Stiles Knows Everything
Harry had thought he was the master of denial.
But Stiles Stilinski?
He was something else.
"You know you're pack now, right?" Stiles asked casually, tossing a Dorito into his mouth.
Harry, currently sitting on his porch in Peter's stupidly large hoodie, blinked. "Excuse me?"
Stiles gestured vaguely. "Pack. Family. Feral bodyguards. The whole thing."
Harry glared. "I don't do packs."
Stiles snorted. "Yeah, and I don't do sarcasm. Look where we are now."
Harry sighed, staring out at the woods. "It's not that simple."
Stiles hummed. "It is for them. And whether you want to admit it or not, it is for you too."
Harry clenched his jaw.
Because Stiles wasn't wrong.
But admitting it?
That was a whole different battle.
A Challenge, A Warning
Harry might have accepted the pack, but Scott?
Scott still hated him.
No one knew why.
Maybe it was the way the others had shifted around Harry without hesitation.
Maybe it was the way Peter—Peter, of all people—had softened for him, had chosen him.
Maybe it was jealousy.
Maybe it was something deeper.
Either way, it was a problem.
Because when Scott confronted him that evening, it wasn't just tension.
It was a challenge.
"You don't belong here," Scott said, voice tight, eyes flashing red.
Harry—who had survived Voldemort, who had faced down far worse—just tilted his head. "And yet, here I am."
Scott stepped closer. "They think you're pack."
Harry smirked. "I think you have a problem with that."
Scott growled, his wolf rising to the surface.
And Harry?
Harry let his magic rise to meet it.
It wasn't an attack.
It wasn't violence.
It was power.
Ancient. Deep. Unmatched.
It crackled in the air, pressing down like a living force, making Scott stagger.
Because Harry wasn't just powerful.
He was something else entirely.
Something Scott couldn't touch.
And when Harry finally spoke, his voice was calm.
"Challenge me again," he murmured, stepping close enough that Scott had no choice but to back away, "and I'll remind you why that's a very, very bad idea."
Scott clenched his fists.
But he said nothing.
Because in that moment, he realized—
Harry wasn't an outsider.
He wasn't weak.
And most importantly?
He wasn't someone Scott could push around.