NEW YEAR’S EVE, approximately 11:45 PM
“Derrrekkkk,” Stiles moans pitifully from the other side of the door. The door that Derek has locked and barricaded with every moveable piece of furniture in the dorm. “Derek, let me in, let me in please. I miss you. Derek.”
Derek grits his teeth and readjusts his earphones. This is torture. He’s never going to let Erica interfere in his love life ever again.
There’s a heavy thump, and then a skritch-skritch sound, like fingernails scratching at wood. Derek glances over at the door. There’s some shuffling, and then Stiles’ fingers appear in the gap under the door. “Derek? Derek, I need you.”
“You really, really don’t,” Derek groans, because when this wears off, Stiles is probably never going to want to see him again.
It definitely hasn’t worn off yet. In fact, it seems to be getting worse. It’s at times like this that Derek really wishes Hogwarts had telephones. But as it is, Erica is on a cruise somewhere off the coast of Greece, probably purposefully unavailable and unable to tell him how to fix this.
“Yessss,” Stiles croons, “Derek, say my name again, I love it when you say my name, your voice is my favorite, your everything is my favorite, open the door and let me see you, Derrrrrrek…” The sound of Stiles’ fingernails picks up again. “It’s almost midnight, I want to be your New Year’s kiss, Derek–”
Derek winces, imagining Stiles scraping his fingers raw against the door. “Alright, alright, I’ll let you in, just stop doing that.”
As soon as Derek gets the door open, though, Stiles’ head jerks up, eyes locking on Derek’s with manic intensity. “Derek,” he breathes, his face filling with elation.
ONE WEEK BEFORE CHRISTMAS
“Yo, earth to Derek,” Erica snaps, and Derek jolts guiltily away from watching Stiles work at the other end of the greenhouse. “Your Devil’s Snare is trying to eat you.”
Derek looks down, and sure enough, a few baby tendrils have already managed to wrap around three of his gloved fingers while he wasn’t paying attention. “Ugh.”
Erica waves her wand impatiently, and a flash of light has the vines retreating back into their pot.
Derek smiles at her sheepishly. “Thanks.”
Erica huffs. “You can thank me by actually asking Stiles out sometime this century. And then, if you’re really feeling grateful, you could let me watch—”
“Erica!” Derek can feel his whole face heating up. “We’re not— he’s doesn’t want— We’re just friends.”
“Okay, fine,” she holds up her hands, “don’t listen to me, continue to pine forever, spend the entirety of winter break being ‘just friends’ with him in a castle full of mistletoe, see if I care. But if, on the other hand, you actually want to be even a little proactive about this, I have a plan.”
Derek glances over at Stiles again. He’s got a smudge of dirt on his cheek and he’s laughing with Scott, carefully pulling the trailing end of his Slytherin scarf free of his Devil’s Snare. Derek feels something in his chest ache.
“Okay, okay,” he sighs, turning back to Erica, “I’m listening. As long as it’s more subtle than your last idea.”
“Hey, I still maintain that if you showed up in his dorm in nothing but your Tutshill Tornadoes boxer-briefs, he’d be thrilled, but whatever.” Erica peels off her gardening gloves and starts to rummage around in her knapsack.
“And I still think it’s disturbing that you know what kind of underwear I wear,” Derek retorts.
“There should be no boundaries between friends,” Erica says cheerfully, and straightens up holding a slender box in gaudy wrapping paper. “Ta-da. Your Christmas present for Stiles.”
“What’s in it?” Derek asks, narrowing his eyes. Knowing Erica, it could be a lot of things, none of which Derek ever wants Stiles to associate with him.
Erica rolls her eyes and shoves it at him. “God, you’re so suspicious. I swear I’m not trying to sabotage you here, okay? It’s just chocolate. Special chocolate, for a special someone. You always give him books for Christmas and it’s not romantic at all. The real way to Stiles’ heart is through his stomach.”
“Huh. That’s actually surprisingly insightful.”
Erica raises her eyebrows.
“I mean… Thanks.”
Erica snorts. “Don’t mention it. And move your hand, your plant’s climbing you again.”
NEW YEAR’S EVE, approximately 11 PM
“It’s almost midnight, Derek,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s ear. He’s standing closer to Derek than strictly friends, his fingers playing with the hem of Derek’s shirt. “Almost 2016. We should get out of here and celebrate.”
The way he says it, his voice… God. It’s different than Derek’s ever heard from him before, lower, rougher, full of the kind of intent Derek has only ever dreamed of. Not that Derek had ever seriously imagined before tonight that Stiles was even capable of being seductive. He’s usually all bad innuendos and knocking over Derek’s pumpkin juice at breakfast and rambling excitedly in the library about a weird book he’d sneaked out of the Restricted Section. Sure, he makes Derek’s pulse race all the time, stretching luxuriously after a long night of studying, biting his lip in concentration in Potions, play-flirting, throwing an arm casually over Derek’s shoulders on the long walk to the greenhouses for Herbology… But none of it’s ever been on purpose. He’s never looked at Derek across a room like he wanted to wreck him, never leaned into Derek’s space and fucking nuzzled his neck, never sounded like… like that.
“Yes—yeah,” Derek says, “yeah, definitely.” He pauses just long enough to breathe in the warm cinnamon-and-butterbeer smell of Stiles’ skin before he pulls back and lets Stiles lead him out of the party.
On the stairs, Stiles smiles and slips his hand into Derek’s, warm and a little sweaty and a lot thrilling. It’s surreal.
They’re almost to the Hufflepuff common room when Stiles suddenly stops, tugging on Derek’s hand, and whispers urgently, "Derek. DerekDerekDerek—”
Derek turns, “I’m standing right here, Stiles, you don’t have to—” and Stiles sways into his space and kisses him. Wet and sloppy and hands in Derek’s hair and god, Derek’s back hits the corridor wall and he arches, gasping into Stiles’ mouth, because where did that come from and also whoa.
Stiles makes a happy noise in the back of his throat and drags his lips across Derek’s jaw, gets Derek’s earlobe in his mouth and sucks.
“Ah, Stiles, what—” Derek squirms, shocked, but Stiles just hums and moves on to Derek’s neck next, nuzzling in enthusiastically, his faint stubble scraping sandpapery against Derek’s skin.
Derek tentatively rests his hands on Stiles’ skinny hips. This is starting to weird him out. Whenever Derek had imagined this moment, his first kiss, their first kiss—and he’d imagined it a lot, okay, like, pretty much every day for the past four years—it’d been slower, sweeter, and Stiles had babbled a lot more and been just as nervous as Derek and never quite this… aggressive. He certainly hadn’t been trying to climb up Derek’s torso and leave the monster of all hickeys under his jaw.
“Shouldn’t we, um, just, you know, slow down a bit—”
“Derek,” Stiles sighs. “I like you sooooo much, Derek.”
“Yep, yeah, I can tell,” Derek nods. He pushes hesitantly at Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles presses his nose firmly under Derek’s chin and doesn’t budge.
“Um,” Derek says. “Are you—okay? Stiles?”
“Derek,” Stiles agrees.
“Stiles, are you… are you drunk?” Derek asks, heart sinking. He hadn’t thought there’d been anything but butterbeer at the party, but maybe someone snuck something in. He pushes at Stiles harder, and finally Stiles shuffles back half a step, fisting a hand in the front of Derek’s shirt like an anchor, like if Derek really tried to push him away then Stiles is prepared to hang on for dear life.
Derek doesn’t bother trying to dislodge him. Stiles is flushed and panting and looking at Derek with a weird, blissed out smile, and yeah, okay, there is definitely something off about him, about this. Derek’s an idiot. Of course Stiles in his right mind wouldn’t jump Derek in the corridor, wouldn’t kiss him, wouldn’t… just wouldn’t. Stupid.
“Not drunk,” Stiles shakes his head. “I feel super. I’m in love with, with life, man. Life is beautiful. You’re beautiful. The beautifulest. And smartest, and most amazing generous perfect—”
“Okay,” Derek says quickly, “I get it—”
“I want you to get it. From me,” Stiles winks. It’s terrible. “Because you’re the best, Derek. You smile at me for no reason and you check my Potions homework and you gave me chocolates. For Christmas. I love chocolate.”
“Yeah, I know—” Wait. Derek thinks back to a week ago, to Derek sliding Erica’s package across the table to Stiles on Christmas morning without ever having actually examined the contents. The chocolates. Erica’s chocolates. Oh no. What if… She wouldn’t. Would she?
"And they were awesome chocolates,” Stiles goes on, oblivious. “Just like you’re awesome. I was saving them for a special occasion but then I was nervous before the party and I ate the whole box.”
No no no. “The… whole box? All of them, every single one?”
Stiles just beams at Derek, eyes shining with adoration, and face-plants into Derek’s chest.
NEW YEAR’S DAY
Derek slumps down at the Hufflepuff table and plucks morosely at his scarf, which he’s knotted uncomfortably tight around his neck so no one will ask him about the hickeys. He’s not really hungry—kind of queasy, in fact—and the Great Hall is dim and grey this morning, the ceiling covered in storm clouds, but he figured he should be somewhere else when Stiles woke up this morning. Especially given that he’d had to hold Stiles down last night and tie his wrists and ankles together with neckties to keep him from throwing himself into Derek’s lap. He hadn’t dared untie him until Stiles had finally fallen asleep in Derek’s bed around one in the morning, his voice hoarse from waxing poetic nonstop about Derek’s everything. It was without a doubt the longest hour of Derek’s life, and hardly a fortuitous start to the new year.
And now he’s sitting at breakfast, poking halfheartedly at a grapefruit and recalling every mortifying detail, no one to distract him from it because all his friends except Stiles went home for the break and it’s not like Stiles is ever going to want to sit with him again, or be his partner in Potions anymore, or go to Quidditch games with him, or tell Derek any more lame Muggle pop culture jokes, or… or…
“Ugh, I have the mother of all hangovers,” Stiles groans, dropping down beside Derek and reaching for the orange juice pitcher.
Derek stares. Stiles is still wearing last night’s tight t-shirt and jeans, his hair a bird’s nest mess and his lips a little chapped. Derek can’t help but flash back to last night, to Stiles kissing him open-mouthed and toe-curlingly good in the corridor before Derek realized anything was wrong. If only there were a spell that would let him stop his memory at that exact, perfect moment and erase everything else.
“I’ve never had a hangover before, have you?” Stiles goes on hoarsely, pouring himself some juice and not meeting Derek’s eye. “I have no idea what to do, except I think I read somewhere that you’re supposed to eat something junk-food-ish, like fried eggs or a hamburger or something? I feel like that’s pretty impossible right now. I might throw up, and not just from the memory of every horrifically embarrassing thing I did last night.”
“You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Derek says.
Stiles laughs a little bitterly, takes a dainty sip of his orange juice, winces. “Are we even remembering the same night? Because as best as I can recall, I got stupidly drunk on butterbeer, which is embarrassing enough on its own because it has a ridiculously low alcohol content in the first place, and then I lost all self-control and tried to make out with you while you tried to get away from me. So yeah, I can’t imagine what I would have to be embarrassed about.”
Fuck, Stiles doesn’t even know. Which explains why Stiles is voluntarily having breakfast with him, but it also means Derek is going to have to tell him. “Listen, Stiles, it wasn’t you, okay? It was my fault.”
“Oh my god, Derek,” Stiles says, exasperated.
Derek cuts in before Stiles can start lecturing him on victim-blaming. “I gave you love potion chocolates for Christmas.” He closes his eyes, not ready to see the look of betrayal on Stiles’ face.
There’s a long silence, and finally Stiles says, very quietly, “A, a love potion? But… why would you…?”
Derek sighs and rests his forehead on the table. “I was so stupid. Erica said she’d gotten a Christmas gift for me to give you, and I didn’t even question it, I never even saw it under the wrapping paper, I just passed it on to you.”
“Wait, so you didn’t even give me a Christmas present? It was all Erica?”
Crap, this is getting worse the longer Derek talks. “No, I mean, technically yes, but–look, I just wanted it to be something good, okay? I’d always gotten you dumb books before—”
“Hey, I love your books, you always pick out interesting shit, like the thestral facts, I love thestrals—”
“—and she said you would like it more, that it would be more”—he can’t bring himself to say romantic—“um, better.”
Stiles doesn’t say anything, so finally Derek raises his head and dares a glance. Stiles is looking down, picking absently at his thumbnail, more self-contained than Derek’s ever seen him.
“So last night,” Stiles says carefully, “that was Erica’s idea of a funny prank, is that it? Like, ‘haha, let’s all make fun of Stiles and his pathetic crush’?”
“No, of course not,” Derek says, appalled, before he processes the rest of Stiles’ sentence. “Wha— Your crush? On me? Really?”
“Oh my god.” Stiles’ whole face is turning brilliant red. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know it makes you uncomf—”
“You kissing me was the best moment of my life,” Derek blurts. “Until I realized you were drugged.”
Stiles freezes, mouth hanging open, while his brain seems to be rebooting. And then he’s smiling, absolutely radiant, and scooching closer to Derek on the bench. “Best moment of your life, huh? I always did suspect I’d be a good kisser.”
“Wait, are you saying that was your first kiss?” It’s hard to believe, with the way Stiles looks, his quirky charm.
“Yeah,” Stiles shrugs like it’s no big deal, lets his eyes drift down to Derek’s mouth, “and I kind of want to try it again. Right now. As long as you promise to never let Erica pick out gifts for you again.”
“Done,” Derek breathes, and just like that, Stiles is cupping his cheek and leaning in.
Several people over at the Gryffindor table wolf-whistle, but Stiles ignores them, just grins against Derek’s mouth and kisses him harder. It’s the best start to a new year Derek could’ve hoped for.