Harper Hale was 10 years old when the Hale house was burnt down. She was taken in by Derek, her older cousin, and they left town for 6 years. Now, she has to navigate Beacon Hills High School, lacrosse, a freshly bitten werewolf, and the Argent Hunt...
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Harper yawned as they trekked through the woods. They were on high alert, but the night was edging on and she had school in the morning. She whistles, hearing something. Derek and she edged closer to the clearing - Harper has to cover her mouth.
Without a doubt, Laura Hale was dead. The Treskeleton of their former alpha was clear as day on her thigh - her body has been torn in half. Harper nearly cries, scooting back down the hill as a cacophony begins farther away.
"Der," she tugs his jacket, nodding to the herd of dear running across the small valley between two large hills. He frowns at the sight. A shocked gasp came from someone, entirely human, as someone gets caught on the ridge.
"Oh, god, oh god," the boy says stepping backward. He trips and rolls down the hill. Harper leaves Derek's side, looking for a better perch. She makes ease out of climbing up a large tree, giving her the perfect vantage point. She motions to the half-body up the ridge, and then her eyes and at where the boy was. She can see Laura's upper half. A growling makes her go completely still, just like Derek and the boy, where he was picking himself up.
She holds her breath, closing her eyes for just a short period when the dark shape of an evolved werewolf lunges at the boy, teeth gnashing. The boy fights it off, and then runs as fast as he can - the wolf makes no pursuit. He wanted to turn him. The wolf looks towards her perch, piercing red eyes making her freeze.
He jumps away, running in the opposite direction of the boy. Harper is clumsy as she climbs out of the tree, panting as she rejoins Derek. They were beginning to close up their search for the night, transporting the bottom half of Laura Hale - Harper's and Derek's alpha - to the morgue.
"We need to get rid of the other half," Derek whispers at her. "You have the tarp, right?"
"Yep."
They go to where Harper saw the body. Just as she had said, the upper half of Laura was resting in the leaf litter. She cries as she helps roll Laura onto the tarp. There is no way an Argent did this.
"It was a wolf," She tells Derek as they trek to the husk of the Hale House. Harper was carrying Laura, and they rest her gently in the deep shadow of the house as they dig a deep hole for her burial. Deaton approaches, preparing the wolfsbane-soaked twine to wrap the body. The Emissary gazed sadly at the tarp before he begin to wrap her. Once the hole was dug, Deaton passes Derek the body to lay to rest in the hole. The wolfsbane nearly comes into contact with his skin as he lays her with endless gentleness into the hole. He leans over and kisses her forehead before covering her face with the tarp. Deaton begins the spiral, Harper covering it behind him. He plants a singular sprig of wolfsbane while Harper and Derek bury the body.
"I'm sorry, old friends," Deaton says, face pitched in sorrow. "Do you have any idea who would have done this?"
"No," Derek wraps his arm around Harper's shoulders. "We have to get home. Thank you, Deaton," Derek shakes his hand and walks Harper to the car. She shrugs off his arm as they walk, wiping her face roughly.
"It's not far - I'm gonna run," she sniffles, grabbing her phone and earbuds. Derek sighs but lets her.
"Be careful. Something happens -"
"Turn and make for the woods. Yes, I am well aware." She takes off, shoving her earbuds in her ears and turning on her music.
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She showers and dresses in the morning, finding a new pair of pants on a hanger on her door handle - a gift from Derek. She can tell by the softness that they are preowned, making her smile a bit. They were straight-cut trousers, but not the fancy kind rich people wore, and dark green. She touches the inside of the pant leg to ensure they aren't scratchy before changing from her original worn black jeans. Her top was a cream tank top, a half-inch sort of the waistband of her pants, under a buttoned sweater that can only be classified as a grandpa sweater, and her loafer-adjacent shoes. She loops her singular belt through the belt loops, the pants slightly too big. She packs the smaller of her two duffles with her workout clothes for tryouts after school and grabs her school bag.
Derek insisted on dropping her off, and she tells him that she'll keep an eye out for any new werewolves in the school. A girl was going through her bag when Harper approached.
"Everything okay?" she asks. The girl looks up, and Harper recognizes her easily. The Argent girl.
"Forgot a pen," she shrugs. Harper shrugs and offers one from her bag with a smile. The other smiles back. "I'm Allison Argent."
"Harper Hale," she returns. "waiting for the principal?"
"Yep." Harper fidgets, looking over her shoulder for a moment - feeling inexplicitly watched.
They enter their first class shortly after, and a boy with floppy brown hair offers Allison a pen. She gives a confused smile, showing the one that Harper had given her.
"I'll take that," Harper leans over and takes it from her seat in the next row. She winks at Allison before settling down for the class. She takes notes with her pilfered pen before giving it back to Scott in between their classes. She can already tell he's the bitten she saw in the woods - the same scent mixed with that of a werewolf.
By the end of the school day, Harper was perfectly done with the student body of Beacon Hills High School. There were numerous comments about her - being the new girl with a founding family name tied to a fire that killed most of her family. She was sorting through her duffle, making sure she has everything - including her own pads. She glances up as Lydia walks over.
"That jacket is absolutely killer. Where did you get it?"
"My Mom was a buyer for a boutique back in San Francisco," Allison touches the lapel of her jacket for a moment, smiling.
"And you are my new best friend," Lydia hums, smirking. Her eyes cast to Harper, where she was still sorting her items. "Nice sweater," she teases Harper.
"Wearing a mini and thigh highs is redundant," she snipes back, shouldering her duffle. "And tacky." Harper holds up a hand when Lydia scoffs to reply. "Lydia, you are as self-obsessed as you were when we were eight. I didn't want to be your friend then and I don't now. Excuse me, I have things to do."
Lydia snorts, "Old money doesn't make you better than me, Hale."
"I'm not better than you, Martin," Harper scoffs. "and I don't want to be. You seem miserable." She walks away, entering the boy's locker room without regard. "You boys mind if I change here?" she asks, opening the locker Coach told her was hers earlier in the day.
