The Unofficial Pack Meeting
Harry didn't go looking for them.
That was the first problem.
Because when someone is pack, when someone is theirs, they don't disappear.
And yet, Harry had managed to do just that.
For two days, no one saw him. No casual bump-ins at the coffee shop. No library trips where Lydia conveniently "happened" to be. No late-night grocery store visits where Stiles appeared with an unnecessary amount of junk food.
It was enough to set them on edge.
It was enough to set Peter on edge.
So, when the pack gathered at the loft that evening, the tension was thick.
"He's probably just hiding," Stiles said, but there was an unease in his voice. "You know, being Harry."
"He's avoiding us," Lydia corrected, flipping through one of her books without really reading it.
Malia huffed, arms crossed. "He does that a lot. It's annoying."
"He's hurt," Derek added, voice firm. "Scott got to him."
A growl rumbled through Peter's chest, low and quiet.
Scott, wisely, said nothing.
His position in the pack was already fractured after what he had done. He wasn't about to make it worse.
Peter finally spoke. "So. What are we going to do about it?"
Stiles shifted. "Maybe leave him alone? Give him space?"
Peter tilted his head. "And when, exactly, has that ever worked?"
Stiles sighed. "Yeah, okay, fair point."
Peter leaned back, eyes gleaming. "He can pretend all he wants, but the fact remains—he's ours."
There was no argument.
Because it was true.
Harry belonged to them, whether he accepted it yet or not.
And the pack?
The pack took care of their own.