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For such an enormous place, rumors spread like wildfire at Hogwarts. Sometimes, most often actually, they’re mere whispers pushing through cracks in the thick stone walls, fluttering through long hallways and settling in front of the warm fires in the common rooms. Sometimes they’re a giant, unavoidable roar shattering the windows and leaving absolutely no one out of the loop. Which is how Stiles finds out that Derek Hale is a werewolf.
It’s all that people are talking about. It’s either You know that they have to chain him up every full moon, right? Which means they totally knew about this and put us all in danger or You know Kate used to date him? Well, she said that one time when they were, you know, he like, scratched her. Can you turn from a scratch? Either way, I don’t think we should sit with her anymore and even You know, Greenberg said that one time when he was out after dark, he totally met a werewolf that had murdered a rabbit. I bet that was Derek.
Ridiculous. Greenberg has never been out after dark.
Stiles finds Derek in his usual hideout, a secluded section of trees down by the lake. They’re mostly out there during spring, when the grass is green and the sunlight warm, but now it’s late January and the ground is buried in a thick cover of snow and the lake is frozen solid. Derek sits in the snow as if the chill doesn’t even bother him. Meanwhile Stiles feels as if his pink nose is seconds from falling off completely and he pulls his woollen hat further down over his ears.
“Do you realize it’s freezing? Because it’s totally freezing,” Stiles calls out as he trudges the last couple of feet through the snow.
Derek doesn’t even look at him, he just keeps on glaring out into nothing.
“You don’t even have a hat on, idiot,” Stiles grumbles and plops down next to him. “And I’m totally gonna get frostbite on my ass. And then it’s gonna turn blue and black and fall off. Who’s gonna love me then, huh? Buttless Stiles, that’s what they’ll call me.”
Derek sighs.
“Go away, Stiles.”
“Eh, no.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not? I’m always here. This is like, our place.”
“You know why.”
“Uhm, no, I really don’t.”
Derek sighs again. It’s his stop-being-difficult-Stiles sigh, but like, times a hundred.
There’s no way you haven’t heard.”
“Heard what?”
Derek looks heavenward, probably begging for strength. Stiles can’t help smiling.
“What they’re saying. That I’m dangerous. That I’m out of control, that I’m turning people, that I’m murdering rabbits.” Derek’s head drops between his knees. “That I’m a monster.”
“Well… are you?” Stiles wonders.
“Am I what?”
“A monster.”
Derek turns his head and finally looks at Stiles, a confused frown marring his face. It feels like an eternity before he speaks.
“No.”
“Then I don’t care what they say, it doesn’t mean shit,” Stiles replies matter of factly, raising his eyebrows as if daring Derek to argue.
Derek looks tempted for a couple of seconds. Stiles can only imagine the idiotic arguments Derek is concocting and disregarding as they stare at each other. Probably something along the lines of you’ll be an outcast if you hang around me or I’ll get you into trouble. Well, newsflash dipshit, Stiles is already an outcast and perfectly capable of getting himself into trouble, thank you very much. All of this Derek seems to be able to read through eye contact alone, because his shoulders drop in defeat.
“You’re a nuisance, you know that?” He asks, but he can’t fool Stiles. Nope, Stiles can totally see that little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“So I’ve been told,” Stiles answers with a nonchalant shrug. “Can we like, get out of the snow now? Before previously mentioned butt related frostbite becomes reality?”
“Sure. I can’t be seen hanging around Buttless Stiles, it’ll ruin my reputation.”
Stiles snorts with amusement as he clambers to his feet, reaching out a hand to help Derek off the ground.
“Yeah, we can’t have that.”
Derek gets this super intense look about him sometimes. When he’s not busy brooding or showing off, but actually gets serious. It has always made Stiles’ stomach turn into knots and he’s never been sure if it’s a good feeling or not. Derek looks at him like that now, as they’re standing close and Derek still hasn’t let go of Stiles’ hand.
“Thanks, Stiles,” he says softly.
Stiles remains on his feet through sheer power of will, even though his knees feel like giving out on him.
“Don’t mention it.”
Derek smiles then, small and private and only for Stiles to see. Stiles smiles in return. Derek drops his hand, but they walk close enough to bump shoulders all the way to the castle.