Wicked Witchcraft (Stiles Stilinski)

Juney Moony and the Coven of Witches

"You what?" I asked quietly.

"I want to know the story. You told me I could find out if I just asked you, so here I am."

"Why now? I haven't talked to you in weeks, Stiles." He uncomfortably scratched his temple.

"I just came from Derek's. Peter kind of launched into this story about Derek and his first love. I couldn't help but think about how Ms. Blake was talking about Heart of Darkness."

"The whole unreliable narrators thing?" I asked.

"Right, and it got me thinking. No one really knew your story, your 'narration' before they made accusations."

"They?" I asked pointedly, glaring at him.

"Okay, me. I didn't know the whole story, I couldn't see the whole board before. And I was just hoping that it wasn't too late to hear your story." He looked honest, and I so badly wanted to believe him.

"Stiles, I-" I began.

Stiles threw his hands out in front of him, "I'm not asking you to involve yourself back in this. I just figured I would try and right a wrong here."

I rolled my eyes, "Come in," I said as I opened the door wider.

He practically launched himself inside. I shut the door and lead him up the stairs to my bedroom.

"You know, I never expected this place to look so-"

"Normal?"

"Well, yeah."

"I'll be sure to put up extra cobwebs and torches next time," I said, and Stiles gave a small smile.

I walked into my room, and immediately felt self-conscious. Books were strewn across every surface, and clothes were scattered all around.

"What's this on your wall?" Stiles looked up at the drawings of the tree stumps. Mortified, my face flushed.

"Nothing, don't worry about it." I sat up on my bed, and pat the bed for Stiles to join me.

He sat down, eyes staring into mine.

"So..." I began, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything you're comfortable telling me," I searched his face, and for the first time in what felt like ever, it was void of suspicion.

"Well get comfortable, it's a long one."

*****

I was waiting for the clock to strike twelve. I was about to turn thirteen, and my magical ability was about to make itself known. I could finally start practicing magic, and learning control. It was daunting, but I was thrilled.

The hand made it's way to the twelve, and everyone in the room shouted, "Happy birthday!" My parents rushed over and hugged me, and I felt very excited. This was it, this was the time.

"So now what?" I looked at my mother.

"Well, we just wait. Something will happen today, we just have to be patient, and let it happen." She responded soothingly.

"Don't worry Moony," my father planted a kiss on my cheek, "it'll happen, we all know it."

Later that morning, while making breakfast in the large penthouse that displayed the Manhattan skyline, I telekinetically moved a plate of chocolate chip pancakes closer to me.

My parents were absolutely thrilled. Telepathy showed signs of strength and leadership in witches. Later that day, during the party my coven threw for me, I was introduced and assigned to my Guardian, Ginny Child.