Hiraeth || Hope Mikaelson (Teen Wolf)

Chapter 6: Werewitch

Scott connected the pen drive to the laptop, his brow furrowed as the files began to load. Hope stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching with mild curiosity. So the bestiary wasn't an old leather-bound book, like she'd expected, but a collection of digital files stored on a pen drive.

"Is that even a language?" Stiles groaned, leaning closer to the screen as Scott scrolled through pages of archaic text.

"How are we supposed to figure out what that thing is?!" Scott exclaimed, his frustration palpable.

"It's called a kanima," Hope and Derek said in unison.

All heads turned to Hope, who was leaning casually against the car, arms still crossed, a slight smirk on her lips.

Scott narrowed his eyes at her, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "How do you know that?"

Hope let out a long sigh and straightened up, her expression cooling. "That look, Scott. I don't like that look on your face," she said sharply. "I'm trying to help you—be nice even—and here you are, already suspicious. It's written right there. And yes, I know archaic Latin. You're welcome."

Her tone was sharp, and the moment hung heavy in the air. Stiles blinked at her, clearly caught off guard, while Derek's expression darkened further, if that was even possible.

Before anyone could respond, Hope turned to leave, muttering under her breath, "I don't have time for this high school drama."

But before she could take a step, Derek grabbed her wrist. The audacity.

"Who and what are you?" he demanded, his tone low and threatening. His piercing gaze locked onto hers, but Hope's lips curled into an innocent smile.

"Oh, Derek," she said sweetly. "You're cute when you're trying to intimidate me."

His grip tightened slightly. "Answer the question."

"Fine," Hope said, raising her free hand. A crackling ball of glowing energy formed in her palm, casting an eerie light over Derek's face. Everyone stared in stunned silence.

"I'm your mom," she said with mock sincerity. And with a flick of her wrist, the ball of energy exploded outward. Derek and Erica were sent flying back into the dirt with a not-so-gentle thud.

"Oops," she said flatly, brushing her hands together. "Looks like I need to work on my aim."

Stiles stood frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. "Did you just—?"

"Yes, Stiles. I just threw Derek Hale and his minion like they were rag dolls," Hope interrupted, turning to him with an exaggerated sigh. "And I'll do it again if he tries to manhandle me. So, maybe keep him in check, yeah?"

She started walking away again but stopped mid-stride, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

She didn't know why she had snapped. Maybe it was the exhaustion of constantly proving herself, or the bottled-up frustration of being treated like an outsider. Maybe it was the unshakable weight of being from another time, trying to navigate a world that didn't quite make sense to her anymore.

Or maybe it was just Derek's face. Yeah, that was probably it.

She exhaled deeply and turned back, her voice softer now. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been rude. But for the record, a little trust goes a long way, okay?"

Without waiting for a response, she walked off, leaving the pack in varying states of confusion, amazement, and mild fear.

______________

Hope made her way back to Lydia's house, her steps slower than usual. The day had drained her, and all she wanted was to crash on the couch and forget the lingering frustration from her earlier encounter. When she reached Lydia's door, she barely raised her hand to knock before the door swung open.

Lydia stood there, her sharp eyes immediately assessing Hope. "Wow, you look like someone stole your coffee order."

Hope blinked, startled. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You've got that weird broody thing going on. It doesn't suit you," Lydia quipped, stepping aside to let Hope in.

"Gee, thanks for the analysis, Sherlock," Hope muttered, walking inside and kicking off her boots.

Lydia shut the door and crossed her arms, blocking Hope's path. "Okay, spill. What happened? And don't say 'nothing.' I can tell when you're lying. And not to forget the bomb you exploded and left abruptly."

Hope sighed heavily, dropping onto the couch. "I don't know. People are just... exhausting. You try to help, and all they do is question you. Like, why ask for my help if you're not going to trust me?"

Lydia perched on the arm of the couch, studying Hope with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Sounds like you're dealing with some seriously insecure people. Who are these people, anyway?"

Hope hesitated. She couldn't explain too much without exposing things that weren't hers to reveal. But she could at least give Lydia some insight into her own oddities—especially since Lydia deserved answers about her own strange experiences.

"Let's just say I've been helping some friends deal with... unusual problems," Hope said carefully.

Lydia's brow furrowed. "Unusual? Like what?"

Hope met her gaze, deciding to take the leap. "Okay, so you know how things have been kind of weird lately? Like, really weird?"

"You mean the part where I keep hearing things that aren't there and having visions that make no sense? Yeah, I've noticed," Lydia replied dryly.

Hope leaned forward, her tone soft but serious. "Lydia, you're not losing your mind. What's happening to you is real. It's... supernatural."

Lydia froze, her confident facade faltering. "Supernatural? Like... what, ghosts?"

"Not exactly. I think you might be something called a banshee," Hope explained, keeping her voice calm.

Lydia blinked. "A banshee? Like the screaming lady from horror stories?"

Hope smiled faintly. "Kind of, but it's more than that. Banshees are like messengers—they can sense death and danger, sometimes even predict it. It's why you've been hearing things and having visions. It's not your mind playing tricks on you—it's a gift."

Lydia stared at her hands, a mixture of fear and disbelief flickering across her face. "A gift? It feels more like a curse."

Hope reached over, placing a reassuring hand on Lydia's. "I get it. Believe me, I do. When I first realized I had powers, I felt the same way. I'm not just some regular girl, Lydia. I'm what you'd call a werewitch—part witch, part werewolf." Hope didn't wanted to tell her about her vampire abilities, at least not yet.

Lydia's head shot up, her eyes wide. "You're a what?"

"A werewitch," Hope repeated, chuckling at Lydia's expression. "It's complicated, but the point is, we're not defined by what we are. It's what we do with it that matters."

Lydia looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. "So, what? You're saying I need to embrace this... banshee thing?"

Hope grinned. "Not all at once. Baby steps. We'll figure it out together."

Lydia shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

"Only on my good days," Hope quipped.

Noticing the lingering tension in Hope's posture, Lydia stood abruptly. "Wait here."

Before Hope could ask what she was doing, Lydia returned with a pint of ice cream and two spoons. She dropped onto the couch beside Hope and handed her a spoon.

"Here. I don't know what drama you just went through, but ice cream fixes everything," Lydia declared.

Hope couldn't help but laugh. "Lydia Martin, are you actually trying to cheer me up?"

"Obviously. You're not allowed to mope in my house," Lydia replied, digging into the ice cream.

"You're not going to ask for proofs?" Hope asked raising her eyebrows, "I believe you." Lydia said nonchalantly not knowing that it meant a lot to Hope.

Hope smiled, taking a bite. For the first time that day, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.

__________

It was late, the kind of quiet that only settled over Mystic Falls when the supernatural forces paused for a moment. Hope sat cross-legged on her bed in Lydia's guest room, absentmindedly flipping through an old book she'd borrowed from the library. The pages were filled with ancient lore, things she already knew but read again to distract herself.

A soft creak broke the silence, and her eyes snapped toward the window. Before she could react, Derek Hale stepped inside, his expression as stormy as ever.

"Seriously?" Hope said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. "Does no one in this town use a front door?"

Derek ignored the quip, his piercing eyes fixed on her. "We need to talk."

"About?" Hope replied, shutting the book and leaning back against her pillows, feigning nonchalance.

"You," he said, stepping further into the room.

"Wow, cryptic as always," Hope muttered, crossing her arms. "You're going to have to narrow that down, Hale."

Derek's jaw tightened. "What are you?"

"Straight to the point, huh?" she said with a humorless laugh.

"Stop deflecting," Derek snapped. "You have powers—more than just being a witch. And whatever you did earlier, it wasn't normal."

Hope rolled her eyes. "Define 'normal' in this town, Derek. Honestly, you're all a little behind if this is just dawning on you."

"Cut the act," Derek growled, his tone sharper now. "You blasted me and Erica across the parking lot like it was nothing. You're not just a witch, and you're not just human. So what are you?"

Hope stood, finally meeting him at eye level, though his taller frame still loomed over her. "What I am isn't your business."

"It is if you're a threat," Derek countered, his voice low and dangerous.

Hope's gaze darkened, her sharp wit giving way to something more serious. "If I were a threat, Derek, you wouldn't still be standing here."

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

"I'm here to help," Hope continued, her voice steady. "Not to hurt. But if you keep barging into my space and accusing me of things, we're going to have a problem."

Derek stared at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Fine," he said finally, his voice softer but still guarded. "But if you're hiding something, it'll come out. It always does."

Hope smirked, leaning against her desk. "I don't hide, Derek. I just don't hand over all my secrets to brooding werewolves who think intimidation is a personality."

His lips twitched—was that almost a smile? No, impossible. Without another word, Derek turned and climbed back out the window, disappearing into the night as quickly as he'd arrived.

Hope exhaled, letting the tension leave her shoulders. "What is it with men and windows?" she muttered to herself, shaking her head before settling back into her bed.

Whatever Derek thought of her, it didn't matter. She had bigger problems to deal with, and she wasn't about to let him distract her from what was coming.