M/M

Fandoms:

Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling teen Wolf (TV)

Relationship:

Peter Hale/Harry Potter

Characters:

Derek Hale

Teddy Lupin

Stiles Stilinski

Sheriff Stilinski (Teen Wolf)

Peter Hale

Additional Tags:

Adoption werewolf Mates

Mpreg | Male Pregnancy

found Family

Moving

Blood and Pack

Chapter 1

Harry Potter stood in front of the modest two-story house in Beacon Hills, California, six-year-old Teddy clinging to his hand. The boy's hair flickered from brown to anxious blue as he stared at their new home.

"It's perfect," Harry murmured, more to himself than Teddy. Far from England. Far from the Ministry's pitying looks and the weight of being the Boy-Who-Lived, the Man-Who-Won, the Orphan-Who-Raised-An-Orphan.

At twenty-six, Harry was tired. Bone-deep, soul-tired in a way that three years of peace hadn't touched. The war had ended when he was twenty-three, and he'd spent the last three years trying to be enough for Teddy—enough parent, enough guardian, enough family for a boy who'd lost everyone else.

The blood adoption ritual had been his gift to Teddy on his fifth birthday. *You're mine in magic and blood now. Forever.* The connection sang between them, deeper than guardianship, stronger than mere love.

"Can I pick my room, Papa?" Teddy's hair shifted to hopeful green.

"Of course, cub." Harry squeezed his hand. "Go explore."

Teddy darted inside, and Harry let himself breathe. California. Beacon Hills. A town small enough for peace, large enough for anonymity. No one here knew about magic, about wars, about the weight of prophecies.

He had no idea he'd chosen the one town in America where the supernatural ran as deep as magic.

Chapter 2

Peter Hale had been watching the new arrivals for three days from his wheelchair, his scarred hands trembling with more than just nerve damage.

The man—Harry, he'd learned from eavesdropping—smelled *wrong*. Not bad. Wrong. Like ozone and old parchment and something other that made Peter's damaged wolf instincts perk up with interest. And the child... the boy smelled like *wolf* but not quite. His scent shifted the way his appearance did—hair changing colors, features morphing when he felt safe enough to play.

Peter had spent six years in agony, trapped in a body that wouldn't heal, plotting his revenge against Kate Argent and everyone who'd let his family burn. He'd finally found the way—kill Laura, take the Alpha spark, heal himself.

He was so close. Just a few more weeks of planning.

Then the man and boy had moved in two streets over, and Peter's wolf had gone *quiet* for the first time in six years. Not calm. Watchful. *Interested.*

He wheeled himself closer to the park where Harry sat on a bench, exhaustion evident in every line of his body while Teddy played. Close enough to hear:

"Papa, watch!" Teddy's hair flashed rainbow colors.

Harry smiled, soft and genuine. "Beautiful, cub. Just remember—"

"Only at home or in safe places. I know." The boy's hair settled to brown. "But this park is safe, right?"

"For now." Harry's hand twitched toward his pocket—toward a stick? A wand?—before settling. His eyes swept the area with the paranoia of someone who'd survived things that left scars.

Their eyes met. Green—impossibly, luminous green—locking with Peter's blue.

The *pull* hit Peter like a freight train. Recognition. Want. *Mine.*

No. Impossible. He was a broken, burned thing on the edge of murder and revenge. He didn't get *mates*. That died with his family.

Harry's expression shifted to polite wariness. "Can I help you?"

"Just enjoying the park." Peter's voice came out rough from disuse. "Your son is... remarkable."

Protective instinct flashed across Harry's face. "Thank you."

The dismissal was clear. Peter wheeled away, his mind racing.

A mate. After everything. *Now?*

He'd have to accelerate his plans.

Chapter 3

Three weeks later, Peter Hale rose from Laura's body, power flooding through him, skin smooth and whole for the first time in six years. The Alpha spark settled into his chest like a burning coal.

His first thought: *Revenge.*

His second: *Harry.*

The mate bond pulled at him, demanding he go to his mate, claim him, protect him. Peter fought it down through sheer will. He had a resurrection to complete, a Kate Argent to kill, justice to claim.

But his wolf kept circling back. *Mate. Child who smells like wolf. Ours. Protect.*

Peter compromised. He'd watch from a distance. Make sure they were safe while he handled his bloody business.

Derek Hale stumbled into Beacon Hills half-feral with grief. Laura was dead. Peter was *alive* and had killed her. Everything Derek thought he knew had shattered.

He found himself wandering, unable to settle, the empty place where his Alpha bond had been aching like a phantom limb. His wolf whined constantly, lost and pack-less and *broken*.

Then he caught a scent. Magic—like the spark witches and emissaries carried but *stronger*—and something that called to the lost, hurt parts of him. *Safe. Pack. Home.*

Derek followed it to a house with wards he could feel prickling against his skin. Protective, not aggressive. Welcoming to those who meant no harm.

He watched from the shadows as the dark-haired man—Harry—gardened with a small boy "helping" by making the flowers change colors to match his hair. Their laughter carried on the evening breeze.

Derek's wolf settled for the first time since Laura's death. *Safe.*

He didn't mean to approach. Didn't mean to be *seen*. But Teddy looked up, tilted his head, and waved.

"Papa! There's a sad wolf man watching us!"

Harry's head snapped up, wand in hand instantly, eyes blazing—then stopping as he took in Derek. Recognition flickered. "You were at the preserve. Three days ago."

Derek had been hunting Peter. "I didn't mean to intrude."

"But you keep coming back." Harry studied him with unsettling perception. "You're hurt. Lost."

"My sister died." The words escaped before Derek could stop them.

Something shifted in Harry's expression. Understanding. Grief that matched Derek's own. "Come inside. Let me make you tea."

Derek should have said no. Should have left. Instead, he found himself sitting at Harry's kitchen table, accepting a cup of strong tea, while Teddy chattered about his day and Harry listened with patient attention.

"You can come back," Harry said quietly as Derek prepared to leave. "If you need to."

Derek did. Again and again, until Harry's couch became more home than the loft he was renting.

Chapter 4

Stiles Stilinski had been investigating the weird murders around Beacon Hills—because *of course* he had—when his research led him to Derek Hale.

Following Derek led him to Harry Potter's house.

Walking up to knock on the door led to his entire worldview exploding.

Because when Harry opened the door, Stiles' nascent, untrained, *hidden* magic *recognized* its own kind. The spark he'd been suppressing his whole life surged, and Stiles gasped as the air around him shimmered.

Harry's eyes widened. "*You're magical.*"

"I'm *what?*"

Harry pulled him inside quickly, warded the door, and turned to Stiles with an expression caught between exasperation and resignation. "How long have strange things happened around you? Things you couldn't explain?"

"My whole life?" Stiles' hands flailed. "Wait, magic is *real?* Like, real-real? Not just werewolves?"

"*Werewolves?*" Harry's expression went carefully blank.

Derek emerged from the kitchen. "He knows."

"You're a *werewolf?*" Stiles rounded on Derek. "And you—" back to Harry, "—you're a *wizard?* Does my dad know? Does *anyone* know? Why didn't anyone *tell* me I could do magic?"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that would become very familiar. "I think you'd better sit down."

Six hours later, Stiles had filled seventeen pages of notes, confirmed that yes, he was a wizard (untrained, wild magic, dangerously powerful if left unchecked), and accidentally set Harry's couch on fire twice.

"Can you teach me?" Stiles asked, eyes bright with desperate hope. "Please? I've been weird my whole life and this actually *explains* things and I want to *learn*—"

"Yes." Harry cut off the ramble gently. "Yes, I'll teach you. But Stiles—" he waited until the teen met his eyes, "—your father needs to know."

That conversation with Sheriff Stilinski went... surprisingly well. After the initial shock and the mandatory freak-out, Noah simply looked at his son and said, "This explains so much about your childhood."

Noah started coming around too. Just checking in. Making sure the boys were okay. Becoming something like family.

Chapter 5

Peter waited exactly two weeks after his resurrection before approaching Harry directly. Time enough to settle his scores with Kate (dead and buried). Time enough to ensure his control over the Alpha spark. Time enough to *plan.*

Because Harry Potter was his *mate*, and Peter wanted him with a desperation that bordered on madness. But Harry was also powerful, protective, and had seen Peter as a broken man in a wheelchair. Now Peter needed to prove he could be more than a monster.

He started small.

A casual meeting at the grocery store: "Harry. You're looking well. Is Teddy enjoying his new school?"

Information left at the house about supernatural threats in the area: "Thought you should know. Your wards are good, but this might help."

Appearing when a feral omega wandered too close to Harry's property: "I've handled it. You and yours are safe."

Each interaction carefully calculated. Respectful distance. Useful but not overbearing. Charming when appropriate, serious when needed.

Derek watched with dawning horror. "He's *courting* you."

Harry, who'd been researching the werewolf that kept showing up with helpful information and magnetic eyes, looked up sharply. "What?"

"Peter. My uncle. The one who killed Laura." Derek's voice was tight. "He's courting you."

The bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach. "The Peter who... you said he was *dead*."

"He got better. By killing my sister for her Alpha spark." Derek's eyes flashed blue. "And now he's—Harry, you need to stay away from him."

But Harry couldn't. Because despite knowing Peter was dangerous, despite knowing what he'd done, Harry felt *drawn* to him. The pull was magnetic, unavoidable, *wrong* in how right it felt.

Peter's courtship intensified.

He showed up when Harry was struggling with Teddy's bedtime after a long day: "Let me. You look exhausted."

He brought coffee that was exactly how Harry liked it: "Thought you could use this."

He engaged Teddy in conversations about metamorphmagus abilities with genuine fascination: "Remarkable. Can you hold a form while sleeping?"

He was there when Stiles' magic got out of control during practice: "Breathe. Ground yourself. You're not in danger."

He never pushed. Never demanded. Just... *present*. Useful. Undeniably attractive in ways that made Harry furious with himself.

"I know what you did," Harry finally confronted him one evening. "To Laura."

Peter didn't flinch. "Yes."

"And you're just going to admit it?"

"Would you prefer I lied to you?" Peter stepped closer, careful not to crowd. "I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not, Harry. I've done terrible things. I'll probably do terrible things again. But I will *never* lie to you."

"Why?" Harry's magic sparked around his fingers. "Why are you doing this?"

Peter's eyes were burning blue. "Because you're *mine*. And I'm yours. And I think you feel it too, even if you don't understand it yet."

Then he left, leaving Harry's heart pounding and his mind racing.

Chapter 6

Harry threw himself into research with Stiles' enthusiastic help. Werewolves. Pack bonds. Mate bonds.

"Oh shit," Stiles breathed, staring at a passage in an ancient text. "Harry. *Harry.* Look at this."

The section on true mates made Harry's blood run cold. The pull. The recognition. The *inevitability* of it.

"That's why," Harry whispered. "That's why I can't stop thinking about him. Why every instinct says to trust him even though I *know* better."

"It's not just attraction," Stiles read. "It's fate. Biology. Magic. He probably knew the moment he met you."

The betrayal hit like a physical blow. Peter had *known*. This entire time, he'd known Harry was essentially magically bound to want him, and he'd said *nothing.*

Derek found Harry pacing the living room at midnight, magic crackling dangerously. "What happened?"

"Mate bond. With Peter. He knew and he didn't tell me." Harry's laugh was bitter. "Just like everyone else. Dumbledore manipulating me for the greater good. The Ministry deciding what I should do with my life. And now the *universe* deciding I'm meant for a man who murdered his own niece.

"Harry—"

"I'm done." Harry's magic flared bright enough to make Derek step back. "I'm *done* with people making choices for me."

Chapter 7

Harry found Peter at the rebuilt Hale house, alone in what had once been the living room.

"You knew." Not a question. A condemnation.

Peter turned slowly. "Yes."

"How long?"

"The first time I saw you. In the park."

Harry's magic shattered a window. "And you said *nothing*. You let me think—let me wonder why I felt—you *bastard*."

"What would you have done if I'd told you?" Peter's voice was level. "Would you have believed me? Or would you have run?"

"That wasn't your choice to make!"

"No. It was yours. It always was." Peter moved closer, stopping just outside Harry's personal space. "I wanted you to choose me. Not because of a bond you didn't ask for, but because of *me*. Who I am. What I can be for you."

"You killed Laura."

"Yes."

"You manipulated me."

"No." Peter's eyes flashed Alpha red. "I courted you. I was *honest* with you about everything except the bond. Would you rather I had claimed you immediately? Demanded you accept me because fate said so? I gave you *choice*, Harry."

"By taking away my ability to make an informed decision!"

"I gave you time to know me without the bond clouding your judgment!" Peter's control cracked. "To see if you could want me without magic forcing it. To *choose* me freely."

"Nothing about this is free!" Harry's voice broke. "I don't know if what I feel is real or just—just *biology*—"

"The bond doesn't create feelings." Peter's voice softened. "It recognizes compatibility. Souls that complement each other. You would have been attracted to me without it. The bond just makes it impossible to ignore."

Harry's magic flickered and died. "I can't trust what I feel."

"Then don't." Peter held his gaze. "Trust what you *see*. Have I ever harmed you? Have I threatened your family? Have I been anything but honest about my intentions?"

"You killed your own family member."

"I killed the Alpha who abandoned me to burn." Peter's voice went cold. "Laura left Beacon Hills after the fire. She knew I was alive and she *left*. She came back for her power, not for me. I took what should have been mine in the first place."

It was monstrous. It was understandable. It made Harry sick and made his heart ache in equal measure.

"I need time," Harry whispered.

"Take it." Peter stepped back. "I'm not going anywhere. And Harry? The bond goes both ways. I'm just as bound to you as you are to me."

Chapter 8

Harry spent three weeks avoiding Peter while his carefully constructed life continued. Teddy went to school. Stiles learned magic. Derek healed slowly on his couch. The Sheriff stopped by for coffee.

But Harry was exhausted. More exhausted than he could ever remember being. Everything hurt—his magic, his heart, his soul. The bond *ached* with separation, and Harry finally understood what Peter meant about it going both ways.

Peter looked haggard the next time Harry saw him. Thinner. Shadows under his eyes. The Alpha spark burning too bright, like he was barely holding himself together.

"You look terrible," Harry said.

"So do you." Peter's smile was strained. "The bond doesn't like separation."

"I'm tired, Peter." Harry sank onto the porch step. "I'm so tired of fighting. Of carrying everything alone. Of being strong."

Peter sat beside him carefully. "You don't have to be. Not anymore."

"Everyone I've ever trusted has used me. Dumbledore. The Ministry. Even my friends sometimes, though they meant well." Harry's voice cracked. "How do I know you won't?"

"You don't." Peter's honesty was brutal. "I can't promise I'll never hurt you. I can't promise I'm not selfish or manipulative or dangerous. I can only promise that you're *mine*, and I protect what's mine with everything I have."

"I want family," Harry whispered. "I want to be *chosen*. Not because of a prophecy or a bond or destiny, but because someone *wants* me."

"I want you." Peter's voice was raw. "Bond or no bond, I would still want you. Your strength. Your compassion. The way you've built a family from strays and broken things. The way you love Teddy. The way you see people—really *see* them."

Harry turned to look at him. "I can carry children. The carrier gene. Did you know?"

Peter's breath caught. "No."

"I could give you back what you lost. A pack. A family. Children." Harry held his gaze. "Is that what you want from me?"

"I want *everything*." Peter's hand came up to cup Harry's jaw. "I want you whole and happy and *safe*. I want to wake up next to you. I want to raise Teddy with you. I want children if you want them, pack when you're ready, a future I thought died six years ago. I want to be the one who catches you when you fall and carries what you can't. I'm selfish and possessive and I will never deserve you, but I want you anyway."

The bond sang between them, *yes yes yes*.

"I'm accepting the bond." Harry's voice was steady. "But I have conditions."

"Anything."

"No more secrets. Complete honesty, even when it hurts."

"Yes."

"You don't get to make decisions for me or about me without my input."

"Agreed."

"Teddy, Derek, Stiles—they're pack now. You protect them like you'd protect me."

"They already are." Peter's thumb brushed Harry's cheekbone. "Anyone under your protection is under mine."

"And if you ever betray that trust—" Harry's magic flared, "—I will end you. I've killed a Dark Lord. Don't think I won't kill an Alpha."

Peter's smile was fierce and proud. "I'd expect nothing less."

Harry kissed him. It was... everything. Right in a way nothing had felt right in years. The bond settled into place with an almost audible *click*, and Harry felt the last of his resistance crumble.

"I've got you," Peter murmured against his lips. "Let go. I've got you."

And for the first time in his life, Harry did.