Steter Crack
Peter was a Herbology teacher at Hogwarts and Stiles had just taken up a temp job. Filling in for when: teachers get turned to dust, obliviated, blown up, revealed to be a malevolent imposters (even though the castle has super wards and protective magic?âŠ), carried off by centaurs never to be seen again, you know standard magic school stuff.
Stiles slapped his cheeks and bounced up and down on the balls of feet, trying to psych himself up to face the notorious âBig Bad Wolfâ. That week he was filling in for the 3rd year potions teacher, whose skin had literally been melted off, and needed to secure some fresh ingredients for the next days practical class. The big bad wolf in question was one Professor Peter Hale, Head of the Herbology department and by all accounts a BAMF. Stiles had initially been sceptical, as in his experience, herbology specialists were generally mellow folks who spent their free time sampling the greenery and eating too many cauldron cakes. His scepticism was broken by numerous firsthand experiences from fellow teachers and students.
âPeter Hale is flawless.â
âI heard he has 2 Order of Merlins and a solid gold Firebolt.â
âHis chest hair is insured for 10,000 Galleons.â
âI hear he does broom commercials.. In Japan.â
âI heard he was a hit wizard for the ministry but he was too good at his job so they retired him.â
âOne time, he met Gwenog Jones and she told him he was pretty.â
âOne time, he punched me in the face. It was awesome.â
Stiles shook those thoughts from his head and strode purposefully through one of the outer courtyards, to the detached building that served as Professor Hales office/ greenhouse/ strictly off limits to students unless you want to be eaten by malicious plants, or, eaten by the sharp toothed professor himself.
He found the outer door open so forewent the courtesy of knocking. His curiosity had not killed him yet  so naturally he poked around the office instead of politely waiting for Hale to return. The office (if you could call it that) was light and airy, especially when compared to the dank cold stone office in which he himself resided. The walls were lined mainly with bookshelves; housing interesting artefacts, plants and thousands of texts. Looking up he saw an open mezzanine level which was dedicated to a number of plants bathing in the light offered by the skylight which seemed to dominate this and the next room that was partially visible to him through the foliage. Some of his nervousness was put at ease by the comforting atmosphere. That would be his excuse in any case for approaching one of the plants and all but shoving his face in it to get a sniff at the unusual scent.
He was promptly yanked backwards and a smooth voice resonated in his ear.
âThere are better avenues to satisfy your masochistic desires than having your face torn off by a carnivorous plant.â
Stiles, not known for his grace, shrieked and flailed wildly. The man who stood behind him smirked as he dodged an offending limb.
Stiles clutched at his chest. âDude wear a bell and ..oh my god, could that plant literally have torn off my face..?!â He started pinching at his cheeks as if to assure himself that they were intact.
Professor Hale visibly flinched at being called âdude, his amusement faded from his face to be replaced by a sneer. He crossed his arms and waited expectantly.
Stiles came to his senses. âOh, ah, right. Iâm Stiles, Iâm taking Potions until Blaiseâs skin grows back, but you know how vain he is so that could be a while, like honestly have you seen the potions in his daily routine?â
Hale stuck out a hand impatiently in the middle of Stiles blathering. The younger man had only just been able to stop himself from reaching out to jovially shake it, realizing just in time that the outstretched hand was waiting on the list Stiles held.
âAh right.â He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly as he handed over the parchment. âHereâs the list of ingredients I was told Iâd need for tomorrows class.â
The sneer Hale held sharpened and he raised an eyebrow mockingly. âTeaching potions and you canât even correctly identify chamomile over something that could eat you face? Tsk tsk.â
âHuh?! Chamomile?!!â
Ignoring Stiles comedic double taking, the Herbology professor hmmed thoughtfully over the list he held.
âIt will take a while to get the correct measurements. Youâre welcome to wait here provided you donât attempt to touch anything else.â
 Stiles pouted as he briefly met the mans gaze over the parchment, promptly shifting his gaze elsewhere.
â And Stiles, donât believe everything youâre told.â He throws over his shoulder whilst carelessly waving his wand to conjure up a  pot of tea and  two cups.
Stiles closed his agape mouth as Hale sauntered off, he wasnât able to come up with a witty quip while the other man was still in earshot so he settled with muttering â..show off..â under his breath.
The tea set in front of him appeared to be floating on nothingness. â Shit!â Stiles fumbled for his school mandated wand as he came to the conclusion that Professor Hale was indeed enough of an asshole to make the levitation charm extra temporary. He retrieved his wand just in time to catch the china as it began a perilous descent towards the rustic hardwood floor.
âPheww,â he wiped his forehead in relief as he guided the set safely to a nearby desk.
 âAsshole.â He griped, setting a derisive gaze on the glorified stick he was forced to carry whilst working on school grounds. Stiles preferred a less archaic magical conduit, something that couldnât be torn away by a spell, something wearable that he could have on him without having to fumble through layers of robes. It only took seconds for someone to cast a spell that could end in death and in those seconds reaching for a wand was time no one could afford. Stiles had developed himself (with the help of his old school friend Danny and an amenable dwarf who had a stockpile of magical ores, cores and sundry materials) a modified glove/ bracer that could comfortably be worn at all times. Due to itâs position it had ready access to his magic and could be activated immediately. He felt naked without it and though spilt tea wasnât life or death, Stiles definitely felt it was possible to die of embarrassment and quite frankly he did not want to give Hale the satisfaction.
Well that had been an interesting encounter and Stiles nerves were appropriately frayed. This whole situation made Stiles feel he was entirely deserving of helping himself to Peterâs chamomile. Smugly and spitefully he plucked some flowers and a few young leaves crushing them slightly before setting them to brew in his freshly poured cup.Â
âŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ.
After successfully securing all of Stiles ingredients Peter returned. He was not at all surprised to find a drooling Stiles completely lax and clearly unconscious, half fallen out of his chair. He tutted in disappointment but was clearly amused as he approached the desk where the younger man was now slowly sliding to the floor.Â
Stepping over lithe legs he inspected the tea cup, sure enough it contained the âchamomileâ, which was in fact a magically spliced Valerian, Poppy and Aconite hybrid.
Peter had developed it as a method to treat anxiety in Werewolves. His early research had shown that members of the lycanthrope community were twice as likely as regular humans or wizards to suffer from mental health issues in their lifetimes and comparatively were also twice as unlikely to seek professional assistance. Creating a treatment that takes into account the metabolisation and regeneration rates of werewolves was one step in the right direction. The main issue to still be addressed though was the societal stigma towards lycanthropes and mental health sufferers.
The plants less desirable effects (digestive discomfort and well, horrible death inducing poisons) had been removed but still, what worked as a sedative for werewolves, caused immediate unconsciousness in anyone else.
Peter sighed at his melancholic thoughts and drew his gaze towards the young substitute teacher. His eyes crinkled in amusement at the undignified position he found him in. He laughed softly but brought the splayed legs together and hefted Stiles up to settle more comfortably on a transfigured couch.
 Yell at me đ
















