Okay, so.

I'm so sorry for the loong delay. This was a huge bloody drag to write, it really was. And with ffnet down on the emails, I didn't want people to not be notified about the new post. There's a lot more info in the author's note at the bottom, and I think it's pretty important that you read it. Enjoy, if you can. This one was pretty shit.

"The hospital was far closer to Maplewood Avenue than they were. Scott immediately called his mom and got an ambulance on their way and Stiles, terrified and antsy, was moved into Derek's less-breakable, much faster car, the whole pack bundling into their own vehicles as the Hale wolf peeled out into the night.

Stiles had darted into the hospital immediately, not waiting before heading straight to the receptionist's desk, the scent of sterility and medicine seeming even more pungent in the clinical white of the facility.

"Stiles, honey." Melissa McCall, nurse and angel-on-earth called out to him before he had a chance to get to the desk. Her eyes were wide and sympathetic, and through Stiles' full-body shaking, she managed to break into the more rational side of him.

"Stiles, sweetie, you need to calm down. Your friend- Hermione, right? We found her fast and we got her into surgery, she's in there now. She'll be okay."

Sterile sanitised environment. Flickering fluorescent lights. A young man, worried for his friend's life. Stiles' body let out a shudder and his eyes widened fractionally. "S-Surgery?" He asked, as he physically deflated, stumbling back. Melissa helped him into a seat and pulled the boy; whom she considered a second son- into a warm and soothing hug. Stiles' body wracked with heaving sobs, his breathing becoming choked.

"Breathe we me, Stiles. In and out; slowly." Melissa had witnessed many panic attacks from the youngest Stilinski; she knew the signs to look out for, but it really wouldn't help him to freak out in the hospital. Eventually, the boy stilled. His hands were shaking and sobs became more sniffles and jitters.

"H-how was she?" Stiles asked her, swallowing hard. "What are her in-injuries?" The look he gave Melissa displayed how determined he was to get the truth, no matter how much it hurt. With a heavy sigh, Melissa conceded to his will.

"Not a huge injury. Smaller ones, which added up. She was unconscious when the EMTs found her. Her legs were all cut up; as were her arms and back...she looked like she'd been in a fight. The worst of her injuries occurred on her torso." Melissa herself let out a shuddering breath. She'd been first to see Hermione wheeled in by the EMTs. The girl looked bloody, bruised, and reminiscent of death itself. "Whatever happened to her caused her to fracture seven of her ribs on the left side of her torso. Her right side...was extremely damaged. She's in surgery right now to fix it up. She'll take a while to recover, but she'll survive, Stiles." He nodded, his gaze focused on the clock on the opposite wall.

"When can I see her?" He asked plainly. His phone buzzed, and, checking it, he noticed Scott's name flash onscreen.

Scott: Hey, dude. We're getting parked up now; Derek said he'd be waiting outside for us.

Stiles started momentarily; he hadn't even noticed Derek's absence.

"Soon, as soon as she's out of surgery. She may be asleep or groggy, as she's under heavy doses of anaesthetic, but you'll be able to see her. Can you deal with that?"

"Sure." Stiles breathed, his heart-though still constricted and pained- slowed slightly.

"Good. I need to go continue my rounds, but I'll be back soon, okay? I'll let you know the second Hermione wakes up." Stiles nodded absently, his eyes becoming distant and unfocused. Though still concerned, Melissa turned on her heels and moved down the hall.

Lydia had been the first to reach him; she sat next to him and immediately pulled Stiles into a hug; their friendship, though relatively new, had grown exponentially. She knew that the boy was once infatuated with her, but their relationship had changed that; they were friends, and Stiles seemed to have moved on. (Even if Lydia was the only one who had noticed, like always.) The strawberry-blonde's arms held him close, and his head dropped onto her shoulder. "It'll be okay, Stiles." She soothed, running a hand up and down his arm. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I-I know. Thank you, Lydia." He breathed back and Lydia huffed slightly in response. Stiles, confused, turned to look at Lydia.

"What's wrong?" He asked her, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. She rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Stilinski. You don't need to say thank you, you idiot. I'm your friend, of course I'll be there for you." She huffed again, though there was a teasing glint in her eyes. Stiles ducked his head, cheeks colouring, even as the barest smile flitted across his face.

Stiles registered the rest of the pack making their way towards him. He flashed one last, thankful look at Lydia before he turned, a weary look forming on his face as he tried to smile.

"Hey, guys."

Sweet Circe, I need the loo, thought Hermione Jane Granger. And not just as if she'd woken up in the morning, more of an "if I don't get to a toilet now there'll be a huge mess. Not hesitating for a second she lept up, ignored the pull of the various drips and monitors attached to her and ripped a needle out of her arm, stumbling to the little bathroom at the side of the room the second she'd noticed it, shutting the door behind the wails and beeps of the haywire machines.

She near on hobbled out of the bathroom, her previous adrenaline rush had waned and Hermione had been left sore, weak, and aching; she'd clung to the sink and inspected her injuries; she looked deathly, with gaunt cheeks that echoed to her from another, darker point in her life. Merlin, she was lucky to be a witch. She'd managed to apparate and had healed most of her injuries before she called Stiles; a muggle would've died from them.

Still, it didn't help her now, even as she unlocked the door and stumbled her way back to her bed. Or, she tried to at least, if not for the nurses grabbing her and practically shoving her onto the mattress.

"What on earth are you doing young lady? You gave us all a fright!" The head nurse scowled as he shoved Hermione back down, the loud machines finally quieting as he began, much to Hermione's displeasure, hooking everything back up in position.

"I needed the loo, bloody hell!" Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed, crossing her arms underneath her even as the nurse tried to attach the IV drips once more.

"And can you please stop that! I'm fine, I don't want any of that thanks."

"You'll take what we give and keep quiet! Doctor's orders are to be followed, young lady."

Hermione began to retort, but she had gotten cut off by a tall, lean figure.

"That's enough, Andrew. I'm sure Miss Granger will be okay for a few moments, and she's been sleeping long enough anyway." The doctor smiled genially at the nurse and, with a scowl, the man left. Hermione sighed in relief, body sagging slightly as the doctor turned to face her.

"Hello Miss Granger," He smiled again. "I'm Doctor Miller. I can understand how this can be quite a shock to you, waking up in an unusual environment but I believe that you may have gained the scorn of the nurses." He chuckled, clipboard in hand.

"Honestly," Hermione insisted, a hint of a smile on her own face. "I'm not shocked at all, I called Stiles. Obviously I needed medical attention, and he got me it." Doctor Miller chuckled again, wiry orange hair stabbing into Hermione's gut slightly and she held back a grimace. "Is Stiles okay?"

"Miss Granger! You're the one in hospital, we should be asking that about you; especially with the extent of injuries you came to us with. Care to explain that?" He asked, his eyes raised high on his forehead.

"Not particularly." Hermione responded, hiding a small grin as the Doctor spluttered; she saw him take a deep breath and mutter to himself. Hermione had never liked being in hospitals. Well, not when it was her with the problem. They reminded the young witch of death; but, she supposed, that seemed to be a reoccurring situation in her life.

"I feel like this will go nowhere fast." Doctor Miller sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nevertheless, we've patched you up. We want you to stay here until the afternoon, but we'll let you call somebody to pick you up when we discharge you." He strode across the room, scribbling something down on the clipboard before slipping his pen into his uniform pocket.

"How long have I been here?" Hermione asked him. She knew she must've stayed overnight, as it was morning now; and with the extent of her injuries, it must've been a couple of days, despite what she'd managed to heal herself.

"A week. Well, a week and three days. Visiting hours will begin soon; I expect the news of your newfound state of consciousness will be a great relief to your friends."

And Doctor Miller left.

Hermione reeled. Unconscious for so long? That was a genuine surprise. Hermione sat back to process it all. She hadn't known that her injuries were that bad. Maybe due to a magical drain? Though she hadn't experienced such a drain in so long. Hermione's magical core was powerful; she managed to ward the Stilinski household indefinitely with little trouble, for goodness sake!

Hermione gazed around the room. No use worrying just yet, she can figure it all out when she's out of the hospital. As much as she'd like to apparate away the hospital had already logged her into the system; best to just wait. Spotting her clothes on the floor Hermione moved back into the bathroom; a shower was just what was needed to sort her head out, even if the quality of toiletries was lacking. Her beaded bag lay on a chair beside her, and she grabbed it too; she had some leftover Sleakeasy's in there somewhere.

The steam infused Hermione's lungs with a soft, dense heat as rivulets of water beat down on her skin; sinking down into the pores of her skin like a rock falling into the stillest of lakes; causing shudders of relief to ripple out of every cell and nerve ending. Hermione let out a relieved sigh as she felt her messy curls unravelling; though she'd grown them long, they grey even more when the water straightened them out, the wet ends tickled the small of her back as she allowed her muscles to relax, the dull aches becoming smaller. She had to drag herself to finish the shower; time seemed to disappear under the water, but eventually Hermione mustered up the willpower to finish her shower, redressing the bandages and changing quickly into loose and comfortable clothes, braiding her hair back and then up into a bun with a wave of her hand. She grabbed an old quidditch Jersey of Harry's, the red and gold bright against her pale skin, the words "POTTER" emblazoned in large letters on her back. She slipped fluffy socks on her feet and under her leggings before moving back into hospital room. She may be trapped in there but it didn't mean she'd have to remain bored out of her mind, so she fished out several old tomes from her beaded bag and settled comfortably into the bed.

That was how Stiles found Hermione when visiting hours rolled around. He'd practically run to the room as soon as the nurses on staff had told him the news.

She was awake.

He'd bolted; wanting to spend every second he could with her. He brushed off the notions of her being too tired to talk, or of her going in and out of sleep. No, this was Hermione. She may have been unconscious, but she'd not sleep any longer than she'd have to. Her insurance had paid for a plush, private room, and as Stiles completed the now-ingrained route to her room he noticed that the blinds were closed. He knocked on the door and opened it on the lack of response. There she was, surrounded by huge, dusty, old books with titles that Stiles couldn't discern. She wore some sort of sport's jersey in a deep red, her hair tied up and oddly smooth; she would've looked more like she had been on holiday, if it weren't for the sunken, pale cheeks and wrapped bandages he could see that had peaked out from her shirt.

"Hermione?" He called, holding back a short laugh as she jumped, startled. Her gaze moved towards him and without hesitation, Hermione smiled widely.

"Stiles!" She exclaimed, the dimples of her cheeks wide. He smiled back a second before surging forward and wrapping her in a hug. Laughing, relieved tears pricked at his eyes and he tried to push them back. He had known she'd be okay; but this? Part of him was scared that she wouldn't wake up. A short 'oof' noise caused him to pull back slightly; Hermione was fighting back a grimace and Stiles ducked his head.

"Stiles sweetheart I love you but you're going to have to loosen up on the patient a tad." She quipped, and this time he hugged her more carefully. He moved onto the bed and pulled her into his arms between his legs, arms wrapped around her torso and head buried into Hermione's neck. He knew that to an ignorant observer the position would seem quite intimate, but he had been without her for too long. He needed to be wrapped up in Hermione and in the knowledge, that she was okay; that she was here, with him.

"I missed you." He mumbled into her hair. "Don't ever scare me like that again." He grumbled, only half-joking. He could feel Hermione's body shake as she held back a laugh and tickled her sides slightly, causing a shocked yelp of laughter to escape from Hermione's lips.

"Stiles!" She squirmed, giggling.

"I mean it! I was losing my mind, Hermione."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. But I'm okay now, right? I'll be safer, I promise." Stiles moved his face to look at the young woman, eyebrow raised. He knew she wouldn't tell him what had happened; at least not until she was ready; so, he didn't push the matter. He simply held her close. Hermione jostled slightly, and moved to press a kiss to his temple before wriggling to lay her head against his chest, a hand automatically reaching up to stroke through his hair, her foot absently pushing several of the large tomes back on the bed so that the pair could stretch out more languidly.

"I promise I'll be safer, Stiles." She said simply, as Stiles moved to run his palm gently along her side. They were both wrapped up in each other; oblivious to the world and yet more aware of how each other needed this contact right now. They depended on each other completely in this moment; and they both knew that together, everything would work out okay.

Despite all the secrets between them.

"Stiles, I'm not made of glass, I can make it to your Jeep by myself!" Hermione insisted. Stiles wouldn't relent as he pushed her down into a hospital wheelchair, making their way down to the exit that afternoon; Doctor Miller had discharged Hermione; so long as she kept up with a regimen of painkillers and antibiotics and refrained from 'strenuous exercise'. (Stiles had Doctor Miller's reaction when Hermione had asked if it included sex forever ingrained in his brain.)

"You're an arse, you know that, right?" She asked him, huffing as he just chuckled, making his way through the lobby.

"Oh please, you love me, 'arse' and all," Stiles retorted, his exaggerated British 'accent' making Hermione's skin crawl. He finally stopped just outside; but rather than letting Hermione walk it to the Jeep, he picked her up. His strength was surprising to Hermione, who'd figured that with his lean and long figure he wouldn't have much upper arm strength. She squealed in surprise, hitting his arm as he laughed, carrying her close to his chest and making her wrap her arms around his waist in fear of being dropped.

"Stiles!" She grouched, his rumbling laughter flaring her annoyance. "You're a bloody prick. I can walk, you know!" She protested. She slapped his chest again but, knowing it was futile, she quickly gave up, instead just resting her head there instead, mumbling little curse words into the young Stilinski's shirt.

"Your carriage, oh Ungrateful One." Stiles quipped as they reached Roscoe (though Hermione had begun calling the Jeep Diane in her head.) He set her down on the floor, grinning down at her significantly shorter self smugly. Hermione rolled her eyes, but thanked him and climbed inside anyway, shutting the door behind her and doing up the belt as Stiles did the same beside her.

The afternoon sunlight crested the tops of the trees that lined the back road; empty, except for the vehicle speeding along the long drive. A dusty sky blue; worn and aged and taped up more times than one could count, the second-hand Jeep tore down the streets, thrumming with the life of the engine and the life of the two teenagers inside; singing along to the old rock music that blared through the speakers.

"And I don't ever want to feeeel, like I did that day!" Sang a young man, drawing laughter from the girl beside him as the words fell from his lips in a loud, exaggerated tone.

"Take me to the place I looove, take me all the way!" The girl responded in kind; the two laughed even as they continued singing; being out on the open road was a catharsis that both desperately needed; they had not acted like teenagers in so long; responsibilities burdening themselves ever higher on the pair's back.

Their happiness did not last for long, however. It was the girl that noticed the figure speeding towards the Jeep and she shouted out.

"STILES LOOK OUT!"

The young man swerved suddenly, narrowly avoiding the figure as the Jeep screeched and squealed along the concrete road, black tyre marks painting the road as they spun several times before Stiles managed to stop the car; narrowly avoiding a crash into a nearby tree. Hearts pounding with shock and adrenalin, the pair stepped out of the vehicle, all traces of joy replaced with shock, confusion, and tension.

"What the hell was that, Hermione?" Stiles muttered, raking a hand through his hair. Tense, but slightly shaken. Hermione clasped Stiles' right hand in her left and squeezed it, her other hand preparing to unleash the small but powerful tool she kept concealed on her arm.

She could kill, if she needed to.

Hermione didn't get the chance to answer Stiles however, as the object shifted, around a hundred metres away from the pair. Grey and both scaly and leathery, it seemed to have a sticky sheen on its…four limbs and tail. The grey of the skin was mottled, wrapped around its bones like intestines stretched thin over sausage meat; almost translucent. Its tail seemed just as slimy; the same length as the rest of its body and indeed translucent; blood vessels and arteries visible. The four limbs were home to three long, black talons that mimicked the spikes on its head; it had no eyes, simply slits for a nose, and a huge, gaping mouth with a long forked tongue. Hermione and Stiles both noticed the greenish colour as it dripped with a yellow substance and wrapped itself around a row of long, razor sharp, curved teeth.

The beast let out a screeching wail; more snakelike in nature than human.

Surprisingly, Hermione had met several of these creatures before.

Hermione didn't necessarily want to tell Stiles her secret just yet; but, she supposed, she'd rather be alive to explain it than dead.

Just as she was about to release her weapon; for now, it was truly a weapon; a large roar echoed it's way behind her; birds scattered themselves into the air as the pair turned.

Hermione recognised nearly every single one of them.

Scott. Derek. Malia. Isaac. A blonde, who she didn't recognise, but must be okay enough if she was there. They were snarling, eyes glowing and claws for fingernails. Kira and Lydia were there too; Lydia's eyes wide but face resolute, the young banshee having sensed the death about to occur; and Kira, wielding a long sword and eyes glowing with a fiery orange.

Stiles sputtered slightly and turned to Hermione.

"There was something I was going to wait to tell you, but…" He trailed off, chewing his lip despite the nature of the situation. Hermione smiled.

"It's okay. I've been hiding something, too. Just don't freak out." She smiled, drawing a single bark of laughter from the Sherriff's son as she turned to the beast that had begun to slowly advance. The familiar warmth of her imbued wooden weapon flooded her body as she held it in her hands; pulsating and tangible as her magic seemed to be these days. Despite everybody else's warning she stepped away from Stiles and towards the beast.

She raised her wand, her peripheral vision going to the wide-eyed Stilinski, and she brushed off the warnings from the pack behind her.

"You've been a bad little pet, haven't you?" She spoke clearly. The beast stilled and cocked his head. "Your master has been a very bad boy you know; making you kill those people." She stepped forward again, her spare hand waving around her; ignoring the shocked shouts from those behind her as they found themselves unable to move forward any more.

"Then again, I doubt you know anything else. He did create you for killing. It's a shame. I don't want to have to kill you, you know." She spoke again, as if she were simply making polite conversation.

The creature itself didn't understand much. Not except for the word, "kill."

It screeched again, and lept forwards.

Not gonna lie; this was an absolutely atrocious chapter. My tenses and writing styles are all over the place with this one and I just can't seem to pin down a definitive style for this fic. I'm looking for a beta but I have no idea how to go about that so if anybody's interested in keeping me on track then let me know through pm.

Furthermore, whilst I never stated I would be a regular updater, I am so sorry for waiting so long to upload this. Truly. I have been going through a lot of shit at home and school and with exams and whilst those are just considered 'excuses' along with my seeming disappearing ability to write a coherent sentence (let alone a chapter,) I promise you, I've been working on this every spare moment I have. Please forgive me.

However, I do have a bit of a gripe.

I know everybody's like "it doesn't matter about the reviews! write for yourself!"

That's all well and good. But I enjoy writing for other people. I thrive off of feedback and of sharing my work with other people; if I didn't I wouldn't be writing this for FFNET, and I certainly wouldn't be here, basically begging for more reviews. I don't mind whether it's just an "I liked this chapter" or "please update", but the more you review the less shitty I feel and the more I write; even if you just write me an essay on everything wrong with this chapter. (CONSTRUCTIVELY, don't be an arse thanks.) Please, if you've ever posted a story to FFNET you know how important reviews and comments and private messages are to writers; even if we don't respond to them all or loose track of which reviewers we've messaged, we do read every single one of them.

Not reviewing is the equivalent of telling me I'm wasting my time; it's pointless and makes me want to not bother.

If you care about fanfiction; if you want new chapters; if you want know the stories created from some of the most brilliant minds I know, please, please, review the fanfictions you read, even if you don't enjoy it.

Until next time.