to be the black-and-yellow bed curtains. There was a ripping sound as the curtains were torn from the roof-attached rail, and then came a small 'sorry' from beneath the pile of fabric.

Unfortunately, Derek recognized that voice. "Elvendork?" he said.

"It's Stiles," the pile of fabric insisted.

"What the fuck are you doing in my room, Elvendork?"

"…"

"Tell me, or I'll curse your entire bloodline."

"You can do that?" Elvendork said in a voice of aw.

Derek rummaged through the curtains and got a hold of the kid's pajama shirt, lifting him up several feet off the ground. This time, the look in Derek's eyes seemed to convey the message.

"I … I was looking for the toilet. I swear!"

"You don't have toilets in the Gryffindor tower, huh?" Derek lifted Elvendork a bit higher.

"I got lost, honestly!" the kid said in a restrained voice. Realizing that choking a first-year to death probably wasn't the best idea, Derek let him go. Okay, so maybe he should've lowered him down before doing that, but the kid had broken into his room, hadn't he? There had to be consequences.

"Listen, brat, I don't care what sort of hazing the Gryffindors are putting you through, but if you come near me again, I swear you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

"Yes, sorry, okay," Elvendork said as he got himself off the floor. "I'm really sorry, it's just, I've never seen a werewolf, and I thought, maybe I could watch you when you sleep, 'cause then you wouldn't know …"

Derek furrowed his brows. "That's fucking creepy."

"Yeah, I know. Did I say I was sorry? 'Cause I am. Sorry. You know what? I broke … I mean, another Gryffindor broke a plate in the Great Hall, and I saw a prefect fix it …" Elvendork picked up the curtain off the floor. "I think I remember the spell."

"Don't…" Derek started, but it was too late.

"Repare-do!" Elvendork said, frantically waving his wand (almost pointing out an eye in the process), and instantly there were angry, red sparkles shooting out of it. Derek leaped backwards, expecting some sort of explosion, and …

… nothing.

"Huh," Elvendork said. "I guess I used it wrong."

"Guess so."

"I haven't really used magic before, my dad's not a wizard. I don't think my mom was either – a witch, I mean, of course she wasn't a wizard …" He trailed off as he saw the increasingly annoyed look on Derek's face. He picked up a picture frame from the nightstand next to Derek's bed. "Or maybe there are women who are wizards and men who are witches, I don't know, but that's fine, I mean, that's cool. Like, maybe these are your sisters," he said, pointing at the photo, "or maybe you call them brothers and that's why you're looking so pissed off right now because I offended them, but you know, I'd never judge … Hey, look, they move. Cool."

Derek crossed his arms, trying to keep himself from using an unforgivable curse. "Leave. Now."

"Yes. Leave. Course. Again, so sorry. They look really nice," he said with a nod towards Derek's family picture, and gently, he put it back down again.

With a loud boom, the door shut close, and both Derek and Elvendork were struck to the ground by an invisible force-field.

"Fuck," Derek mumbled, his face pressed against the floor.

"Did I do that?" Elvendork asked at the same time. "Awesome!"

"No. That would be the security hex." Derek took a deep breath, then said, "Finite."

"… it activated because I put the photo down? But not when I broke in and nearly destroyed the place?"

Derek got up on his feet. "So it would seem."

"You should work on that."

"Thanks for the input. Now get. The fuck. Out." Derek lifted Elvendork once again, and this time he honestly didn't care whether he strangled him or not. He carried him to the door and turned the handle … the door was locked shut.

"Oh, let me!" Elvendork squeaked and reached for his wand. "Aloha, moron!" he said, waving his wand.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Derek muttered under his breath. "Do you honestly think my defense's so weak a simple alohomora could break it open?"

"… so what is it then?"

Derek sighed. He'd have to come up with an even stronger defense after this – there was no way he'd keep something that was known to Elvendork. "Alohomora Duo," he said, teeth clenched. He reached for the handle again.

Still nothing.

"… is that supposed to happen?"

"Yes, of course it is. Every single little detail of this night has gone exactly according to plan. What do you think, dork face?"

"That's not very nice."

Derek shoved the kid into the wall. "I'm not very nice. I'm a werewolf, remember? And right now I'm a pissed off werewolf, under-fucking-stand?"

"You know, bad language isn't gonna fix anything." The kid smiled nervously.

Derek pressed the tip of his wand against the kid's neck, his hand trembling. Dead bodies are bad, he had to remind himself. "Just … shut up, okay?" he said, shaking his head. "Alohomora Duo," he tried again at the door. Still nothing.

"Portaberto!" he said instead. A splinter came off, but it left no keyhole, and otherwise the door was unharmed. "Portaberto," he repeated. A few more splinters, but still no luck.

He tried the last of the unlocking charms that he knew of – one that would rip the door from its hinges and tore it into firewood. Sure, it'd be hard to explain to the professors, but he had no other choice.

"Open Sesame!"

There was a loud boom that made them stumble backwards, and so much smoke it was hard to breath – but the door still stood.

"Open Sesame? That's a real spell?" Elvendork asked. "That's so …"

"I don't want to hear how cool you think that is, you hear me? Not. A. Word." He shoved the kid away, rolling up his sleeves. He didn't care if he'd take the entire Hufflepuff common room down with him, he was getting that door open.

"Expulso! Confringo! Reducto!" He waved his wand like a whip, and after each curse, there was a separate crash, each loud enough to wake every student in the house. Derek's ears were ringing by the end of it, and the last one even left a black dent several inches deep in the wood. But otherwise, the door was unharmed and still locked.

"Um. Are we … stuck?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Yeah, you totally seem to know what you're doing."

Derek turned around to face him. "You know what? I do know what I'm doing. I'm getting rid of you." He started pushing him towards the basement window on the other side of the room.

"… I'm not going to fit through there," Elvendork protested.

"Yes, you are. And if you don't, I guess I'll just have to shrink you to the right size."

"Oh, come on, that's not fair! I'm already one of the smallest students here!"

"And yet, you're the biggest pain in the ass I've ever had the misfortune to meet."

Unfortunately, the window glass wouldn't budge an inch, even after Derek tried all the spells he knew, and some he just made up combining every foul-sounding word he knew. There were a lot of them.

"Seems that security thingy's pretty powerful after all, huh?" Elvendork said with a frail smile. "So that's good, at least."

"There is nothing good about this."

"Well, I can name a few things – you're stuck with me and not some lycanphobic, 'cause you know, that'd be awkward; it's not a full moon tonight, which is also good; we're inside in an obviously very safe environment so we'll be able to sleep without worries. Honestly, I think you need to be a bit more optimistic instead of such a sour-wolf."

Derek clasped his wand tightly. "What did you just call me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"If you keep calling me Elvendork, you can't expect me to not come up with nicknames of my own, can you?"

"Wanna bet?" Derek hissed, raising his wand.

"Oh, come on, if you were really going to hurt me, you'd have done it by now," Elvendork said.

Derek smashed his head into the wall.

"Aooow. That hurt."

"Good."

"Look, we're obviously stuck in here with each other, so let's just make the best out of it, okay? Which side of the bed do you want?"

"All sides. You can sleep on the floor, if that's what you want. And I'm not giving up – I designed the hex, I'll be able to undo it."

"Aha. And while you do that, I'll take the right side of the bed – that's the one I sleep on at home, it was my mom's." Elvendork sat down on the bed. "Not that I sleep in my parents' room."

"… your mom left your dad?" Derek asked, lowering his wand. Pleeeease, let his mom have left and not anything else.

"… she died. Two years ago." The kid looked away. "I don't really wanna talk about it."

"Oh." Derek sat down on the other side of the bed. His eyes burnt a little, but he tried to tell himself it was only because of all the smoke in there. "Sorry."

"I only sleep in there in case dad gets nightmares, you know?" he said in a low tone of voice. "I don't want him to be alone."

"Yeah, of course." Derek looked away. He thought of his own nightmares, and of how the nights when he didn't have any, he'd be woken by Laura's screams instead. He'd never gone into her room.

"… which I guess he is now," the kid continued. "But I've asked Scott and his mom to look after him – Scott's my best friend. He'd love it here. Maybe he'll come next year – he hasn't turned eleven yet. I already wrote him a letter about the singing hat, and the portrait to the Gryffindor common room, and you, and Quidditch. He really likes sports, but he's got asthma, so I guess Quidditch would be really good for him – you know, not having to run." Elvendork turned quiet.

Derek thought about telling him that he knew what it was like, worrying about your relatives, wishing for your mom to come back, to hear her voice one more time, telling you that you were loved, that everything was going to be alright. But he didn't.

"What about your friends?" Elvendork asked.

"Um. I don't really have any."

The kid tucked his feet under his legs. "But you must have someone. Hufflepuffs are nice, aren't they?"

Derek didn't answer the second question. "I've got Laura, I guess. She's my sister."

"Well, I guess that's what you get when you smash people's heads into walls. It still hurts, by the way," he said, rubbing his head. "What about the other ones in the photo?"

Derek swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. It didn't work. "Um. They're dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you okay? Of course you're not. How'd it happen? I mean, I get it if you don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry, it's none of my business."

He desperately tried to blink away the tears. Stupid smoke. "I think we should sleep now," he said in a hoarse voice. "The professors will probably look for us tomorrow, and they'll help us out."

"Yeah, sure." Elvendork nodded. "And I'll totally sleep on the floor, if that's what you want. I'll take the curtain, if that's okay?"

"Don't be an idiot," Derek muttered. "Engorgio," he said, and the bed grew big enough for four people to sleep on it.

The kid fell asleep within minutes, which was freaking remarkable, but Derek stayed awake. The tears filled his eyes, and he didn't even try to blame it on the smoke anymore. God, the only reason he'd even remotely looked forward to coming here this term was to forget, and here this kid comes, ripping out all the memories, all the pain … and he couldn't even be alone in his room to cry in peace.

Derek had been lying on his side, facing the wall, as to not be seen, but after a while he rolled over on his back, only to see that despite all the extra room, the kid was sprawled out across the middle of the bed. Derek closed his eyes, trying to forget his presence, trying to think of something, anything else but death and sadness and the annoying fact that the only one who'd asked him how he felt, besides all the teachers that'd felt obliged to do so, was a stupid eleven-year-old he hadn't known for even a day.

A small hand crept into his, squeezing his palm. Derek didn't dare to move, even though his first instinct was to kick the kid away. He was probably dreaming, thinking it was his dad next to him. Derek thought about Cora. She'd have been around Stiles' age by now, coming to Hogwarts, being in Gryffindor for sure. He thought about Peter, who'd been more of a brother than an uncle to him, who was stuck in St Mungo's with no hope of ever getting out. He thought about his dad, who'd read him and Cora the stories of Beedle the Bard, about The Fountain of Fair Fortune, The Friendly Little Werewolf and the Wicked Warlock, and The Tale of the Three Brothers, every night until Derek was off to Hogwarts. He thought about his mom, who'd sacrificed herself to get all of them out of the burning building, and gone after that woman, even though she had fiendfyre in her hair and on her clothes, until it consumed her.

And he thought about Laura, who'd have to become the adult who took care of Derek and whatever was left of Peter, and used all the magic she knew to get the house back together as well as she could. And how the last thing Derek had screamed at her before going back earlier that morning, was that he'd wished she'd died instead of the others.

Derek tried to free his hand. He didn't deserve this kid's affection. He didn't deserve anything – he was friendless and homeless and family-less for a reason. After all, it had been his fault Kate had even known where their home was in the first place … he'd never told anyone about that, and he never would, either.

But Stiles wouldn't let go off his hand, no matter how hard Derek tried. Stupid eleven-year-old with a stupid name and stupidly strong fingers. Stupid kid who's not afraid of me. Stupid kid who's also lost his mom. Stupid, freaking Elvendork. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He fell asleep like that. And when Derek had that same old nightmare a few hours later, somehow Stiles was in it, breaking everything, talking too much at the faceless monsters, making Derek annoyed and irritated rather than paralyzed and terrified.

When they woke up the next morning, Derek did so without the feeling of wanting to kill everything. Now, he only wanted to kill certain things.

(Of course, that was before he knew he'd be spending three more days in that room, locked up with Elvendork Stilinski. By that time, he was back at wanting to kill everything again. But in a slightly happier way, you know?)