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Chapter Text

Harry stood in the Entrance Hall with the other Eighth Year students. They had all arrived early, and while Harry was filled with a giddy anticipation to be back in his childhood home, to see his friends and do his best to forget the war, he missed riding on the Hogwarts Express. He missed King’s Cross Station, and the sounds of owls hooting as they were loaded up. He missed the old witch with her candy trolley. Most of all he missed blending in with the throng of students as they rode carriages up to the torchlit castle through the dark and were met with a glittering feast.

He took comfort in the fact that while he was missing the train ride and the carriages up the path, at least there would still be a feast waiting for them later.

An elbow in his ribs brought his mind back to the present, and he realized that McGonagall was speaking again.

“Since you are all of age, and each of you has suffered your own trials this past year, I have decided to grant you each the option to have your own private rooms.” She waited for the tittering to die down, and continued. “You will not be held to a curfew, so long as you do not disturb the younger students, or resting Professors.”

Another round of hushed whispers and exclamations of shock. The new Headmistress eyed them all sternly.

“If anyone prefers to sleep in a dorm with your classmates, rather than having their own rooms, that is acceptable, but you will be held to the regular curfew, so you do not disturb the other students. You will be allowed off of castle grounds on the weekends, out to Hogsmeade, or to visit home if you wish. These are privileges that I expect will not be abused. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Headmistress.” The students rang out in unison. Her lips thinned in what might have been an approving smile. Harry was amazed. He’d get his own room. A small piece of the castle that was just for him. It felt like Christmas had come early. His eyes darted around the group, taking in the others’ reactions. They all seemed excited, grins plastered across nearly every face, except…

Malfoy stood near the back, arms crossed, eyes flickering around the Eighth Years warily, as if waiting for someone to turn and curse him. Harry found it hard to blame him, and dragged his eyes away, back to McGonagall as she spoke again.

“As it would be unfair to reduce the opportunities of our younger students, all Eighth Year students will not be formally included in the houses. This means you will not contribute to the House Cup, you will not be allowed to compete in the house Quidditch, Academic, or Accessory teams, except in a supervisory capacity. You will be allowed to sit wherever you choose at meals, visit the Common Rooms and Dormitories if you are staying there, or are invited, and you may invite visitors to the castle and your private rooms on the weekends, with my approval.”

Harry tuned out the rules she listed for having visitors and turned to Ron.

“Shame, I was looking forward to a good game of Quidditch.” Harry bemoaned quietly. Ron nodded, and got an elbow from Hermione for not paying attention. Harry and Ron shared a look over her head, and each cracked a grin. It was almost like old times.

“I reckon we could gather a few people who’re interested in a few friendly bouts.” Ron suggested, and Harry grinned. He could almost taste the breeze and feel the sun on his face.

“I swear.” Hermione hissed, giving each of them a reproachful glare that had them turning their heads back to place, each with an amused smirk at her return to Prefect-like behavior.

“All of your rooms will be in the southern hall of the seventh floor. The entire hall has been warded against underage students. All students with an Alpha or Omega designation will have extra warding on their rooms, as well. You may see Madam Pomfrey, myself, or Professor Flitwick with any concerns.”

The sharp reminder made the smile fall from Harry’s face. His stomach twisted with discomfort, and he fought the urge to look around, to see who else might be glancing covertly at their classmates. He’d done his damnedest since he’d learned at the age of thirteen that he was not just a normal boy to forget everything Pomfrey and Dumbledore had tried to explain to him. He took a suppressant potion every day, and tried not to think about what people would say if they knew. He’d occasionally heard, throughout the years, of others’ designations, but it never made him feel any less of a freak. Afterall, boys weren’t supposed to be able to get pregnant.

He followed the sudden surge of bodies up the stairs, ignoring the chatter, and nodded mutely when Ron asked if he was okay. He forced a smile, but by Ron’s tight smile in return, he knew he’d done a poor job of it. After trudging up six floors, they all emptied into the hallway, and marched around the corner, to the hall their rooms would be in. He heard Dean and Seamus ahead of them crowing with delight that their rooms were next to each other. He heard Theodore Nott complain that the rooms had name plates on the door, and he wouldn’t get to browse for the best one.

“They’re probably all the same.” Hermione told him a bit waspishly, finding her own room. Her room was between Padma Patil’s and Ron’s, and on the other side of Ron’s, at the far end of the corridor, was Harry’s. He stood in front of it for a moment while all the other students went in, came back out, shouted to each other, and explored their new spaces. He hesitated. He was a bit terrified of what might be on the other side, worried that the others might feel the extra wards if they tried to go in with him. He was terrified that something inside might give away what he was, and even more terrified that Hermione had been right. That all these rooms were the same. That it would be impersonal, that it wouldn’t feel like home the same way the Gryffindor dorms did.

He forced his fingers to close over the glass door knob. The edges of the rosette shape dug into his palm, and he twisted, pushing the door open, and peered inside. The room was filled with warm dark wood furniture. A dark red sofa and low coffee table took up most of the small space of the first room, and as the door opened, Harry saw a wave of light go with him, candles lighting themselves, a fire bursting to life in the fireplace. It was still sunny out, but the only natural light coming into the room came through the crack of an open door to the left. Harry stepped into the room, closed the door behind him, and went left.

The new door had the same handle as the door to the hall, and it revealed a bedroom. Deep ruby red sheets draped elegantly along a huge four-poster bed hung with equally rich purple curtains. At the foot of the bed stood his trunk, already brought up by the elves. There was a bedside table made of wood equally as dark as the previous room’s furniture, and a narrow desk against one wall, next to another door. Harry moved toward it, certain that there wasn’t possibly enough space between where his door had been and the end of the hall for so much space, and smiled to himself as he praised the magical work that allowed so many extra students to come back to school.

The second door revealed a lavatory, small, intimate, with a sink, toilet, and standing shower. Maybe the extension charms only went so far, he thought to himself amusedly. He went back out to the sitting room and looked around more, seeing bookshelves to either side of the door, half-filled with quidditch and defense books, and half-filled with knick-knacks that Harry thought looks oddly familiar. He stared at one spindly silver gadget a moment before he could place it. It was one of the curiosities that had been in Professor Dumbledore’s office. He felt tears choke him up at the memory in such a strange place, and traced a finger over it, wondering what it did. At his touch, it let out a small puff of dark blue smoke. Harry gave a small sad smile and took a deep breath, pushing the emotion far back, where it couldn’t be seen. He went back out into the hall and plastered a huge smile on his face as he saw Ron standing at Hermione’s door, arguing to get in.

“Well, they give you a mattress and a bucket to piss in, then?” He asked crudely, knowing the language would wind Hermione up, and make Ron laugh. It did both, and Ron led the way into his own room before Hermione could start on a rant. Harry followed gladly, listening to Ron’s eager enthusiastic tour of the small space that was his own. There was a Chudley Cannons poster already hanging on the wall, and a pair of large squashy looking chairs by the fire. Harry looked around the room with curiosity, comparing it to his own, and voicing aloud his thoughts.

“Wonder if McGonagall decorated the rooms herself.” He mused, and Ron snickered.

“Can’t imagine her choosing what people might like. Must’ve been the house elves.”

“It was a charm, Ron.” Hermione’s voice answered from the door, and both boys turned rather guiltily to see her standing with her arms crossed.

“Er… a charm?” Harry prompted, hoping to avoid whatever strange tension had been between the two of them all day. He could imagine what it was, and was trying desperately not to think about it.

“Yes. A rather clever bit of charmwork. The door reads you as you approach it, and when you touch the knob, a bit of your magic goes into the room, and makes it just what you like. It’s the same at upscale wizarding hotels.” She waved a hand dismissively, but he and Ron shared a look. How on EARTH did she know what upscale wizarding hotels were like?

They continued the tour, doing Harry’s and Hermione’s in turn, before they were invited to Neville’s and then Dean’s, and Seamus’s. It seemed everyone was eager to show off their room and how perfect it was. Hermione repeated her explanation over and over as each boy wondered about how the rooms managed to be so personal.

By dinnertime, Harry felt nearly dead on his feet, and already ready for bed. He quickly changed into his new school robes, and followed his friends down to the Great Hall. The hall was empty when they arrived, the first group of students still disembarking from the train down in Hogsmeade. They took their seats, and chatted in hushed, almost reverent whispers as they waited.

The Hall slowly filled with students, and Harry found himself seated amongst an eager, excited group of Gryffindors. Those closest to him were his friends, but those farther down the table kept shouting, trying to get his attention, or tell him about themselves. Harry ignored most of it, pretending he was deaf to all but those near him. Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Dean, Seamus, and even Dennis Creevey sat around him, nearly like a barrier, keeping him neatly cushioned from the attention seeking acquaintances and strangers. Harry shared a short conversation with Dennis, and they shared a sad smile over a memory of Collin. Harry, in a strange burst of emotion, wondered to himself if Dennis needed an older brother to look out for him now, and vowed silently to himself to keep an eye on the younger boy. He was a sixth year now, but still seemed tiny for his age, thin, short, and the dark circles under his eyes made Harry want to pat his back and tell him everything would be alright.

The hall went silent as the first years entered, and Harry finally felt his lips stretching into another genuine smile as the terrified tiny figures marched to the front of the Hall. A few eyes caught on him and widened, but they were swept away with the crowd before they could properly gawk.

Harry sat quietly as they were sorted, cheering at the appropriate intervals, clapping for students sorted into other houses, and resisting the urge to boo the first time Slytherin was mentioned. He knew that Slytherins weren’t all bad, but it still chafed him a bit. He let his eyes wander across the hall to Slytherin table and found the head of bright platinum blond hair that was ducked, not watching the sorting, but appeared to watch the cutlery on the table. As if he could feel the eyes on him, Malfoy looked up, met Harry’s gaze, and held it. His face was unreadable, blank. Harry stared back, unsure whether to smile or frown. They were supposed to be putting the past behind them, putting aside their differences. Harry had even testified at his and his mother’s trials.

Before he could make up his mind, Malfoy looked pointedly away, pretending to watch the sorting, though his eyes seemed glazed, as though his mind was elsewhere. Harry could just imagine he was thinking about torturing the small children. He looked back to the sorting himself, his lips thin and his brow creased.

“Alright, mate?” Ron asked from beside him, catching his sour expression. Harry nodded once, and let his features relax. He could pretend he didn’t hate Malfoy. He could pretend his room wasn’t warded to keep his scent contained if he failed to take his potions. He could pretend that he was just a normal student attending school. He wasn’t a war hero. He wasn’t awakened to his own screaming nightmares almost every night. He wasn’t an Omega.

He watched the sorting without really seeing it, and after McGonagall had given her speech and the food appeared before them, Harry dug in eagerly. He hadn’t eaten since a bit of toast that morning, and felt suddenly ravenous. For a while longer, he didn’t think about what the increased hunger might mean, or the slight trickle of sweat that trailed down his neck might threaten. He focused on his potatoes, on his steak and kidney pie. He guzzled down three glasses of pumpkin juice, and ate half a dish of pudding himself.

“Bit hungry, Harry?” Neville’s tone was almost teasing, but a bit worried, and Harry just shrugged.

“Forgot to eat lunch.” He replied, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck, and wiped the dampness off on his robes.

He was glad when no one else mentioned his appetite, and as the first years were led to the dormitories by prefects, Harry found his eyes travelling across the hall once more, to find Draco Malfoy.

He was still sitting at the Slytherin table, fork in hand, smiling a saucy, playful smile at Theodore Nott, and pushing food around on his plate. Harry didn’t think too hard on what Malfoy not eating might mean, either. He knew Malfoy had his own scars from the war, his own nightmares. It never did him any good to dwell on which might be the worst, on which he wakes up from the most frequently.

Harry slid into his bed, warm in his pajamas, and sighed contentedly. He pulled the hangings shut, just enough for privacy if anyone barged in, but open enough that he could see the moon through the window. It was nearly full, and was shining brightly. He set his glasses on the bedside table and nestled down into his pillows, exhausted, a bit too warm, and knew that tonight he would wake up, not from nightmares, but from dreams so good they made his head spin. He’d have to take the stronger potion in the morning. The one that would suppress his heat. He felt his chest tighten at the thought that after five years he STILL had to suffer through the hot spells, the shivering cold nights of feeling alone, and the insatiable arousal no matter how many times he had a wank. The potions helped, they kept him from losing himself completely to the mindless haze that threatened to drag him under, they kept the others from smelling it on him. But it was never enough.

He drifted to sleep and dreamt of warm skin against his, soft lips pressed to his own, scraping teeth, and the feel of bodyweight on top of him, pressing him into the mattress, heating him from the inside.

He woke, gasping and covered in sweat. Between his legs, his own cock hung hard and heavy, and completely useless. He gripped it anyway, and jerked swiftly.

He came twice before he gave up and tore himself from the bed, stumbling to the lavatory. He rummaged in the cabinet and snatched out the dark blue potion, downing it in two gulps. The heat receded slowly, and he sank to the floor, eyes closed, a sob hitching in his throat. He hated this. Hated that he felt like he wasn’t really himself. Hated that he was back home and everything is still terrible. He’d still survived a war. He still had nightmares. He was still an Omega.

He let himself cry for only a few short minutes before he angrily dashed the tears away with the back of his knuckles, rubbed violently into his eyes until he saw stars, and forced himself to stand. He had a shower, cold, quick, and efficient, rinsing the sweat and leftover traces of orgasm away. He went back to his room, and looked at the bed, damp from his sweat, a puddle of his release spilled across the blankets. He groaned and dug through his trunk for his slippers. He’d just have to go ask the elves for a clean set.

He went to the sitting room, and paused, staring at the couch for only a moment before he went back to the bedroom, dragged the driest of his covers free, and collapsed onto the rather stiff sofa. He curled slightly in on himself, wrapped himself in the blanket, and closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him again.

The next week went on in the same fashion, but each day after classes, Harry found fresh sheets on his bed, and new potions in his cabinet. The elves seemed to still know his routines and habits, and it made him wistful, thinking of Kreacher who worked in the Hogwarts kitchens now, Dobby who had died.

He tried to focus on his lesson, but found his mind wandering nearer the end of the day, almost as if the potion was wearing off faster. He pushed the thought away. It had been five years he’d been taking them, there was no reason they should start to lose their potency NOW.

By the end of their second week, Harry was willing to admit that there was something wrong with his potions. They weren’t working like they should. It had been two weeks, and still, his heat hadn’t ended. He still woke up in the middle of the night feeling both too hot, and too cold, too alone, and far too aroused. His appetite was dwindling, and he found himself picking at his food, unable to stomach any of it.

“Harry, are you feeling alright? You’ve barely eaten all day.” Hermione murmured in a low voice, placing a hand on his arm. The warmth of it sent a tense shiver through Harry, and he jerked away.

“Actually… I think I’ll go see Pomfrey.” Harry stood from their table, ignoring the glances the children eating lunch around them cast him, and hurried from the Great Hall. He jogged up the stairs, and nearly burst into the infirmary.

“My word!” Pomfrey lurched to her feet, startled by the sudden intrusion, and her eyes scanned him as she rounded her desk. “Potter. Whatever is the matter?” She waved her wand, shutting the door behind him as he met her halfway down the empty row of beds.

“Somethings wrong with my potions.” Harry said without preamble, and only a cursory glance around to make sure the place was empty besides the pair of them.

“Wouldn’t that be a concern for Professor Slughorn?” She looked a bit confused, and Harry gritted his teeth. He really hated talking about this.

“No… My… Heat potions.” He said, looking away, at the windows, the ceiling, anywhere but at the aging woman.

“Oh my. Are you experiencing a heat presently?” She asked, pulling him to sit on a bed at the end of a row, as far from the doors as possible. She pulled the curtains around them, and Harry knew now that they were warded against eavesdropping. He relaxed slightly.

“Yes. And the potion isn’t working.” He explained. Pomfrey nodded, waving her wand at him, taking diagnostics, pressing her hands to his forehead, feeling his pulse at his wrist. Harry let her work without comment, letting her be the first to break the silence.

“How long ago did you take the potion?”

“Seven… eight hours ago?” Harry shook his head, unable to recall exactly what time he’d woken up and choked down the thirteenth potion in as many days.

“But… That’s the middle of the night. Why are you taking a suppressant in the middle of the night?” She sounded thoroughly flummoxed, and Harry shook his own head, confused.

“It woke me up, so I took a potion to stop it. Nothing else helps.” He shrugged. Pomfrey looked confused for a moment more, then her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“How many potions do you take at once?” She asks, and he shrugged.

“Just the one. One, every day, until the heat passes. Usually it only takes about a week, but… It’s been almost two.” Harry tried to keep the worry from his voice, as Pomfrey’s eyes got wider the longer he spoke.

“And when was the last time you allowed your heat to pass without the use of potion suppressants?”

“Er… Never.” Harry wondered if perhaps she’d gone barmy. Why would ANYONE suffer through that awful heat without a potion? He sure as hell wouldn’t.

“You were presenting at age thirteen, correct?”

Harry nodded.

“And you have been on heat suppressant potions ever since? Every heat?”

“And the pheromone suppressants between.” He admitted, feeling a bit sheepish now. Her face was going a bit red, and he wondered if she was about to explode. She took in a long, slow breath, and then let it out just as painstakingly slowly. Harry sat silently, hoping she didn’t shout at him for whatever he’d apparently done wrong. Had he been supposed to take them together?

“Those potions… they’re… temporary relief. Intended to give you time and space to set your affairs straight before the heat, not… NOT intended to entirely suppress it! And pheromone suppressants are for emergency use only! In the case of an Alpha trying to overpower you, for instance. Suppressant potions are not meant to be used DAILY!” She was nearly shouting by the end, and Harry grimaced leaning back.

“I didn’t know.” Is all he could manage to mumble through lips that didn’t want to move. None of him wanted to move too much. As if Pomfrey wouldn’t see him if he stayed very still. She took another of those deep breaths, and waved her wand sharply at him.

“Well! It appears that across the five years you’ve been abusing these potions, you’ve built up a tolerance to them.” She pursed her lips, and Harry sagged with relief. That was easy, then.

“So I’ll just have to take larger doses, or…” He trailed off, clamping his lips shut with a firm sense of self-preservation as Pomfrey eyed him with acute rage.

“You will do NO SUCH THING.” She snapped. Harry was stunned. He’d never seen her quite so angry before. “You will go through your heat WITHOUT potions, Mr. Potter! And you will cease taking the pheromone potion altogether. I HOPE for your sake, that your resistance to them wears down as you don’t take them, so that in an emergency you might be able to actually help yourself.” She took a short quick breath and straightened her spine as if putting that bit behind her and facing the next sentence with dignity.

“You should take time off of your classes until it is over. I assume, since you’ve been using suppressants, you have no Alpha partner?”

“I don’t.” Harry confirmed.

“Shame. An Alpha is probably the only thing that could make it pass more quickly.” She said in a curt no-nonsense tone. Harry recalled his first, and last conversation about the subject. Having sex with an Alpha would end his heat, but he’d risk getting pregnant.

“I… I don’t want to…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, and Pomfrey seemed to take pity on him for a brief moment.

“Well, there’s no help for it. You’ll have to suffer through your heat, on your own. I recommend cold showers and-”

She bustled around the bed, back to her desk, and the cabinets behind it. She opened one, pulled out a small jar, and brought it over to hand to him. He took it, and opened it, sniffing curiously.

“This salve heals friction burn and chafing.”

Harry felt his face go scarlet at the insinuation that he’d wank so hard he’d hurt himself. Madam Pomfrey didn’t give him time to feel properly horrified, though. “I’m sure Professor McGonagall will be able to tactfully excuse you from class for the next week.”

“No! I… I came back… I don’t want to start skipping class already!” He thought of how Hermione would have his head if he skived off their third week of school.

“Well… I suppose… If you’re careful, you could go to class, but it will be very difficult for you. Hard to concentrate, easily aroused, and terribly uncomfortable.”

“I’ll manage.” Harry insisted, thinking back to fifth year. His scar had hurt so much, then. Now, he wondered if this might just be worse.

“You’ll want to avoid the Alphas. Though… if I recall correctly, you’re a dominant Omega, so they shouldn’t give you too much trouble, really. There’s only one dominant Alpha presently attending, and I don’t believe you two ever even speak to one another, so that shouldn’t be much of a concern…” She seemed as though she was trying to convince herself, and Harry tried to remember what he’d been told about ‘dominant’ Alphas and Omegas. All Alphas and Omegas released pheromones, and with the regular kind, Alphas and Omegas could influence one another, especially if one was in a heat or rut. Dominants, though, produced more pheromones than their average counterparts. It made them more appealing, and far more influential. Harry didn’t really understand it. He didn’t think he’d let anyone, dominant or not, boss him around.

“They won’t be a problem.” Harry assured her. He really had no idea. He didn’t even know how many Alphas there WERE in Hogwarts. He wondered at that, at how many Omegas there might be, also. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

“Well… I will give you ONE strong suppressant. One bottle, Potter. For use ONLY in an emergency. You do understand what constitutes an emergency, yes?” Pomfrey lifted one severely arched brow at him, and Harry gulped.

“I’ll only take it if I’m about to get raped, then.” Harry said it bluntly, and Pomfrey’s face softened.

“It doesn’t happen often.” She assured him, patting his shoulder gently. Harry felt the heat of her hand through his robes, and it made his stomach lurch. “Most of the Alphas in your classes will be able to control themselves by now, anyway. Just don’t make it too hard for them, yes?”

“Alright.” Harry agreed, though he hadn’t a clue how she expected him to make things hard for THEM. He’d be the one suffering, afterall.

“Alright. Off you go, Potter. Come back if… if you need anything.” She offered, but he knew there was nothing she could actually do to help him. He was just going to have to burn alive.

He wandered back down to his next class, Charms, and sat through it, barely able to listen. He was hard under the desk, and glad for the robes that hid his unfortunate erection.

“What did Pomfrey say? Are you okay, then?” Hermione looked worried as she leaned across Ron, barely listening to the lecture on multi-wizard charms.

“Fine. I’ll be fine. Just a bit… Off.” Harry said with a smile that he was sure looked more like a grimace. Ron gave him a sympathetic look, and Hermione retook her spot. Ron leaned over to mutter something she wouldn’t hear, but stopped, eyebrows drawing together. His lips parted to speak, but Harry watched him take a breath in, staring at Harry, confused. Harry swallowed nervously, and wanted to sink through the floor.

Whatever Ron had been about to say was lost to the sudden understanding that breaks across his face, and Ron leaned back slightly, but was still close enough to whisper.

“Harry… You smell… like…” Ron suddenly sat up, and shook his head, laughing. “Nevermind. It’s stupid. Anyway, glad you’re alright.” He looked away, and Harry noticed the tightness at the corners of his eyes, as if he wasn’t convinced by his own words. Harry felt his own lips part. Suddenly, he wanted to tell his friends, to tell them what he was suffering through, to warn them that he might be testy for the next week. He clamped his lips shut, and faced Professor Flitwick, trying once more to pay attention to the lecture.

Harry noticed Ron’s eyes on him more throughout the day, the flaring of his nostrils as he breathed in what HAD to be Harry’s pheromones. Harry discreetly sniffed himself, but couldn't smell anything. He was a little sweaty, but otherwise he smelled the same. He found that he could smell Ron, though. It was strange. A tangy scent that tickled his nostrils and made him want to lean in and take a deep breath. He noticed how tall Ron was, how broad his shoulders had gotten. They were resting in Hermione’s room, studying (or pretending to study, in Harry’s case), when Harry suddenly made the connection.

“You’re an Alpha.” He didn’t realise he'd said it aloud until the words were there, hanging between them. Ron gave him a funny look, and his eyes went up and down Harry, as if searching for an imposter. Hermione looked up from her book, and her head tilted as she eyed Harry with a similar puzzled stare.

“I’ve told you I am before.” Ron finally answered, his face still drawn with suspicion.

“Yeah, but I thought you were joking. I mean… You said you and Ginny…” Harry broke off, suddenly realizing that GINNY must have been an Alpha, too. The thought made his head spin.

“Yeah. Me, Ginny, and Charlie. Does it suddenly bother you?” Ron asked, and Harry could see the tension in his shoulders, as if he was preparing for a fight. The tangy smell filled the space between them, and Harry rushed to calm his friend down.

“No. Not at all, I just…”

‘I’ve never smelled you before’ seemed a bit strange to say, so Harry shut his mouth instead.

“You’re acting funny.” Ron accused, and Hermione leaned forward, placing a hand on Ron’s arm. The sight of the familiar touch made Harry’s own too-warm skin suddenly burst with heat, and he wanted -needed- to be touched.

Ron’s eyes went wide, and he leaned back, taking a sharp breath of surprise.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” He exclaimed, and Hermione looked confused. Harry wasn’t sure what he’d done to make Ron react so violently, but he was covering his nose and mouth, his pupils dilated, and he looked almost as if he was in pain. Harry stood.

“Sorry, I’ve got to… I’ve got to go.” He smiled apologetically at Hermione and bolted for the door. It slammed shut behind him, and he breathed in the fresh cool air of the hallway. His head cleared of a fog he hadn’t realized had started to enter his thoughts, but his skin was still burning. He headed for his room.

He was passing Ron’s door when the one across the hall from his opened, and someone stepped into the hall, and Harry stopped, staring like a deer caught in headlights as Draco Malfoy froze, staring back at him, hand still on the doorknob. His room must have been opposite Harry’s, Harry realized. Of course his room was across the hall. He forced his feet to move, eyes darting to his door, to safety, and privacy, and-

The scent hit him like a physical force, stopping him in his tracks once again. He looked around, trying to find the source, but there was only Malfoy, hand no longer on the knob, but eyes still locked on Harry. It was dim in the torchlit corridor, but Harry thought his eyes were too dark. It was unsettling. He tried to take another step. His feet moved sluggishly, and his eyes wouldn’t stray from the sight of Malfoy watching him like a tiger about to pounce. Harry could feel his heart stuttering in his chest, could feel the sweat drip down his neck, feel his throat bob as he swallowed, his mouth too dry. The whole hall was filled with that scent. It was sharp, spicy, and almost hurt to breathe. He was at his door, his fingers gripped around the knob when Malfoy finally moved. His head lowered and he stalked across the hall, looking murderous. Harry fumbled to open his door, feeling far too overwhelmed to fight with Malfoy. The knob turned, the door swung inward, and as he stepped through, Malfoy was right there, in front of him, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched tight, and Harry could see the jumping pulse at his neck. He licked his lips, wanting to taste that fluttering beat.

He tore his eyes away, and looked back into Malfoy’s face. A mistake. Malfoy pushed him backward, and kicked the door shut forcefully. He grabbed a handful of Harry’s robes with one hand, the other sliding around to grab a handful of his hair, and suddenly, his mouth was there, on Harry’s. Harry wouldn’t call it a kiss. It was far too violent. Too invasive. Malfoy’s tongue was in his mouth, and he could taste that spicy, cutting scent. It burned his nose and filled his head, and his tongue trailed out, seeking more. The hand in his hair wasn’t comfortable, but it was warm, and kept him steady as his mouth was violated. He found his hands tangled in the front of Malfoy’s robes, and felt the hard little buttons of his white oxford shirt. He pulled at them, wanted them away from him, out of his way.

The buttons went easily, as did the shirt, robes, and tie. Harry was vaguely aware of crashing noises, of a hand leaving his body to flick locking charms at the door, and then the wand, and everything else, was thrown to the floor. Harry wasn’t sure when he’d gotten naked, or when he’d grabbed handfuls of pale hair and skin, but he was fully aware of the moment Draco Malfoy shoved him down on the couch and covered Harry’s body with his own. Harry whimpered at the feeling. It felt so right. So perfect. So warm. He was burning up, but the warmth of Malofy’s body was delicious, and just what he needed. Malfoy was manhandling him, teeth scraping against his collarbone as he pushed Harry’s legs out of the way. His fingers were hard and slender, and Harry groaned as one sank into him. Malfoy cursed something in a growling voice, and Harry could tell he was pleased. He liked what he felt. Harry spread his legs wider, and dragged Malfoy’s lips back to his. The finger inside him was good. It was like nothing he’d ever felt, and… it wasn’t enough. Harry groaned wordlessly, his hands tugging at different pieces of pale flesh, hoping he’d hurry up and get on with it. He was glad when the blond took the hint, removed his fingers, and rubbed the hot, thick length of his cock across Harry’s arse. Harry groaned, louder, arching his back, biting roughly at Draco’s lip, trying to convey that he wanted more. Draco was panting, his eyes more black pupil than grey.

He slid into Harry without fuss, and Harry saw stars. It was perfect. It filled him, stretched him, and warmed him from the inside. He let his eyes drift shut, and his legs wrapped around Malfoy’s waist, pulling him in deeper, holding him closer. Hips snapped against his with a jerky, harsh rhythm, and Harry was lost to it. The scent of Malfoy, for that’s what he realized he’d been smelling, surrounded him. It filled his lungs with each burning breath, the flavor lingered on his tongue, and when Malfoy kissed him, it tasted sharp, and spicy, and a little sweet. Harry tasted him enthusiastically, suckling at his tongue, nipping at his lips, and exploring the feel of his mouth.

Malfoy shifted, kissing his way down Harry’s chest, and the angle of his hips changed, making Harry gasp and arch as something sparked inside him. It had been perfect before, but THAT was heavenly. Malfoy seemed to read the reaction and grabbed Harry’s hips, lifting him slightly, so he could keep hitting that angle. Harry heard his own loud moans, and tried to cover his mouth, to shut out the sound of his pleasure, but slender fingers wrapped around his wrist and pinned his arm above him, forcing him to practically shout his orgasm to the room as he came. His head spun, and his body throbbed, and Malfoy didn’t even pause. He kept thrusting, driving Harry from one peak to the next, making another orgasm crash over him while he still trembled from the first.

Harry let out a guttural, throaty groan, and grabbed at the alabaster body, demanding more of the skin against him. Draco obliged, his chest pressed to Harry’s, and his teeth scraped at Harry’s neck. He bit gently over the pulse point, and then yanked his head away, his whole body going still.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop!” Harry begged, squeezing his legs around Malfoy’s thighs, urging him on. Malfoy smirked down at him and strong hands grabbed him, lifted him, and then Harry felt a rather short rush of fear as he realized he was being carried. Another door slammed open, and Harry was tossed on his own bed. He had no time at all to feel anger at being tossed, indignation at being carried, or infuriated that Malfoy had stopped. Because Malfoy was back on top of him, pressing Harry’s thighs to his chest, sliding back into him for so long it seemed an eternity, and then he was moving, sending sparkling pleasure and heat racing through Harry’s veins. It was everything he’d wanted. It was more than he’d even thought to want.

He was lost on a sea of ecstasy, awash in the intoxicating spicy scent, and when the feeling of being stretched became almost painful, and too intense for words, Harry’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and he hugged Draco’s warm body to his chest as his final orgasm shivered to a halt. It left his eyelids feeling heavy, and his body feeling weak. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to speak. His eyes fluttered closed, and with the warmth of another body pressed along the length of his own, he fell into a perfectly sound slumber.

Chapter Text

Harry woke, groggy, his whole body throbbing as if he’d been running quidditch drills all the previous day. He felt warm, comfortable, and safe, and was disinclined to get up. The horrendous dream he’d just suffered, however, made him want a shower to wash away the very thought that Malfoy would be some perfectly acceptable Alpha to sleep with.

He groaned, and sat up, prying his eyelids apart with great force of will. Morning sunlight was trickling in through his window, casting everything in a pale light, and Harry looked down at his naked body, and the pale limbs entangled with his own, and for a moment, confusion filled him. Until his eyes traveled to the pillows to find a familiar blond head staring up at him, awake and aware, and clearly having been so far longer than Harry.

Harry shouted in surprise, not at all expecting to wake up naked next to Malfoy, and did the only thing he could think to do. He kicked Malfoy off the bed. It was quite easy, actually, just one foot, then another, two good shoves, and Malfoy toppled over the side with an angry expression and hands grasping uselessly for sheets that weren’t enough to keep him up. Harry scrambled off the other side, memories of the previous day flooding his mind as he snatched a sheet up and held it around himself. He refused to look at where Malfoy was lurching to his feet, and instead, hurried for the bathroom. He slammed and locked the door behind himself and immediately turned the shower on as hot as it would go.

He didn’t hear Malfoy leave, but when he was done scrubbing himself raw and swallowing potion, and peeked into his bedroom, there was no sign of the blond except sheets still scattered across the floor where he’d fallen. Harry took a deep, calming breath, and found the air in his room had been thoroughly tainted by that awful burning scent. He threw his window open wide, and still in his towel, hunted down his wand to cast air-freshening charms. He refused to admit how much better he felt. Sore, as if they’d scrapped rather than had sex, but he was obviously no longer in heat. He marvelled at that a moment, and checked himself over in the mirror with a frown, making sure Malfoy hadn’t left any visible evidence of their surprise coupling behind.

The sitting room was a disaster. Clothes strewn about everywhere, chairs overturned, table upended, and things knocked from the shelves. Harry found his wand and began straightening things out.

When Harry picked up his robes from the floor, he found the small emergency potion in the pocket, and wondered if that had been ‘an emergency’. It had been surprising, sudden, and rather violent, but… He’d liked it. He’d encouraged it. And he grudgingly admitted to himself that he had probably needed it. Pomfrey had been right. An Alpha worked miracles to end his heat. It was easier if he thought of him as ‘an Alpha’ rather than Malfoy. Somehow it being Malfoy made him feel more violated than if it had been a complete stranger.

He got ready for class and walked down to breakfast with his head held high, pretending to himself that he hadn’t just spent half the night shagging Draco Malfoy, pretending that he couldn’t still smell traces of him on his own skin well after he’d showered, and pretending most firmly that he was not an Omega freshly out of a heat.

He sat at breakfast, and was doing his level best to ignore the sudden rush of scents that surrounded him, when Ron collapsed onto the bench next to him, bringing that familiar tangy smell with him. Harry held his breath for a moment, and then focused on breathing normally as he ate his eggs. Ron piled a plate with his usual fare and got three mouthfuls shoveled in when he turned to Harry.

“Sorry about last night. I was just… surprised.” He apologized, and Harry shrugged. He didn’t particularly want to talk about it in front of half the school.

“‘S’fine. I’m fine.” Harry assured him, offering him a smile. Ron smiled back, his own nose able to tell him Harry was, indeed, fine.

“I never knew you were…” He trailed off, eyes darting around the hall suddenly wary of others listening in. “Nevermind. Talk later?” Ron asked, eyes hopeful.

Harry nodded, just as Hermione sat down.

“Well! Not that either of YOU will care, but I’ve just been reading…”

Harry let the comforting way Hermione talks about her books soothe his nerves, and smiled down at his breakfast. The next month, he thought, was going to be FAR better. Afterall, he has a whole month to plan for his next heat.

Harry made a stop by the infirmary to let Madam Pomfrey know that there was nothing to worry about, but she took one look at him, and was forcing a potion into his hands.

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to take any more suppressants?” Harry asked, only a little sarcastically.

“It’s a contraceptive.” Was all she said, before she turned to tidy an already perfectly made bed. Harry swallowed it down, and let her whisk the empty bottle away. “I’ll have one sent up to your room every morning. Make sure you take it, even when you’re not in heat. Accidents DO happen.” She warneded, and Harry firmly agreed.d He had the previous night for evidence.

“I’ve gotten used to taking potions every morning, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” He shrugged.

He suffered another round of diagnostics, and prodding before he was finally allowed to break free. He was fairly certain she would have kept him longer if he hadn’t had a class to get to.

After classes, Ron practically dragged Harry into Hermione’s room, and sat him down before the fire, eyes wide and eager for the story that didn’t really exist.

“So, Ron says you’re an Omega?” Hermione began, getting right to the point. “But I don’t see how that’s possible. You should have presented during puberty, not NOW.”

“I did. I’ve… been taking suppressant potions.” Harry admitted. He was lucky he’d had Pomfrey’s reaction to learn from, as Hermione nearly shrieked, and launched herself upright out of her chair. Ron winced, and looked startled. Harry smiled knowingly at him.

“That’s not good for you Harry!” Hermione chastised him, ignoring the way Ron tugged her hand to get her to sit again. “You could mess up your internal chemistry, or damage your magic, or-”

“I already had an earful from Pomfrey.” Harry interrupted, and Hermione finally gave in to Ron’s tugging, allowing him to pull her back to her seat. “Anyway, I didn’t know. And I built up a tolerance, and now I can’t use them, or… the emergency ones might not work when I need them to.” He explained, feeling his cheeks heat with a blush. Hermione nodded seriously, having already thought of all of this, but Ron let out a low whistle.

“So… You’ve been on suppressant potions constantly for years?” He asked, as if he understood, but didn’t quite believe it.

“Yeah. But I’ve apparently, according to Pomfrey, built up a tolerance. So… I can’t take them anymore… Unless it’s an emergency.” Harry thinks back to the previous night, still unsure whether that would have constituted an emergency. He hadn’t even thought about stopping Malfoy, about taking a potion, or even trying to push him away. It was almost more terrifying than the thought of being held down and forced.

"Oh Harry." Hermione gave him a sympathetic look, and Ron, a commiserating one. "You're lucky, then, that it's not worse."

Harry glared at her. He didn't want to be told how lucky he was. He was likely the least lucky person alive, in fact. He dropped his head to his hands.

"So is this what it's like, then? Being able to SMELL everyone? All the time?" Harry mumbled, depressed.

"Yeah, I mean, not really the Betas, but, all the Alphas and Omegas, yeah." Ron replied, looking even more sympathetic. Harry groaned. All the scents mixed together in the Great Hall had been starting to give him a headache. Ron's tangy scent was less potent than it had been the night before, and with just the gentle traces of it wafting around the room, Harry found it almost comforting. It wasn't overpowering, the way Malfoy's scent had been, and even though he was certain he'd never smelled it before, Ron smelled familiar, safe. Harry pushed that thought away, and tried to put his question into words that wouldn't entirely humiliate him.

"And… they can all smell me? They'll all know?" He thought of how Malfoy had stopped dead in the hallway, eyes locked on his. He'd likely smelled him from down the hall. Harry pushed that though FAR away.

"Well yeah." Ron shrugged. "We're all used to it, though."

"Because THEY haven't been avoiding it." Hermione cut in, sounding ready for a lecture. Harry looked at her, unable to smell her the way he could Ron.

"And… you're not one, right?" He asked, just to be sure. Hermione huffed.

"No, I'm a 'beta'." She said it acidically, as if she derided the very concept. Harry felt his lips twitch in a smirk. "But I have read up on it extensively."

"So you can't smell me?"

"No more than usual." She said with a lifted brow. Her eyes flicked to Ron, and he shifted uncomfortably.

"About that, I'm er… sorry for going a bit off last night. I just wasn't expecting to be smothered all of a sudden." Ron said with an apologetic grimace. Harry waved it off. He wasn't upset over Ron's overreaction, merely that everyone was going to KNOW what he was, eventually.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to… smell bad." Harry returned. Ron gave him a thin smile.

"It's not that you smell bad. Just… Well, since you're a dominant Omega, it's a bit overpowering. Especially since you were in he-" Ron suddenly clamped his lips shut, looking away. Harry was glad he hadn't said it aloud. Even Hermione's cheeks were tinged pink.

"About that, I'm still not quite sure I understand what that means. Why am I dominant? Is it because I'm male?" He asked, directing the question to Hermione.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s not… not like dominance, as you might see it, forcing people to do things, it’s more to do with dominant genetics. ‘Dominant’ does not mean you like to bend others to your will, it just means that your pheromones are… more potent to those around you.”

“But… I don’t really GET pheromones at all! So, Alphas smell good, okay. Omegas smell… However we smell, and those are ‘pheromones’, but that’s just like everyone has a smell! You can’t control someone just by smelling a certain way!” Harry fumed. Hermione sighed.

“Weren’t you taught about this at all when you started developing?” Hermione seemed just as confused as Harry, but on a different subject. Harry felt his cheeks tinge pink as he recalled the lectures he’d had to suffer through.

“I… erm… I’m sure they told me all sorts of things, but… I didn’t really… hear most of it.” He admitted to his friends. He’d been too busy being horrified at the time that he was an abomination.
“Harry.” Hermione bemoaned, but Ron gave him a look of understanding.

“So? Why does everyone go on about how everyone else smells? Is it… rude to smell too much, or something?” Harry asked, thinking of Ron’s reaction, Malfoy’s. The wall of scent that had hit him when Malfoy had spotted him. He pushed THAT thought back.

“Well… It’s difficult to simply explain. It’s something most Alphas and Omegas just… learn as they develop. But I don’t like the idea of you wandering around with NO idea of what’s in store…” Hermione bit her lip, and her eyes darted to Ron, and away. Then back.

“Ron… Would you… be willing to help teach Harry about it, with… erm… a demonstration?” Her cheeks went a bit pink again, but Ron looked at her with a lifted brow.

“I guess.” He shrugged, and looked over at Harry. “Cool with you?”

“I dunno. Sure.” Harry shrugged too, not even sure what she meant. He could already smell Ron, anyway.

“Alright, so, you can usually smell each other, just by being in proximity, but if emotions run high, or during a heat -or rut-, or if you’re developed enough to utilize your pheromones at will, then the scent gets stronger.” She nodded at Ron, who stared at Harry a bit strangely, as if he was concentrating. For a moment, Harry wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen, until he took a breath, and suddenly the air seemed thicker. Ron’s scent permeated the room, and Harry could taste it on his tongue, and almost feel the warmth of it.

“You see the difference?”

Harry nodded, looking away. He didn’t care for the way being surrounded by the smell of his friend made him feel. It did almost feel like he was being choked, like the scent would seep into his skin and stay there. The earlier blanket of comfort he’d felt from it became stifling, oppressive, no longer safe, but dangerous. Alpha, the scent screamed. Harry felt his pulse quicken and his breathing become shallow, labored.

“Fuck, open a window, ‘Mione.” Ron gasped, and Harry looked back up to see Ron grimacing, as if HE could smell it, too. Hermione hurried to the bedroom and threw the window open, casting air freshening charms on her way.

“Sorry, I didn’t… Harry, are you alright?” Hermione was in front of him, and Harry met her brown eyes, frowning.

“I’m fine. It was a bit… strong, yeah.” He licked his lips, and shrugged. Ron let out a laugh.

“You have NO control over your own pheromones, do you?” Ron chuckled, and Hermione glanced up, curious. Ron explained as if on cue. “Harry just reacted, nothing terrible. Younger Omegas do it all the time, if an Alpha tries to bully them with pheromones. It’s sort of an involuntary reaction.”

“Ahh.” Hermione nodded. “A sort of struggle for power with pheromones?”

“Exactly. Whoever’s are stronger wins.” Ron agreed.

“What do they win?” Harry asked, and Ron laughed again.

“Whatever they want. It probably won’t work very well on you, since you’re dominant, but typically if an Alpha or Omega just starts smothering you with pheromones, you’ll do pretty much whatever they want. Sort of addles the mind. Mostly the younger ones just do stupid pranks like stealing kisses, or a quick feel, but there are a few that take it too far.”

“Oh.” The emergency potions, Harry thought.

“I don’t imagine anyone would be able to even MOVE with the force of yours, so you probably don’t have to worry. Unless it’s another dominant.”

“What’s the difference, then?” Harry asked, glad for the fresh air that was filling the room, clearing his head as though a fog had been there.

“You can’t tell how much stronger their scent is?” Ron asked, and Hermione gave him a chastising look.

“If he’s spent his entire mature life on suppressants, it’s no surprise he’s not familiar with the different pheromones, Ron. I mean, dominants ARE the minority. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t been close enough to one since coming off the potions to even know.” Hermione lectured him. Ron looked sheepish, and Harry remembered suddenly what Madam Pomfrey had said.

“Pomfrey actually said there was one other dominant in school. An Alpha. Do you know them?” Harry asked, suddenly bursting with curiosity. Wondering if he’d be able to tell if he walked past them.

“Oh, yeah.” Ron made a face. “Malfoy.”

Harry’s heart stopped in his chest.

Of COURSE it was bloody Malfoy!

“One of the reasons I never liked git. Around third year, when he started producing pheromones, he would smell SO awful. And he’d fill up a whole room in seconds with his stupid scent. Put everyone on edge until he learned to control it. Then he, of course, did it on purpose.”

“He’s not doing it now, though, is he?” Hermione asked in her most Prefect-y voice. Ron shook his head, looking almost sad.

“Nah. Heard he got told off fifth year, which must be true, ‘cause he hasn’t really bothered since.” Ron gave a shrug, and Harry was unable to stop the tide of memories. The overpowering crush of Malfoy’s scent. The need for him that came with it. The way his mind had gone on vacation while Malfoy satisfied him. Had that been on purpose? Harry was suddenly furious at the thought that Malfoy had brainwashed him into having sex. Even if it had been terrific. And comforting. And refreshing.

Harry shook his head, and Ron snorted.

“You’re doing it again.” Ron informed him, and Harry offered him a tight smile.

“So, if I were to learn how to control it, I could make people do things?” Harry asked, already imagining his revenge.

“Er, not really. Like, with me, you could probably stop me doing something, but… I wouldn’t kiss you, no offense.” Ron said, making it a joke. Harry frowned, but realized with a strange lurch of his stomach that Ron’s words rang true. His pheromones had been comforting, they’d been smothering, but they didn't make Harry want to spread his legs the way Malfoy’s had.

“So… Why is it that some people’s smell makes me want to…” He trailed off, waving a hand suggestively. Ron barked out a laugh.

“Oh. That. Yeah, it’s got to do with everyone’s compatibility. I only like girls, so, only girl Omegas who are interested in blokes will smell… like that to me.” Ron said.

“If it’s not someone who’d have sex with you, or someone you’d have sex with, then the sexual appeal isn’t part of the scent.” Hermione summarized. “There aren’t MANY Alpha girls in school, but it’s probably why you liked Cho, and Ginny, even though you were on suppressants. Part of you could still tell that they were what you wanted.”

“But I-” Harry clamped his lips shut, and looked away, cheeks going scarlet.

“Yes?” Hermione eyed him inquisitively, and Harry felt like she could probably see exactly what he was going to say. He took a breath and said it anyway.

“I like blokes, too.” He said with a shrug, trying for nonchalant. Ron’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Hermione who just smiled, and spoke without missing a beat.

“Well then, that should give you PLENTY more options, if you’re interested in Alphas at all. I mean, I know the draw is there for all of you, but you’re not obligated to pair off like some predetermined will of nature. You’re free to see whomever you choose, Harry. Or, no one at all, if you like!” She seemed terribly pleased with her answer, and Harry smiled, appreciating her effort. The problem was… after the previous night, he was pretty sure he’d never be able to have sex without imagining what it could be like. He took a steadying breath. Malfoy wasn’t the only Alpha, Hermione was right. He could just… find one in his own time. Until then, he’d have to learn to control his pheromones.

“Ron, do you think you could teach me how to get a grip on this pheromone thing?” He asked, and Ron grinned.

“Of course.” He agreed, and Hermione immediately began drawing up a time table of what he needed to learn, and how long it should take. Harry let her, entirely out of his depth already, and just wanted to know what he was doing before Malfoy could overwhelm him again.

Harry and Ron worked together after classes each day, using Ron or Harry’s room to practice in since Hermione’s didn’t have the anti-pheromone wards. To his humiliation, after Ron and he had first spoken about it and left for dinner, Zacharias smith had told them, in a rather haughty tone, to keep their pissing contests private, and that no one else wanted to suffer through their fighting over Hermione. Harry had glared at him until he’d choked and hurried off. Harry hadn’t realized he’d been releasing pheromones at all until Ron had nudged his shoulder, grinning and told him he could stop now.

Harry was getting much better at knowing when he was doing it, and had even managed to stop himself from scent-bombing all over class when he got frustrated in potions. A bit more embarrassing had been Ron smothering him in pheromones and trying to coerce him into doing stupid things. He’d gladly gotten on his knees the first time, before his own pheromones had overpowered Ron’s ability to speak, and Hermione, who had been standing at the ready to stun either if it got out of hand, had been quick with the windows and air charms. By the end of the week, he found it easier to think through the fog that Ron’s Alpha pheromones caused in his brain. He steadfastly refused to look for Malfoy, to even peek in his direction. He didn’t allow himself to get close enough to pick out his smell from the cluster of scents, and he absolutely did not entertain the idea of testing his newly discovered ability to make the lesser Alphas stop in their tracks and completely freeze under the weight of his pheromones on Malfoy. If he was honest with himself, he was a little terrified that it wouldn’t work on Malfoy. That he’d be completely at his mercy again, if Malfoy retaliated.

One of the most surprising things he discovered that week, however, was the warm sweet scent that came from Dennis, and the soft sugary smell of Luna. It was a bit cloying, at first, but as he got more familiar with the scent of other Omegas, he found it to be comforting. He wondered if that was how he smelled to Alphas. Like desert.

It would explain the way he was suddenly getting heavy-lidded stares thrown his way, and to his horror, Micahel Corner of all people asking him on a date. He’d declined as politely as he could, and tried not to smell Ginny’s scent on him. She smelled similar to Ron, and to Harry’s horror, it was nearly as appealing as Malfoy’s had been. Michael’s scent, mixed with hers, had set him on edge. He knew they were sleeping together in an instant, and rather wondered if Ginny knew he’d asked Harry out. Michael smelled like citrus and body odor, and Harry wondered why on EARTH he had even approached him. Harry could tell by his scent that he wasn’t interested in men. Zacharias Smith, on the other had, kept giving him strange looks. And Harry dreaded being asked out by him too. There really wasn’t a surplus of Alphas in his age group, he thought, catching a whiff of some underdeveloped hormones. They smelled almost like baby powder to him. Soft, fresh, and unappealing. He had laughed out loud at the fourth year Alpha that had tried to pheromone bomb him into a corner. He hadn’t even bothered to retaliate.

In Charms, Professor Flitwick had been going over multi-wizard charms, and when he announced they’d be working on these in groups, Hermione had nearly slid off of her chair with excitement. Harry didn’t get the big deal about it, and was horrified when their little group of three was offered an unwanted fourth by Flitwick himself.

“Missing a fourth partner are we?” His high, squeaking voice called, while they had all been glancing around. Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Hannah Abbot had already formed one group, leaving no one any of them wanted to invite.

“Mr. Malfoy, join this group here!’ He ordered shortly, before moving on to group the remaining stragglers to underwhelming groups. For the first time in a week, Harry found his eyes sliding to look at Malfoy. Grey eyes met his, and he took in the hard, almost angry expression. Grey eyes flickered to glare at Flitwick, but there really was no help for it. He gathered his things and joined his new group in silence. He slammed his things down at their table and Harry noticed that he was refusing to look at any of them. At him. It almost bothered him, that after the horrible, freakish night of bliss Malfoy was just as unwilling to meet his gaze as Harry was.

Harry didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his lungs started to burn, and he was forced to let it out, and take in a new lungful of air. He immediately smelled it. Faint, as though it was a shampoo rather than his natural scent, but definitely there. Sharp, biting, and it lingered on his tongue when it swept out to wet his lips. Harry looked back at Flitwick, doing his best to hold his breath through the rest of class.

At the bell, Malfoy was first out of the room, out of his chair so fast one might have thought he’d been sitting on thumbtacks, and out the door quicker than anyone had even gathered their books. Harry’s eyes followed after him until Hermione spoke.

“Harry, are you alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Fine.” He said, looking back to Hermione. She looked all too knowing, and he didn’t doubt that despite not being able to smell him, she hadn’t forgotten what Malfoy was.

“We can ask to change groups, if you want.” She offered. Harry shook his head.

“No, it’s not too bad. Just surprising.” He admitted, feeling his cheeks go pink. He turned to Ron, curious. “He smelled… less than I thought he would.” It wasn’t a question, but Ron shrugged and answered anyway.

“Probably confused about your smell.” Ron teased. “He wasn’t nearly as much of a dick today as he usually is. Strange, ‘cause he was definitely acting pissy.”

Harry laughed, and tried not to let Malfoy’s scent, or his aloof behavior bother him. He was sure they wouldn’t need to actually work with him. Hermione could get them a good grade on her own.

“Harry! Pay attention!” Hermione chastised, for the fourth time in as many minutes. Harry shook his head and forced his eyes back up, doing his best to listen to Hermione’s words through the haze that was making it difficult to think. Malfoy was seated right across from him, and he was definitely angry. Harry could smell his anger. It was strange, smelling an emotion, and even stranger was Harry’s urge to soothe it. He wanted to touch Malfoy, to ask him what was wrong, to fix whatever it was. Harry desperately wanted to take the emergency potion in his bag. He knew this was not what Madam Pomfrey would label an ‘emergency’, but he felt the creeping sensation that he’d lose his mind if he was forced to sit still with an irritated Malfoy two feet away for much longer.

“Would you stop that!” Ron finally snapped and Harry looked up, shocked. Ron was glaring at Malfoy, not him, though, and Harry felt a wave of relief. He wasn’t the only one Malfoy was making uncomfortable, then. “If you lay it on any thicker, you’ll break my nose! We’re working here!”

Harry watched as Malfoy huffed, and the smell of his irritation grew heavier. He swallowed, fighting the urge to stand when Malfoy did, to follow him as he left without a word.

“Thank Merlin.” Ron grumbled, waving a hand through the air as if to clear it. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and told himself he did NOT want to follow after Malfoy.

“Maybe it wasn’t on purpose?” Hermione spoke up, brow furrowed. “Maybe he’s never had to experience a dominant Omega before.” She said it in a whisper, and Harry wondered about that. Was it possible he was affecting Malfoy the same way Malfoy affected him? It was a strange thought. Was he able to smell Harry’s irritation, too? Was he plagued by the same urge to play nice? Harry hoped not.

“Maybe you should talk to him, Harry? He might have some insight about being a dominant that could help you. You’re still struggling with controlling your pheromone levels, right?”

“No.” Harry denied, “I have nothing to say to him. And I don’t want any of his advice.”

He didn’t mention that the thought of being alone enough with Malfoy to have such a private conversation made him worry that he’d end up giving in to those budding baser urges. He refused to even THINK about giving Malfoy the opportunity to sleep with him again.

He ignored Malfoy whenever they had to sit together, refused to look at him, and tried his damndest to hold his own pheromones back, to not accidentally bomb poor Ron just because Malfoy is sitting there, irritating the hell out of him.

He was determined to keep Malfoy from seeing just how strongly his pheromones affected him, even if it killed him.

Chapter Text

Harry ignored the trail of sweat that dripped down his back, telling himself it was the sun as they walked back in from Herbology. The greenhouses HAD been rather warm, afterall. He ignored how fast his pulse felt, telling himself it was the walk. It WAS uphill, wasn’t it? Harry refused to acknowledge the way every scent around him was more potent, especially that of the Alphas. Ron was walking ahead of him, keeping a brisk pace, and Harry could taste his pheromones trailing behind like a cape. Hermione was at Harry’s side, and Harry could even smell her, now. She smelled like soap, dirt from their lesson, and Ron. He’d never noticed before, since they were always together, but he could smell Ron on her skin, as if she’d bathed in his pheromones. Harry hadn’t known they were sleeping together. He could smell Zacharias Smith as they sat down to lunch, even though he was at the table behind them. He caught the wide-eyed glance of the Hufflepuff as his nostrils flared, clearly catching Harry’s scent in return. Harry grimaced, trying to do as he’d learned and control his pheromones. His clothes felt damp with sweat, and he desperately wished for a shower. He suffered through the rest of their classes without a word from Ron, and Hermione making obviously strained chat.

As he suffered through his first real unsuppressed heat, he noticed the frequent looks of interest and intrigue from both Alphas and Omegas. There were whispers, he was sure, but he couldn’t seem to hear them over the pounding in his ears when he realized that Malfoy was watching him too. His pupils were too large, his face unreadable, and the sight of it sent Harry right back to that night. He met Malfoy’s stare for several long, weighted seconds, until Hermione pulled his attention away, leaving Harry feeling warmer than before, and equally chilled when he looked back to find Malfoy had looked away, too. He was glad for that. He didn’t like what looking at Malfoy did to his stomach. Or his loins.

The second day was worse. His thoughts wouldn’t focus on class, and every time he glanced around the room, he saw several people glance away. Malfoy never did. He always met Harry’s stare directly, but from across the classroom, across the Great Hall, across the sunny grounds, Harry couldn’t smell him. It bothered him. He couldn’t tell from Malfoy’s face what he was thinking, and for several seconds during Transfiguration, he wondered if Malfoy would smell angry again. If he would smell aroused. Harry refused to entertain that thought for longer than a split second. He didn’t care if Malfoy was pissed off about Harry unintentionally releasing pheromones. He didn’t care if Malfoy was irritated that he could probably smell Harry from across the room.

It was too hot in his room. He couldn’t sleep. Masturbating, he couldn’t even finish. He wanted to peel his skin off, just so it would stop sweating. He’d even visited Pomfrey and she had outright refused to let him suppress it. Her suggestion had been to sleep with an Alpha, and get it over with sooner. Harry thought of Malfoy, and also refused immediately. So he was left to burn to death in his bedroom, trying not to go stir crazy from the urge to touch himself, even though he knew it wouldn’t help.

His feet on the cold tiles was a small comfort, and he followed the short path to his door. The hallway was sure to be cooler, he thought. He crept out into the corridor and took a deep breath. He choked. The air was thick, engulfing him in the most delicious scent he’d ever smelled. He wasn’t sure if Malfoy was in the hall before him, or if he’d appeared from nowhere, but Harry’s eyes found him in an instant. His eyes were dark, mostly pupil, and got darker as Harry watched. The scent grew stronger, and Harry found it hard to breathe. His skin felt raw, his sex ached for release, and when Malfoy took a single step back, as if he was going to leave, Harry found his lips parting.

“Please…” He breathed, not sure if he was asking Malfoy to hurry and go, or to stay and fix him. He knew he could fix it, too. He knew Malfoy could touch him and take the burn away, replace it with bliss, and end his horrible torture. Malfoy froze, his eyes locked on Harry, and Harry almost sighed with relief when Malfoy came towards him.

Malfoy’s lips were demanding as he pushed Harry back into the room, his body hard and his hands firm as he led Harry straight to the bed. Harry sank back without argument and Malfoy climbed on top of him, kissing, tearing clothes off, growling obscene things that Harry was sure should make sense, but he couldn’t seem to understand them. He breathed in the heavy scent of Malfoy and moaned, his own hands pushing at the cloth covering cream colored skin, demanding it be freed. Malfoy yanked his own clothes off next, and before Harry could beg for it, he was filling him, sinking deep into Harry. They both shuddered at the feel of it, and Harry watched Malfoy’s face transform with the same need that was mirrored inside him. He grabbed Harry’s hips so hard his fingers left bruises, but Harry didn’t complain. Harry didn’t complain when teeth scraped his shoulder, or a tongue laved at his neck. He couldn’t seem to remember any words, anyway.

The sex was harsh, fast, and noisy. Harry heard the slapping sounds, the grunts, moans, and growls. He heard the high-pitched keening he made when Malfoy’s tongue swept over one of his nipples, and Harry jerked, surprised that his chest could be so sensitive. He was certain it never had been before. When pink lips suckled at the rosy nub, Harry arched off the bed, fisted his hands in platinum hair, and begged for more. Malfoy provided without hesitation, using lips, tongue, teeth, hands, and that wonderful, perfect cock to bring Harry off. Again. And again. Harry came, shuddering, moaning, and when the sensation of being stretched became too much, when Malfoy felt too deep, Harry came again, seeing stars as his muscles clenched around Malfoy, his whole body shivering and throbbing with the pulse of Malfoy’s climax.

Malfoy went still, forehead resting on Harry’s sternum, hands still holding Harry’s waist from his last few desperate thrusts, and Harry felt his breath cooling the sweat all down his stomach in harsh bursts. The burn had faded, leaving him feeling burnt out, and exhausted. He let his arms drop to the bed, and took in a deep shuddering breath. He could smell Draco, but the scent had changed. It was no longer filled with lust. There was no trace of the irritation he’d been worried about, either. He smelled… satisfied. He smelled of finished sex, stability, warmth. Harry turned his head, rubbing his nose in soft hair, letting the smell wrap around him in a comforting embrace as Malfoy settled closer, pressing his weight to Harry as he relaxed.

Harry didn’t have the energy to be upset yet. All he felt was satisfied, warm, and sleepy.

He woke alone, his bed still damp with sweat, the scent of Malfoy lingering around him, but the sheets were cool, Malfoy long gone. Harry almost felt jilted to find himself suddenly alone when he’d fallen asleep warm and safe. He refused to entertain the feeling of being alone and empty, and maintained to himself that he was glad Malfoy was gone. That he didn’t have to decide whether to kick him out of the bed again or awkwardly laugh over this happening again.

He opened the window, cast air freshening charms and showered for far longer than he usually did. When he was dressed, and went down to breakfast, he could barely smell Malfoy’s scent on his skin at all.

“Oh thank Merlin.” Ron said when he sat down beside Hermione. “I thought it was never going to end.”

Harry felt his cheeks darken, and grinned. He knew that not everyone knew what Ron was talking about, but the snickers from the few that did and could hear were rather humiliating. Harry held his head high and tried to ignore it. Ron’s nostrils flared and his chest expanded as if he were taking his first breath as a free man. Harry rolled his eyes, but didn’t miss the way Ron’s brows drew together, and his head turned more toward Harry, as if he’d smelled-

No, Harry could barely smell it himself, there was no way Ron would be able to tell that he’d slept with Malfoy. He couldn’t even smell Ron’s scent coming from Hermione anymore, either. It would be fine, he told himself. Everything would be fine. And he would continue pretending Malfoy didn’t exist.

Harry’s great plan to completely ignore Malfoy’s existence was ruined by their group project. He sat across from Harry nearly every afternoon, practicing his own bit of the charmwork, and then turning to practice with Hermione, while Ron and Harry practiced on the other side of the table. Harry tried not to feel irritated by the way Malfoy was ignoring him right back. He tried to ignore the scent that filled his nose and his head. He tried very hard to not notice that when Malfoy spoke quietly to Hermione he was always polite and the sound of his voice made Harry’s stomach clench. He couldn’t hear it without thinking about the way it sounded during sex. Murmured exhalations and harsh words of need. Harry did not think of how those hands and lips felt on him. He did not think about how Malfoy’s body had felt against his. And he absolutely never, not once, thought about how he had felt afterwards.

Sitting with him at the same table wasn’t nearly as good, but with the gentle trace of his pheromones dancing around the space, surrounded by his two best friends, and the Alpha that had taken care of his heat, Harry felt warm, comfortable, and safe. Despite his constant, grating irritation that Malfoy hadn’t even looked at him since the other night. Hadn’t spoken a single word to him yet all term that hadn’t involved bare skin and frenzied actions.

Harry made it a week before he felt the telltale warming of his neck.

“It’s only been a week! That’s three times in five weeks! It’s supposed to only be once a month!” Harry protested while sitting on a bed being looked over by Madam Pomfrey. She did her usual checks, and then stood back, hands on her hips.

“Well, unfortunately, there’s nothing that can be fixed. My diagnosis is that having been dependent on suppressant potions, now that you’re off of them, your natural heat cycle has become unstable. It should sort itself out in a month or two, and get back on track. Until then, I suggest you either take time off of classes, or keep an Alpha on call. Don’t look at me like that Mr. Potter, I know very well how your last two heats ended so abruptly. Don’t act as though I’m suggesting something distasteful when you can’t deny it works. Being an Eighth year, of course, gives you certain privileges. If you need to have someone come to you, I’m sure that can be arranged. If you’d like recommendations-”

“No!” Harry shouted, causing Pomfrey to startle at the sudden noise. “Er… No thank you.” Harry waved his hands as if he could erase the idea from her brain. “I appreciate the thought, but… I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? If whoever you’re seeing presently is unable to continue, then I’d be more than happy to-”

“Thank you, but no. We’re fine.” Harry lied, doing his level best to convince her, standing so he could attempt to flee.

“Well… You are taking your contraceptives every morning, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m used to taking potions every day, so it’s not hard to remember.” Harry shrugged, already trying to back out of the hospital ward. Pomfrey frowned at him as he escaped, but didn’t stop him.
Sweat trickled down Harry’s neck as he walked back down to lunch.

“What’d she say?” Ron asked without preamble as Harry sank heavily onto the bench next to him.

“She reckons I’ve done it to myself, with the potions. Says it’ll probably be a couple months, and in the meantime, I’ll just have to suffer a heat roulette every day.” Harry griped, far too hungry to mention what she’d said about keeping an Alpha in his bedside drawer for convenience. He bolted down lunch in record time, nearly matching Ron’s appetite. Hermione pointedly kept her eyes on her own plate, and Harry, feeling a bit bold, took a deeper breath, taking in the pheromones around him. He could smell it again. Stronger now. Ron and Hermione were definitely sleeping together. He could smell it on himself, too. Malfoy’s scent was stronger now that he was in heat again, and even knowing that he’d slept with Malfoy only a few days ago did nothing to quell the warmth pulsing through him, growing with every heartbeat. It wasn’t at its worst quite yet, but he knew it would wake him up later. He wondered if Pomfrey would give him a sleeping potion instead, but was loath to face her again for long enough to ask, He didn’t want to risk more invasive suggestions.

It had been three days. Harry had been suffering for three bloody days. He was finally ready to give in and ask for a sleeping potions, but on his way to the infirmary, he was stopped by an unlikely figure.

“Potter. Could I have a word?” Zacharias Smith spoke with sure even words, and Harry nodded before he’d really processed the words. His thoughts were far too fuzzy. He rubbed his forehead as if it might help, and followed Smith around the corner, to a less frequented corridor near the Transfiguration classrooms. Harry could smell Smith now, and realized he’d never been alone, or close enough to really single out his pheromones from the crowd before. He smelled cool and minty, and when it was just the two of them, with Smith standing just a short distance away, the scent of him made Harry’s head spin.

He had dark brown eyes and wavy sandy blond hair. Harry realized with a bit of a shock that he was rather attractive. He had a strong jaw, and high cheekbones. His lashes were thick, his lips were pink, and he smelled delicious. Harry swallowed dryly.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, Potter, and it’s probably none of my business, but… You’re distracting me. I’m meant to be focusing on my school work, and you’ve been smothering the class with your blasted pheromones for days now. We’ve never been particularly close, and I usually can’t bloody stand you, but… this can’t go on.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he was expected to apologize, but he didn’t have time to decide on the correct words before Smith stepped closer. He looked almost nervous. Harry found their gazes locked together.

“If you need an Alpha, I’m… willing to help you.” His eyes flicked down to Harry’s mouth, and Harry wondered if he was releasing more of that minty scent on purpose, or if it was just a reaction to Harry’s heat. He noticed that Ginny stayed far from him when she noticed, and besides Malfoy, he hadn’t encountered another Alpha he might be compatible with. It was strange, knowing Smith was coming onto him, feeling the desire in the air around them, and seeing the almost anxious look in his eyes.

He moved even closer, and Harry realized they must be standing by the wall, as he suddenly found himself trapped between it and Smith. The dark brown eyes were going darker as his pupils flared, and Harry licked his lips in anticipation. He couldn’t seem to think properly. Smith smelled amazing, he was attractive, and Harry was far, far too warm to be wearing so many clothes. He couldn’t see any problem with Smith’s approach, except that it was rather slow. He thought of how Malfoy had just grabbed him and got on with things. He rather liked that, he thought.

He lifted his arms and wrapped them around Smith’s neck, pulling him in, being bold and not caring if they were in the middle of the corridor. At that moment he wanted nothing more than those soft-looking lips to meet his. They were warm, too. The kiss was hesitant, gentle, and Harry felt the hand that cupped his face, steadying them both.

“I can still smell him on you, but you don’t need scum like Malfoy.” Smith’s words were spoken in a whisper against Harry’s lips. “I’ll take care of you.”

The promise sent a thrill through Harry, and he pulled Smith closer, deepening the kiss. He didn’t like hearing about Malfoy while Smith was kissing him. It did strange things to his insides, made his stomach feel all twisty and his heart pound erratically. He focused on kissing the blond in front of him, and couldn’t quite feel sorry even though he must have been practically suffocating him with Omega pheromones.

Through the haze of mint and kissing, Harry felt a hand creep up his shirt, and gave a soft groan of appreciation. He was too warm, too sensitive, and touch was the only thing that helped. It wasn’t as instantly overwhelming as Malfoy’s pheromones had been, but it was still nice. Harry was enjoying himself, and reasoned that this was what Madam Pomfrey had suggested, afterall.

The familiar spicy scent sent a shiver up his spine, and his thoughts glazed a little further. He wasn’t sure if the scent was coming from his own skin, or elsewhere in the castle, but it was getting stronger.

The warm body against his froze, and Smith stumbled back a step, appearing to choke on the air. Harry could taste it on his tongue before he even opened his eyes. Malfoy was standing there, glaring at Smith. The hall was stifling with so many pheromones. Spice, mint, and the spice was getting stronger. Harry felt his breath coming in fast pants, and he tasted Malfoy’s fury, and watched as Smith’s pupils contracted to tiny points, and he sucked in a shuddering breath, stumbling to catch himself against the wall as his whole body trembled. He and Malfoy had their eyes deadlocked, and Malfoy, it appeared, was winning whatever silent battle they fought. Harry found his own eyes pinned to Draco as the scent of him grew to a tangible saturation in the air. The mint was barely an undercurrent in the face of Malfoy’s wrath. He could taste Smith’s sudden surge of panic, the last rush of pheromones, and then, his scent was undetectable under the asphyxiating crush of Malfoy.

“Go.” The single word rang with menace as Draco stared unblinking at Zacharias. Still choking and struggling to stand under the onslaught, Smith fled. He went as fast as his shaking legs could carry him down the hall and away. Only when he was out of sight did Draco turn to face Harry.

Harry thought he should probably be angry for Malfoy chasing off a possible replacement, but the thought that Malfoy was here, for him, sent his stomach twisting again, and instead of anger, there was want. Malfoy looked half-feral as he stomped his way over to where Harry was standing, and Harry felt as if he might collapse. His legs felt weak, and his breathing was too fast, and Malfoy was too far away. But then Malfoy was right there, grabbing him, dragging him a few steps down the hall, and pulling them through the door of a classroom. Harry stumbled through, and grabbed a handful of Draco’s robes to steady himself. He could still feel Draco’s anger, and with his mind nearly mush from the battle of Alpha pheromones he’d been subjected to, Harry moved on instinct. He flattened his hands against Malfoy’s chest and leaned up to kiss him, hoping his gesture cooled Malfoy’s fury. It seemed to have the exact opposite effect of calming him down. He grabbed Harry, and kissed him violently, shoving him into the wall in a way that mimicked the position he’d been in with Zacharias. This, however, was not a gentle kiss while surrounded by a delicious scent. This was angry, forceful, and so thick with the sharp scent of Malfoy’s pheromones that it nearly burned Harry’s tongue to taste it. Everything about Malfoy burned. His scent, his flavor, and his body. They burned into Harry and Harry clung to it, wondering how on earth he could have ever imagined Smith could be a half decent replacement. There was no replacement for this. There was no substituting how quickly Malfoy got rid of their clothes, or how tightly he held Harry. He gave Harry just what he needed, and he didn’t wait. He didn’t ask. He didn’t hesitate. Harry could taste in the air what Malfoy wanted, what he needed, and Harry knew Malfoy could discern the same of him. He knew just what Harry needed, and wasted no time giving it to him. He touched him, hands claiming the skin the Smith had dared to touch, teeth warning Harry never to let anyone else kiss those lips, and pheromones drowning Harry under a tidal wave of jealousy, possession, and desire.

His legs were lifted, and Harry barely registered that Malfoy was holding him up against the wall, because a moment later, Harry felt the scorching heat that slipped into him. He moaned, licking at Malfoy’s tongue, demanding more. Malfoy gave it to him, hard deep thrusts that jarred Harry against the stones with each pass. Sparkling, wonderful pleasure that filled every inch of his body. Grey eyes bored into his, mirroring what Harry could taste in the air. Harry came quickly, once, twice, and on his third trembling climax, he felt the swell of Draco inside him, felt the knot form, and the warm flood of semen as he released deep inside Harry.

Draco stood, shaking, for a moment and caught his breath. Harry clung to him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, suddenly aware that Malfoy and the wall were all that kept him from dropping straight to the floor. The sweltering sensation of his heat was passing, leaving his skin sweaty and cooling in the empty classroom.

“Fuck…” Malfoy huffed finally, lowering them both to the floor. Harry winced as the motion pulled at the thick bulge still inside him, but found himself seated atop Malfoy, straddling his hips as the blond leaned his back against the wall, legs outstretched behind Harry. They were facing each other, and Harry felt his cheeks darken at the intimate position they found themselves stuck in.

“We… er… usually sleep through this part, don’t we?” He commented rhetorically, trying for humor in the humiliating situation. He knew, logically, that Malfoy had knotted inside him during their previous couplings. He knew that was what was stretching him to the limit, and keeping Malfoy from running off immediately. Now, however, being able to feel it, to think about it, while being forced to face Malfoy himself, made it seem suddenly too vivid. Malfoy was inside him. He was physically tied to Malfoy until his knot went flaccid, and Harry could stand again. The former seemed far more likely to happen sooner than the latter.

Malfoy’s brows pulled together, and he glared up at Harry, hands flat on the floor on either side of his hips, and Harry could still smell his irritation.

“If you hate it so much, why do you keep coming back for more?” Harry snapped, his own ire rising at the thought that Malfoy wasn’t pleased with what he’d taken. At his question, Malfoy’s glare faltered, and he looked to the side.

“I don’t know.” He said quietly. They were the first words Malfoy had spoken directly to him all year, and Harry wanted to strangle him. He disliked that Malfoy’s irritation and moodiness were ruining his post-coital bliss. He might have taken a nap, but with the sour flavor of anger mixing through the room, Harry wanted this over and done with.

“You should take suppressant potions so you can’t smell me, that way this doesn’t keep happening.” Harry said matter-of-factly. At least, he was pretty sure he had. Malfoy looked even more furious when blazing grey eyes met his.

“No! If you hate it so much, take them yourself!” Malfoy snapped, and his pheromones practically gushed out. Harry swallowed, his heart pounding at the scent of Malfoy’s disgust at the idea. He wanted to nestle into him, tell him he wasn’t serious, kiss him until he stopped being so angry. He settled for explaining why Malfoy’s suggestion wasn’t possible.

“I can’t. I took too many, and I’ve built up a tolerance. It’s also why I’m… going into heat so much.” Harry muttered, looking away. The scent of disgust faded and left Harry in a swirl of comforting warmth. It made his lips loose. “It’s why you’ve never smelled me before… I used them constantly, and… apparently it’s destabilized my natural cycle.”

His cheeks were too warm, but he refused to admit to himself that he was blushing just from speaking to Malfoy. A soft touch drew his eyes, and he looked down to watch the tips of Malfoy’s fingers skim his thigh, as if he were trying to soothe Harry’s discomfort. Harry blurted out more.

“I think maybe… I’ll just have to do what Pomfrey said. Find an Alpha and have some sort of arrangement with them, so we don’t… Pretty sure you’ve ruined Smith, though. Maybe Charlie, Ron’s brother, or…”

Malfoy’s fingers were suddenly squeezing his leg, a bit too tightly, and Harry heard the angry growl, smelled the possessive wash of pheromones Malfoy released. He looked up and found Malfoy staring at him, face dark and furious.

“Potter… You are clearly inexperienced with Alphas, so I will warn you now. Do not just casually speak of fucking another Alpha when one is knotted inside you.” Malfoy’s voice was low, full of danger, and Harry felt the hair on his arms stand on end. He forced the irrational fear down. Malfoy’s wand was across the floor, with their clothes, and with them locked together, there was really not much he could do without hurting himself, too.

“Why not? Jealous?” Harry let out a short laugh that morphed into a hiss of pain as Malfoy’s nails dug into his skin, sharp and surprising.

“Not jealous. Possessive. Alphas do not like to share. Hearing you talk about jumping into bed with someone else… it makes me want to mark you.” Malfoy muttered. Harry looked at him with confusion. He recalled some fuzzy memory about that word, but didn’t know why Malfoy said it like it was taboo.

“That’s… biting, right? Why’s that such a bad thing, anyway?” Harry asked, not wanting Malfoy to do it, but still curious. He thought maybe he should save his questions for Hermione. She was less volatile, less… naked. But Malfoy was here, under him, in him. Speaking to him, and meeting his eyes. Harry found it easy to speak to him like this. Strangely easy. Terrifyingly easy. Malfoy looked at him with incredulity.

“You want me to mark you?” He asked, sounding shocked.

“No, I just don’t understand.” Harry denied. “Maybe Dumbledore and Pomfrey didn’t explain it right… Or maybe… I wasn’t… paying attention.”

Malfoy laughed at that, and Harry felt it vibrate inside him. He liked Malfoy laughing. It was embarrassing to feel him laughing inside, but his face was lighter, suddenly more relaxed as his head fell back to the wall briefly.

“Of course you weren’t paying attention. And you probably haven’t done any reading to understand what being an Omega actually means, have you?” Malfoy asked, looking at him with a sort of sad humor. The irritation was no longer burning his nose, and instead, the spicy scent of Malfoy was almost playful. Harry wanted to kiss him, to taste that flavor on his tongue.

“It means I’m a freak that can get pregnant.” Harry retorted, embarrassed.

Malfoy leaned back, chuckling some more, and Harry shivered. It felt good. It made the swollen knot of his sex quiver and sent shockwaves of sensation up Harry’s spine.

“Would you stop that?” Harry snapped, his knees squeezing Malfoy’s hips as if he could make the shaking end there.

“Why? Irritating you, am I?”

“No, I… I can feel it. Just stop.” Harry pleaded, his face blazing with mortification at admitting such a detail. Malfoy’s laughter stopped immediately, though. Harry decided to count it as a win.

He glanced back to Malfoy’s face and saw that familiar ravenous expression. He felt the length inside of him twitch. Harry wondered what would happen if he just leaned forward and-

He jerked his mind abruptly away from that though. He wasn’t in heat. He wasn’t desperate. There was no reason to initiate further intimacy with the blond. Even if it made his own cock twitch with interest and warmth pool in his stomach. He cast his mind around for the subject they were speaking about before he mentioned feeling Malfoy’s cock inside him.

“So… Marking. It’s just biting, right?” He restated his question.

“No.” Malfoy answered, his voice soft, and Harry felt his stomach twist at the scent that surrounded them. “It’s biting here.”

One warm finger came up to trace a section of Harry’s neck, from his hairline to his shoulder. Harry shivered as Malfoy touched his nape, and felt another stirring of arousal in his lower half. He swallowed, and listened, because Malfoy was speaking again.

“Mixing your pheromones, so they are literally embedded in your own scent. It makes Omegas less susceptible to the pheromones of other Alphas, and vice versa. If it’s one-way, it warns off other interested parties, and puts the bitten under the power of whoever bit them. It’ll fade after a few months, or can be replaced by someone else’s mark, but if it’s mutual, if an Alpha and Omega mark each other… they become bonded. It’s irreversible and makes you completely immune to the pheromones of others.”

Harry felt himself relax as Malfoy spoke. It was almost like listening to one of Hermione’s lectures. Comforting, familiar, and gave him ideas.

“So… Why doesn’t everyone just do that?” Harry asked, imagining that a single person’s pheromones would be FAR easier to cope with than the onslaught he usually had to suffer.

“Not everyone has good intentions, Potter.” Malfoy breathed in a tired sigh. Suddenly, Harry thought about what might have happened if Malfoy was more interested in abusing his pheromones. If Harry was under his command. He shivered, and felt as if this version of Malfoy, the Alpha, wasn’t so bad. Harry thought about how he changed when he came near Harry in heat, how he seemed to lose control the same way Harry did. He almost felt guilty for steamrolling him with pheromones, but couldn’t feel too bad about it when Malfoy was clearly not displeased enough to take suppressants. Harry felt his curiosity rise, and it refused to be pushed away.

“So… why don’t you want to take suppressants?” He asked, not daring to mention the way Malfoy’s warm hands were resting comfortably on his thighs now that he’d relaxed again.

“Mind your own business, Potter.” Malfoy said, his tone not nearly as cutting as he’d probably meant it. He seemed tired. Harry imagined that holding him up and bringing them both off MUST have been exhausting. He didn’t remember if Malfoy had fallen asleep after their previous encounters. He’d always fallen asleep too quickly to mind what Malfoy was doing.

“Well, Malfoy, your cock is literally stuck inside me, so I’d say whatever reason you have for risking this happening again is my business.” Harry argued.

“Fine!” Malfoy gave up and sighed heavily as if suffering Harry’s inquisitiveness. “It… it feels wrong. I HAVE taken them before, when I needed to get somewhere private when a rut began… it felt like being castrated. I couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t smell anything. I hated it. I’d rather fuck you a thousand times over than feel like that ever again.”

Harry was silent, turning those words over in his head. He compared what it had felt like to be on suppressants constantly, to now. The thought of no longer being able to read the Alphas as he could now, not being able to know when one was near made a tingle of anxiety thrill through him. It would feel like being blind, he thought, like losing an entire sense he hadn't known he even had. The thought of being so cut off from his pheromones again made him feel sick.

He stared at Malfoy's face, tasting the air, and mulling over what Pomfrey had suggested. Malfoy, despite their differences, had been trying to be polite… or at least absent enough to avoid conflict. He thought of the quiet way he spoke with Hermione during their charms work, the way he’d stayed after waking up that first time. He thought of Malfoy, sitting here, inside of him, having a chat like it was the most normal thing in the world. He wanted to try overcoming the past, too.

"If you won't take suppressants, and I have no idea when the next heat might come… this will probably happen again." Harry warned. Malfoy gave him a look of mild annoyance.

"If you really can't stand fucking me, Potter, go hide in the infirmary next time you're in heat. Or learn to control your pheromones. It's not as though I enjoy being drawn to you from the other side of the castle." Malfoy huffed.

Having his theory that Malfoy was similarly affected by his hormones made Harry's stomach clench with prideful enjoyment. Being dominant, Malfoy was the most powerful Alpha in the whole school, and it pleased Harry that his heat pheromones rendered him useless. Harry willfully ignored that he was made useless himself by Malfoy's.

“I’m trying to control them… I’m getting better.” Harry announced, and then, “And I can’t hide in the infirmary everytime I go into heat, I’d likely end up hiding half the year, waiting for one heat after another…. But-”

“I’m not taking the suppressant Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was firm, unyielding, and Harry licked his lips.

“Then… Do you want to just… help me?” He said, meeting the steel-colored stare without wavering. Malfoy’s face twisted, and he let his head fall back with another groan.

“Fuck… Don’t do that.” He said, fingers tightening on Harry’s thighs. Harry resisted the urge to press his face to the exposed column of Malfoy’s throat. He was definitely feeling drowsy from the sex.

“Do what? Ask you to help me?” Harry asked, thoroughly confused.

“No. Don’t ask for help while smothering me with your pheromones and looking all vulnerable.” Malfoy answered, eyes cracking open to peer at Harry. “It’s hardly fair.”

“Find me irresistible do you?” Harry teased with a grin, feeling that same tingle of enjoyment in his chest at being able to influence Malfoy. The blond let out a warning growl, and Harry lowered his head, looking at Malfoy from under his lashes. The urge to be playful was almost as strong as the urge to squeeze himself closer. Malfoy closed his eyes again and took a deep breath.

“Of course I’ll agree to keep fucking you. That is what you meant by ‘help’, isn’t it?” Malfoy’s eyes opened again, and he managed to fix a mocking smirk on his face for a moment before it was wiped away with another inhalation of Harry’s pheromones. Harry had to resist the urge to call him a prat, and refused to give in to Malfoy’s provoking. He was clearly just trying to wind him up, and Harry thought it was probably better not to delve into their old warring habits. He much preferred the new habits they seemed to be forming. Which was strange on it’s own.

“Er… Yeah. Thanks.” Harry finally managed to express. He shifted uncomfortably on Malfoy’s lap, desperately wanting to flee. To his shock, there was a strange pulling sensation, and Malfoy’s flaccid length slipped free, leaving Harry straddling him for a heartbeat with nothing trapping him in place.

Harry lurched to his feet, stumbling a bit in his haste, and Malfoy's hands dropped to the ground. Harry snatched up his clothes and threw them on with record speed, not bothering to tie his tie or tuck his shirt in before he darted out the door. He cast one last glance over his shoulder and saw Malfoy still sitting on the floor, nude, watching him leave. Harry wasn't sure what to make of the look on his face, so he pushed it to the back of his mind, and tried to hurry to the class he was definitely already late for.

Harry snuck into History of Magic, and slid into his seat next to Hermione as casually as he was able. His red face and hard breathing from running halfway across the castle may have ruined it, but besides a few snickers, no one said anything.
"Is everything alright? What did Madam Pomfrey say?" Hermione asked. Harry looked over, and past her, Ron was staring at him with an expression of confused concern, his chest expanding as his nostrils flared, taking in the scents Harry had brought with him. Harry felt his face blanch, and tried to cover his tracks.
"I didn't actually get to talk to her. Got stuck between Zacharias Smith and Malfoy fighting over whose cock is bigger." Harry uttered under his breath, "Had to wait for them to finish before making a run for it. But I think them pheromone bombing the whole damn hall helped get rid of my heat."
Ron still looked a bit suspicious, but he and Hermione seemed to buy his story for the moment.
"Yeah, I can tell. Though, I kind of wish I'd been there to watch Malfoy shove his pheromones down Smith's throat. Pompous bloody git." Ron muttered. Harry gave him a curious look, wondering if there was some offense he'd forgotten about. Ron shook his head to dismiss it, as Hermione let out a huff of exasperation.
"If you HAD been there, Ron, you would have been in the same boat as him. Malfoy is dominant, isn't he?” Hermione inserted the cold logic that Harry found amusing. More amusing was Ron’s face. He looks affronted that Hermione wouldn’t cater to his fantasy of being immune to the pheromones of a stronger Alpha, as if being non-dominant was an insult. Hary snickered, but quickly stopped when Hermione glared at him and asked. “You were alright, though? It didn’t… upset you?”
“No, I’m good.” Harry insisted, finally pulling his textbook out and opening it. The class fell into its usual bored silence, and Harry was glad for the time it gave him to straighten his thoughts, and try to emit just enough of his own pheromones to cover Smith’s, and more importantly, Malfoy’s. He wasn’t sure if it worked, but he noticed at least three people in class look at him with expressions ranging from curiosity to annoyance. He offered apologetic smiles, and ducked his head to his book. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep the ruse up, but he hoped his heat cycles evened out quickly. An arrangement with Malfoy could quickly become more trouble than it was worth…

As soon as classes were out, Harry hurried back to his room and tried to shower the scent of Malfoy off of himself. He scrubbed his skin until it was red and raw, washed his hair twice, and stood under scalding water for far longer than normal. When he finally felt as though he couldn't possibly stay in the shower longer, he finally got out and toweled himself dry. A good tooth scrubbing, a fresh uniform, and he felt almost as clean as he had that morning. Definitely less sweaty.
Harry took a refreshing breath of fresh air, and could only detect the faintest hint of Alpha lingering on him. It was as good as he could hope for. He counted it as a win and went to join Ron and Hermione.

“Harry, over here!” The call from across the library made Madam Pince frown, and Harry startle as he swung to face the familiar sound. Luna sat at a table halfway down an aisle, with a stack of books by her, and a serene smile on her face as she beckoned him over. Harry cast one look around, but saw no one that might save him from whatever strange subject Luna was researching this time. He walked down the aisle toward her and took a seat, eyeing the books she had gathered. It looked like a collection of random spell books and charms, but Harry couldn’t determine any common factor just from the titles.

“Hello, Luna.” Harry greeted her politely, finding his smile came easier. He did like Luna, even if she was a bit odd. She was wearing turnip earrings and a sparkly headband that held her hair out of her face while she read. Harry inhaled her scent, and thought it reminded him of vanilla cakes. Sweet, soft, warm.

“Hello, Harry. How have you been?” Luna was still smiling that wisp of a smile, but the way her eyes stared at Harry, almost through him, made him shift nervously in his seat. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she saw.

“Er… Good. I’ve been good. You?” Harry asked, eyeing the books speculatively again.

“I’ve been wonderful. I was glad to see you’ve finally come out as an Omega. It’s good to be honest with yourself, you know.” Luna said, her smile stretching a bit wider for a moment. “I’m glad to see you and Draco are getting along better now.”

“Er… Are we?” Harry asked, certain that he and Malfoy had not said so much as a single word to each other publicly. Even in their group Charms project, they avoided interacting directly.

Luna nodded, her liquid blue eyes knowing.

“Oh yes, I imagine so. Your pheromones mixed together like that smell rather nice, actually. Like cinnamon candy apples.” She said, taking a deep breath, smiling as she savored it. Harry felt his face go red.

“I… Really smell like him?” Harry sniffed himself. With Luna’s words in his head, Malfoy’s scent DID remind him of cinnamon. But it was faint, even with his nose pressed to his own shoulder.

“Oh yes. You probably can’t smell it very well, since, well, it’s coming from you. But it does smell lovely. Almost like you were made to go together.” She said it wistfully, and Harry felt a shiver go up his spine at those words. He knew she was just being Luna, but the thought made a tingle of apprehension pass through him. He couldn’t quite place what bothered him so much about her rambling thoughts, though.

“Oh, erm… thanks?” Harry managed to articulate after a moment, and Luna’s eyes widened as she looked back at him from where she’d been staring into space.

“You’re welcome, Harry. You did seem surprised, though. Perhaps a wrackspurt got into your head while you were with him, and made you forget?” She suggested. Harry gave her a long, considering look. He knew she was an Omega. He trusted her, even if she was a bit odd sometimes.

“No, I remembered, I just… I’m kind of trying to keep it secret.” Harry admitted, feeling a small twinge of guilt at admitting to lying to his friends. “Do you think Ron will know? He’ll go ballistic if he finds out.”

“Oh, probably not. Pheromones are strange things, Harry. They’re stronger for those they’re meant to attract, so, unless Ron might fall in love with you, or Draco, I doubt he can smell Draco’s scent on you as well as I can.” She said breezily. Harry nodded, thinking of how Smith had clearly been able to tell he’d slept with Malfoy, well after it had happened.

“So an Omega interested in Draco, or an Alpha interested in me can tell, but not one whose… uninterested?” He felt a bit like an idiot trying to articulate it simply, but Luna nodded.

“That’s it exactly. Pheromones are meant to attract and repel, so unless it’s someone meant to be attracted, or kept away, the pheromones won’t really bother them. Like Betas. Alphas and Omegas might fall in love with Betas, but, magically, they aren’t what we’re drawn to, so Betas cannot smell the Pheromones at all. It’s a shame, really… I imagine Betas would smell fantastic. Like fresh parchment, or spring.”

“Oh. Er. I suppose.” Harry said, imagining for a moment what Hermione might smell like. Parchment WAS about right, he thought. “Luna, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Harry.” She answered with a smile. “Though, I suppose you just have, haven’t you?”

“Oh, er, yeah. Sorry. Anyway…” Harry tried to collect the jumble of his thoughts, what Luna had said, what Pomfrey had said, what Hermione had said. What Draco had said. “What do you think of… Draco? Do you think it’s a bad choice to… have sex with him?”

His tongue stumbled over the name, and blushed at his own question, but Luna just looked thoughtful for a moment, not even noticing his awkwardness.
“

I think he’s trying much harder this year, to be who he wants to be.” Luna finally said, cryptically. She gave Harry a smile.

“What do you mean?” Harry urged. Luna’s eyes nearly sparkled as she answered, as if Draco were some interesting creature she’d been studying.

“His pheromones are softer this year. Like he’s trying to hold them back a bit better than he used to. And he’s being far more polite to everyone. I think he’s just like everyone else, Harry. He’s just trying to heal what’s hurt him, and apologize, in his own way, for his mistakes. I heard one boy call him evil, but that’s not true, is it? He was never evil. Just led into temptation by forces that were stronger than him.” Luna said, her face taking on a serious, somber cast that Harry had rarely seen on her. Her words rang true, and Harry nodded. They’d all come out of the war worse for wear, and Malfoy was no exception. Harry decided not to think too hard about whether Malfoy was a good or bad person. What had happened between them was no one’s fault, really. It would do him no good to worry over it.

“Thanks, Luna.” He gave her a smile, and left her to her confusing research. She sent him off with a wave, and Harry found Ron and Hermione at the back of the library, waiting for him.

“Sorry, I got stopped by Luna.” He said, hoping they’d not ask questions about his still-damp hair, or in Ron’s case, the scent of cinnamon still lingering around him. Ron gave him another look, and Harry knew he was testing the pheromones. To his relief, Ron looked convinced, and Harry was thankful that Ron was only interested in women. The scent of Malfoy was getting stronger, and he sincerely hoped Ron wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Everyone’s here, good. We can get started.” Hermione said, her eyes landing over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned, and suddenly wanted to slide under the table and hide.

Malfoy had walked up behind him, and took the chair next to him, giving Hermione a nod of greeting before he began pulling out his Charms book, wand, and a long roll of parchment. Harry couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about their group project and having to sit at a table with Malfoy. He groaned silently to himself, and pulled out his own materials. Ron made a face, screwing it up in something resembling disgust, and Harry was glad for his decision to hide Malfoy's and his arrangement from his friends. He glanced over at the blond, and as usual, Malfoy seemed to be ignoring him. He felt a mix of relief and disappointment. Hermione began leading them through the four-person casting, and Harry did his best to pay attention, and keep his eyes off of Malfoy, whose gentle scent of his pheromones was almost mouthwatering in the subtle waves it came in. He wasn’t some sex-addict. He could focus on school, even with the worst possible distraction sitting next to him, smelling like relaxed confidence and cinnamon.

Chapter Text

Harry was hopeful after two weeks, that his heat cycle would be back to the normal once a month schedule. He was halfway through a month without even a hint of being too warm, or horny. Just two more weeks to go, before he could declare to Pomfrey that he was fine. The horizon looked bright and cheery and normal.

The potions classroom was always warm. It always made him sweat a little to stand so close to the flames, to lean over a boiling cauldron. The trickle of sweat down his nape was entirely due to the heat of the room, the flames, the sweltering oppressive humidity that the potions were creating. The shiver up his back when the trace of spice wafted past his nose had nothing to do with Malfoy. The strange empty feeling inside him was due to hunger. He was sure.

By dinnertime, he was less sure. He was getting a bit of a glare from Zacharias, and Ron was sitting on the other side of Hermione, looking a bit strained. Ginny was at the other end of the table, sitting with Michael Corner, and even from where he sat, Harry could make out the traces of their Alpha pheromones mixing together from more than their proximity. Ron’s scent on Hermione was stronger, and Harry, despite not caring to know the information, was positive that when he’d been distracted with watching quidditch practice between classes that afternoon, they’d snuck off together, and most definitely had NOT been working on the Transfiguration homework they’d claimed to be doing.

Harry glanced up, involuntarily looking for the eyes he knew would be watching him. Grey eyes looked away when Harry met them, and just seeing Malfoy made anxiety wrench in his stomach. Sure, he and Malfoy had agreed to just… get on with things if this happened again, but now that it was happening, Harry wasn’t sure how to go about it. Was he supposed to invite Malfoy over to his room? Should he send him an owl? Go over and ask if he wanted to work on Transfiguration homework together?

That was stupid, he decided. Every Alpha and Omega in the room would know exactly what they were up to if they went anywhere alone together. He knew they could all smell his heat and they all knew Malfoy was a dominant Alpha. They knew they weren’t friends. Knew there was no other reason he’d seek Malfoy out while in heat.

Harry looked away. He could figure out how to approach Malfoy later. At that moment, Seamus was trying to set the table on fire with a new spell for turning juice into spiced mead.

Harry was saved having to figure out what he’d say to Malfoy by a knock at his door just as he’d started pacing, trying to think of something that wouldn’t make him look stupid. He went to answer the door and found Malfoy standing there, several inches taller than him so he had to look up, grey eyes focused down the hall like he was scouting for witnesses. Harry stepped aside without a word and let him in, holding his breath, his shoulders filled with tension. Seeing Malfoy when he was in heat felt differently when he’d agreed to do so. When it wasn’t a surprise he was trying to learn to breathe through.

When the door shut, he took a tentative breath and found Malfoy’s pheromones stronger than they’d been the past two weeks, but nowhere near the usual crush they were during his past heats. The cinnamon scent tingled in his nose and made him lick his lips. He wanted to taste Malfoy’s skin, and see if he tasted like cinnamon.

“Well, at least you’re getting better at controlling your pheromones in public.” Malfoy drawled, eyes dark as his eyes swept around the room and finally landed on Harry. Harry wasn’t quite sure what that was supposed to mean, and decided not to bother asking. He could feel Malfoy’s pheromones against his skin, surrounding him like a blanket, and it did not make him want to talk. He grabbed the front of Malfoy’s robes and pulled their bodies flush together. His neck craned up and he pressed a sloppy kiss to Malfoy’s lips that the blond returned instantly. Hands circled his waist, and Harry felt his feet stumbling as he was guided blindly across the floor. Clothes were discarded as they went, falling to the floor, tossed to the couch, strewn along the foot of the bed. There was no shame, no self-consciousness. He knew Malfoy wanted him, knew he liked what they were doing. There was none of the previous fear that Malfoy would leave him wanting. He was here, for him, to take care of him. Malfoy would take care of him. He was Harry’s Alpha, and he wouldn’t leave him to suffer alone.

Hands explored, more slowly than they had before. Lips trailed down from his mouth, along his jaw, down his throat. Teeth scraped, and a thrill of dangerous anticipation filled Harry at the thought of Malfoy biting him. Marking him. He wanted it. His head tilted, offering Malfoy more space, and Malfoy’s teeth became more rough. He definitely left a bruise on Harry’s shoulder. He nipped at one of Harry’s oversensitive nipples, drawing a shout of surprise from the brunet before he soothed it with a swirl of his wet tongue and the soft suction of his lips. Malfoy kissed, licked and bit him all over, taking his time to lightly mark and explore the body under him. Harry writhed, enjoying every single touch, wanting more, needing Malfoy inside him, but with soft lips surrounding the head of his cock, he couldn’t form the words to beg for it. All he could do was moan and arch and grab platinum hair. Malfoy’s fingers were long and slender as he slid them into Harry’s slick entrance, and Harry let out a groan of satisfaction at finally having the void inside of him filled. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start. They weren’t as filling as he needed, but they were massaging the best part, and with the mouth on top, Harry found himself at the peak in mere moments. The feel of a warm tongue lapping his climax up made him shiver, but when he looked down to see it, Malfoy was done, his head coming back up, his hips settling between Harry’s thighs. With just that sight, Harry was too hot again. He was eager for more. Eager for Malfoy to complete him. Teeth nipped at his neck as Malfoy slid slowly in, and Harry moaned, squirming, trying to take more of him in, trying to make him go faster, deeper.

“Do you have… Any idea how good you feel?” Malfoy groaned, biting at his earlobe. Harry couldn’t answer. Malfoy was all the way inside him, pressing into everything that made him want to fall apart. “Fuck… Harry…” The mutter was all he heard before Malfoy couldn’t stop himself from moving. The first few thrusts were slow, testing, and then he was slamming forward, as deep and fast as he could, grinding into Harry’s sweet spot with every thrust. Malfoy’s mouth was on his, sharp teeth pulling at his lower lip, nibbling at his tongue. Harry felt his whole body tense, and he came again, trembling under Malfoy’s unceasing force of pleasure. His pounding thrusts and biting teeth and squeezing hands made Harry come twice more before his pace slowed. Harry was limp, shaking, barely able to merely hold on to the savage Alpha that drove into him, but when he pulled out, Harry whined. Wordless, keening, and needy. Malfoy growled and bit his chest again. Harry cried out at the sudden sharp pain, but then Malfoy moved, pulling Harry around, lying down so Harry was on top, straddling him.

Seeing the pale body stretched out beneath him was like a shot of adrenaline into Harry’s veins. Malfoy was his, to do with as he pleased, his dark storm colored eyes watching as Harry sat up and looked down, as if looking over a tray of snacks he couldn’t choose from. Hands rested on Harry’s hips, squeezing, encouraging him to move, and Harry did. The position made his cock feel different, deeper than before, larger. Harry whimpered and tilted his hips back and forth, loving how it felt. It felt as overpowering as Malfoy’s pheromones, intoxicating. Harry licked his lips, looking eagerly down at bare skin, pink lips. He did his best to keep pleasuring them both, but needed to taste him. He lowered his head to Malfoy’s lips and tasted them. They were soft, warm, and tasted a bit salty. His earlier release, Harry realized. The thought filled him with a possessive warmth. Malfoy tasted like him, like he was Harry’s.

Harry let his lips trail sideways, licking the pale solid line of his jaw, feeling the scrape of nearly invisible blond stubble against his tongue. His throat tasted of salty sweat and the spicy essence of his Alpha. It nearly burned his tongue with how sharp it was, and Harry tasted lower. His chest was less intensely flavored, more like the cinnamon Harry had come to associate with him. The thin whie scars that Harry’s tongue traced were barely discernible, his nipples were a small hard nib of resistance that slid under his tongue, and Harry teased him with a nip of his own teeth, making Malfoy his and thrust his hips upward. Harry groaned at that, distracted from his tasting by the wave of heat that surged through him with that movement. When it ebbed, and he looked back at Draco, he knew he needed to taste his mouth again, the flavor of them mixed there.

His mouth was eager, demanding, possessive. His hips kept working, pushing more of himself into Harry with a steady rhythm. Harry moaned into his mouth, savored the flavor of his tongue, grinned at the sharp teeth that trapped him. He felt another orgasm building, and lifted his hips, riding Draco to bring it closer.

Draco’s face was buried in his neck, his hips slamming up, and Harry felt the sharp sting of teeth before the swelling that filled him. His orgasm slammed through him at the dual sensations and he could do nothing but ride it out, gasping in the scent of his partner.

When the stars and trembling finally subsided, Harry was left sucking in deep breaths of the comforting spice, and very aware of the knot trapped inside him. He licked the side of Draco’s neck, tasting that overpowering potency of his pulse. The haze was clearing a bit from his mind, and his breathing calmed. He leaned up, staring down at the Alpha secured to him, and felt a wave of satisfaction. This was his.

A dull throbbing pulled his attention to his own body, and he looked himself over, seeing bruises and bitemarks littered across his skin. His fingers came up and he pressed them to the bruise he could feel but not see at the base of his neck. His eyes grew wide, but when he pulled his fingers away, there was no blood.

“You almost marked me.” Harry murmured in realization, the thought sending a shiver up his spine. The idea was thrilling, and terrifying. “You seem extra bitey today…”

“Sorry.” Malfoy responded without a trace of remorse in his voice. “I’m close to a rut, so…” He shrugged, but then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “After this, I should probably avoid you until it’s over, just in case.”

“Huh? Why?” Harry asked, leaning back, shuddering slightly as he felt the knot slip deeper into him. Draco made a noise as if he felt it, too, and his hands slid down Harry’s hips to squeeze at his thighs. He bit his lips and stared up at Harry, considering his answer before he spoke, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“You’re being incredibly calm about all of this, Potter… I was half expecting you to lose your head when I bit you. Or after we’d mated the first time… Well, I suppose you did actually kick me out of the bed…” Draco trailed off, and Harry shrugged, smirking at the memory. That had been its own kind of satisfying.

“I hadn’t taken my calming potions yet that morning.” He huffed, and Draco chuckled.

“Funny.” He said, and sighed. “I forget that you’re… new to this. I suppose it was all confusing at first. A bit startling at times...” His fingers traced a circle on one of Harry’s thighs as he spoke, reminiscing silently about his own experiences.

“So you’re going into heat soon, so why not just… do this again?” Harry thought.

“An Alpha’s rut is like an Omega’s heat only in the loosest of senses, Potter. It’s not the same. An Omega’s heat, untreated, lasts for a week, and happens once a month…. Barring your strange circumstances, I suppose. While it’s… a bit of an impairment, you’re still able to go about your day, take classes, do your best to avoid Alphas…. An Alpha in rut gets rough. It lasts for only a couple days, and it turns us into mindless beasts. The desire to bite you, to mark you will become uncontrollable. With your heats as unpredictable as they are, the pheromones of my rut would likely set you off, and if you went into heat while I was in a rut, and we had sex, there isn’t a contraceptive potion in exsistence that could boast even twenty percent efficacy against such strong fertility magic.

“If you think I’m ‘a bit bitey’ now, when I go into a rut, everything becomes infinitely riskier. More dangerous. Since we’re both dominants, it’s likely it would be far worse than I can anticipate. I would hurt you, I would mark you, and I would impregnate you.” Malfoy warned. Harry felt a chill go up his spine at that. It made something deep inside him stir to life, thrilling at the idea. He shoved it far back down as Draco spoke again.

“With you… Your pheromones make me feel like I’m half in a rut already when we have sex. I imagine if I smelled you while I was in a rut, it would feel rather like jumping in front of the Hogwarts Express…”

“Deadly?” Harry guessed grimly. Draco chuckled once, and shook his head.

“Painful. Unstoppable. Exhilarating until you can’t think anymore.” He corrected. Harry felt the idea tingling inside him still, arousing him. He couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to smell Draco in a rut. It was already overwhelming to encounter his pheromones when Harry himself was in heat.

“That… doesn’t sound SO bad… minus the pregnant part…” Harry muttered, leaning back over Draco, feeling that the knot had abated to allow him to slide easily. He bit his lip, grinning as he canted his hips back and forth slowly. The warm coil of pleasure began building inside of him once more. Draco growled and grabbed him. He practically threw Harry down as he rolled them, and once he was back on top, Harry could once more do nothing except get lost in the taste and sensation of his Alpha in a wave of blindingly powerful cinnamon.

Harry was warm, cozy, and snuggled more securely into the comforting scent of his pillow. The pillow stroked his hair, and he let out a soft moan. He’d had another good dream, filled with pleasure and pale skin, and plenty of dominating kisses.

“Are you awake, or are we doing this again?” The voice was soft, playful, and familiar. Harry didn’t dare open his eyes as the cold fingers of panic squeezed his chest. It wasn’t a dream. He’d really been having wild ravenous sex with Malfoy all night. “Don’t do that.”

Malfoy’s voice grew slightly sharper, warning, and Harry held his breath, suddenly realizing how quickly it had been coming. He forced his eyes open and sat up. It was eerily similar to the first time, when he’d kicked Draco out of the bed. He looked down at the grey eyes that stared up at him from the pillow. He’d been lying on Malfoy, using his shoulder as a pillow, his body nearly draped atop the blond’s. His eyes took in everything: messy platinum hair, lips pink and slightly swollen from kissing, bruises across his body where Harry had bitten him back, the thin silvery scars that were more visible in the morning sunlight than they had been at night, and the sheet draped haphazardly over his hips and legs as if it had been an afterthought.

The air tasted of him, smelled of sex and Alpha pheromones, and Harry could smell the darker scent underneath. He knew without being told that it was the oncoming rut that Malfoy had been warning him of. He felt the panic slithering in his chest start to climb up his throat as he scented the powerful aroma of them, saw the scars, evidence of his own past sins. Everything fell down on him at once, and he rolled away, stumbling from the bed, his hands trembling.

“Potter, you wanted this! I swear to god if you panic every single morning you wake up with me in your bed, I’m going to just avoid you altogether.” Malfoy threatened. Harry barely heard him as he rushed into the bathroom, and threw open the medicine cabinet hidden behind the mirror. He yanked out potions as he heard footsteps following him, and swallowed quickly, shoving the empty jars back into the cabinet to be magically refilled the next morning. He slammed the mirror closed just as Draco rounded the corner, and Harry turned on the tap, running cold water to splash on his face. The first potion took effect, sending a wave of relief through him like warm water. The cold water on his face washed away the sleep and sweat, and woke him up the rest of the way. “What the hell are you doing? You should probably rest a little longer. I wasn’t very gentle.” Draco was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, and completely naked. Harry felt his cheeks darken at the memories of the previous night. After he’d gotten turned on again, they’d gone for two more rounds, each longer and more rough than the last. Harry’s eyes slid past the bruises and scars, right to his half-erect shaft. He wasn’t fully hard, but it promised to be ready if Harry wanted to keep going.

“I had to take a contraceptive potion.” He admitted, and pushed his way past Draco, into the bedroom. “And… I didn’t mind. It’s not like you hurt me, and I guess… I like it a little rough.”

As Draco stood, still in the bathroom doorway, Harry watched the hardon stiffen to its full length, and Draco’s eyes darken as he took three short steps into the room, to stand directly in front of Harry, who sat on the bed. Harry felt the frighteningly familiar thrill of power at being able to so easily arouse Malfoy. He looked up into stormcloud eyes and tried to fight the urge to pull Draco back onto the bed with him.

To his surprise, Draco slid over him, onto the bed, dragging Harry with him. A quick flick of his wrist covered them both with a cool sheet, and Harry felt the comforting scent of belonging seep into him, and relax his muscles. He pushed at Malfoy, trying to free himself, but Malfoy only shifted, lying on his back and pulled Harry into his side, arms wrapped around his body, keeping him trapped.

“So… You like cuddling?” Harry finally gave up, and teased Malfoy for his actions. He let his arm drape across Malfoy’s cotton-covered stomach, just as useless as it had been at pushing him away.

“Not necessarily. If you were anything but an Omega, Potter, I’d have walked out the minute you ran from the bed.” He muttered. Harry stared up at the side of his face, trying to determine if he was joking or not. Draco sighed, looking back at him with a look of suffering.

“It’s part of what we are, Potter. Alphas are possessive, and Omega’s tend to cling. That desire you won’t admit you have, to lie here like this all day? It’s completely natural. You don’t have to be embarrassed by clinging to me in your sleep, of all fucking things.” Malfoy drawled, clearly a bit stung over Harry’s reaction in the mornings. Harry felt his cheeks darken at the thought of Malfoy watching him scramble from the bed in a panic twice now.

“But you left last time.” Harry said, his voice more accusing than he’d intended. He wondered if, since Malfoy seemed to know everything else about him, if he knew it had left Harry feeling empty and cold.

“Because I didn’t want to get kicked out again. I don’t WANT to leave while you’re asleep… vulnerable. Especially since you’re covered in my scent. It makes me want to stay, to protect you while you recover. It’s the same for all Alphas." Harry noticed that Malfoy’s pale face was tinged pink, and he laughed softly. He definitely hadn’t imagined the defensive tone in Draco’s voice. He felt his body relaxing into the embrace, comforted by the pheromones, the warmth, the familiarness of Draco’s body. That thought threatened to make him panic again, but it was suppressed by the words Draco had just spoken. It was natural to feel like this. Last night, however… Harry groaned, wiggling his way out of Malfoy’s arms to sit up, holding his head in his hands.

“What? Are you okay?” Malfoy’s voice filled with concern, and Harry shook his head.

“I’m fine, now… but… I’m probably going to go into heat while you’re… busy. It was worse last night. I was good, after… but then it came again. It’s getting worse!” Harry lamented, and let out a groan of frustration. It had been two weeks, and suddenly, he’d gone into heat twice in one night.

“What? Last night?” Malfoy asked, sitting up next to him, looking put out that Harry had escaped the embrace, but letting him be free to express his grievance with a flail of his arms. “Came again? But… you’re not in heat, now…” Malfoy said, his nostrils flaring as if he needed to check. Harry glared at him.

“Not now. Last night. It usually stops after we… have sex, but… last night… It stopped, and then started again. You HAD to notice, I mean, I was nearly as rough as you were!”

“Oh. That.” Malfoy’s voice was flat, and he looked at Harry, eyes full of worry and contemplation. “That’s… normal. Your previous heats have actually been really short. It was probably an effect of your taking the suppressants. You climbing me three times last night was probably an indicator that things are getting back to normal inside you.” Harry’s face blazed.

“You mean… Everytime I go into heat… I’m going to want to go all night?” He was horrified. He’d never had sex before, and suddenly he was going to be some sort of sex-crazed maniac? What the hell even WAS being an Omega?

“More or less.” Malfoy shrugged. “At least it’s only one day, at most. Consider yourself lucky. When I go into a rut, it won’t matter who I sleep with or how many times I come, it’ll still last for three days, and I’m likely to rape any Omega that gets near me.” He sounded disgusted with himself, and Harry felt a pang of sympathy. Without thinking, he found his hand resting on Draco’s thigh with only the sheet separating their skin, comforting his Alpha.

Malfoy huffed out a breath and looked back over to Harry. Their eyes met, and Harry leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips, letting instinct guide him for once, letting his worries fall away as he inhaled the scent of Malfoy’s pheromones changing from tense, upset, to relaxed and wanting. He pulled away before he could get turned on by it, and bit his lip.

“I suppose that’s normal, too? Wanting to cheer you up?” Harry asked, fighting another blush.

“Perfectly normal. You may not be able to smell your own pheromones on me, but after we have sex, you can tell. It makes you want all sorts of weird things.”

“Like cuddling.” Harry supplied.

“Like following you around with a beater’s bat and whacking any Alpha that gets too close to you.” Malfoy added. Harry snickered, thinking of Ron.

“You don’t have to worry about Ron. I’m not going to sleep with him.” Harry said laughing.

“Weasley doesn’t worry me at all. He’s so wrapped around Granger’s finger it’s a miracle she hasn’t made him propose yet. Smith, on the other hand…” Malfoy’s face went dark, and he looked murderous. Harry felt the dark tinge of his possessive pheromones seeping into the room. “He should know better than to go around propositioning scent-marked Omegas.”

“Scent-marked?” Harry asked, and Malfoy’s glaring eyes shifted to him, lightened, and then he laughed.

“Oh. I always forget. You don’t know anything.”

“I know things! Just… not… Omega things.” Harry mumbled defensively. Draco laughed again, and Harry glared up at him until he explained.

“Well, typical marking is done with a bite, so the pheromones mingle with yours, literally making you emit theirs, until it wears off, or is replaced. Usually between three and six months, depending on the severity of the mark. It leaves a physical mark, too. Scent-marking is even more temporary, soaking someone in your pheromones until it’s in their pores, usually during sex. You can have sex without releasing a bunch of pheromones, and you can also just spend a ton of time with someone, steeping in their pheromones without having sex, so someone being scent-marked isn’t always an indicator that people are fucking, but it’s a good bet, since most won’t tolerate that level of pheromones if they’re not either fucking, or too young to control it.”

“You sound nearly as bookish as Hermione, you know?” Harry said, giving Draco a look of consternation.

“Gee, thanks so much.” Draco muttered. Harry laughed, but it turned into a sigh.

“We should probably get ready for class. I need a shower. Get as much of your scent-marking off as possible.” Harry mumbled. Draco gave him a dirty look.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to intentionally wash my pheromones off, or it makes me want to properly mark you, even when I’m not half a day from going into a rut.” He warned, his eyes dark, his voice biting. Harry swallowed, nervous, trying not to be excited by the possessive look in his eyes, or the deep rich undertone that came with his rut.

“Sure. Not gonna shower at all. I’ll just go around school with your come dried all over me, and let everyone know what we’ve been at, hm? Will that make you happy?” Harry mocked as he scooted off of the bed and pulled the sheet with him. He wrapped it around himself for modesty as he walked toward the bathroom.

His hand was on the handle when Malfoy stopped him, arms snaking around his waist, pulling him up against his hard, warm body.

“That makes me want to fuck you between classes, just to see their faces when they smell me on you.” He murmured right in Harry’s ear. Harry shivered at the low sound of it. The threat.

“You can’t… Ron almost caught on last time. He’ll lose his mind if he finds out.” Harry managed to explain. Malfoy growled in displeasure.

“So? Weasley having a fit isn’t going to stop me from fucking you.” Draco purred. Harry groaned, definitely needing a cold shower to get rid of the effects of Malfoy whispering obscenities in his ear.

It would if he never left me alone again.” Harry tried to argue. Malfoy laughed, nuzzling his neck, nipping. Harry gasped, hands braced on the door for support as his knees threatened to collapse. It was definitely not fair how good Malfoy biting him felt.

“I don’t care… I’d fuck you in front of him if he wanted to play guard dog. His pheromones are so weak that between yours and mine he’d probably be pinned there, forced to watch while I made you come, over… and over.” Draco’s teeth were scraping Harry’s nape, sending shivers of electricity along his scalp, down his spine, making his cock throb with need.

“Stop…” Harry moaned, forehead falling to rest on the door between his hands. He felt Malfoy’s lips stretch into a smile against his skin. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d let go of the sheet and it had fallen to the floor, but he could feel Malfoy’s hard cock pressing between his thighs.

“You don’t want to go just once more?” The temptation was breathed against his throat, and Harry shook his head violently.

“I’m not in heat. I’m… Going to shower!” He declared, and with every ounce of his willpower, he pushed back, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut between them, shutting the Alpha and his pheromones out until he could wash the scent and the words out of his skin.

“Guys, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting off all day” Harry finally demanded of his friends as they walked up the stairs after dinner. Ron had been tight-lipped and curt all day, Hermione had been quiet, but kept casting him and Ron glances, as if waiting for a fight to break out. It was putting Harry on edge, and the fact that Malfoy had disappeared halfway through the day only made him more nervous. He knew the reason, but couldn’t help feeling something had gone wrong. That something would go wrong.

“Nothing’s wrong, Harry.” Hermione answered immediately, and Harry narrowed his eyes, suspicious of her tone. They were at Hermione’s door, and Ron came to a stop, holding it open.

“Maybe we should talk inside…” Hermione said, wringing her hands. Harry followed her in, and flinched when Ron slammed it shut behind them.

“MALFOY!?” Ron shouted suddenly, making Harry jump, and fall back into one of the leather chairs in Hermione’s sitting room.

“I… What? What do you mean?” Harry asked, his heart racing, and dread filling him. Ron couldn’t possibly-

“I’m not an idiot, Harry! His pheromones are all over you! They’ve been all over you! I thought it was just a coincidence the first few times, some sort of pisisng contest, like you said the other day, with Smith… But I saw him! I SAW him leaving your room this morning! And suddenly you’re not in heat! You’re sleeping with him!” Ron accused. Harry felt his cheeks burning hotter with each word, opened his mouth, and found he couldn’t deny it. Ron’s pheromones were filling the space, angry, tasting of betrayal, and… weak. Harry hated that thought, but even Ron’s furious uncontrolled rush of scent was nothing compared to Draco’s. Harry knew, if he wanted, he could do what Draco had done to Smith. He could bring Ron to his knees without a word. Could make him stop shouting by choking him with dominant pheromones. Harry shivered at the cruel thought and pushed it away. He’d suffered Ron’s wrath before, it wouldn’t be so bad.

“It was an accident.” He began, but that seemed to set Ron off further. His scent was clogging Harry’s nose, making him uncomfortable, desperate to soothe his friend. Harry’s mind was thrown back to earlier that morning, consoling Draco’s irritation, the urge to comfort him. He felt the same thing with Ron. Something inside him was straining to be free, to calm the Alpha. He took a deep breath, and tried to keep his own pheromones in check as Ron kept yelling.

“Accident!? You’ve been accidentally sleeping with him for weeks, have you?”

Hermione stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. Harry was almost jealous of the way Ron deflated a bit at the touch, turning to Hermione, taking comfort from her soothing gesture. She wasn’t an Omega, but she seemed to feel the same need to calm him down. Harry gave her an appreciative smile as she encouraged Ron to sit.

“Ron, sit down, and stop shouting. Let Harry explain, for goodness sake.” She sat next to Ron, keeping her hand on his arm, as if holding him in place. Ron huffed in several angry breaths, and turned a sour expression on Harry.

“Well? It was an accident?” He prodded. Harry nodded.

“That first time, we ran into each other in the hall, and it was an accident… Neither of us expected it. I don’t think he’s ever met a dominant Omega before, so… We both kind of lost control. And then it happened again, and again, so we just… decided to agree to let it happen. It’s… easier when I know what to expect.” Harry said. Ron seemed to relax at those last words but his face was still drawn with betrayal.

“If you’re going to sleep with someone, couldn’t you pick someone better? If you had someone else, then it wouldn’t be such a problem with him.” Ron insisted. Harry shook his head.

“I… er… tried. With Zacharias Smith… That’s what they were fighting over. Me.” Harry blushed, but forced the words out. “Malfoy literally chased him off, and… I’m sorry Ron, but there’s no one else in school who can…” Harry trailed off, not sure Ron would appreciate hearing any of the words he’d wanted to apply. “It’s hard, Ron, but… Right now, Malfoy’s really the only option, unless I want to spend half the next few months hiding in the hospital wing.”

Ron was silent for several minutes, and Hermione spoke up.

“Well, I think it’s very brave of you, Harry. A very logical decision, when you must be having a terrible time trying to figure everything out.” She commended him. Harry didn’t argue that he felt more desperate and horny than brave or logical. “And is it that bad, Ron? It does seem to be helping him. And maybe he can teach Harry more about having dominant pheromones?”

Ron grumbled, and looked away, but didn’t argue. Harry shot Hermione another grateful smile.

“But… Can’t you just… Ask Pomfrey if there’s any other alternative to sleeping with Malfoy?” Ron begged. Harry sighed.

“I can ask, but… You know I can’t take the suppressants.” He shrugged, and Hermione’s lips tightened. Ron nodded, as if just asking was enough. Harry hoped it would be. He couldn’t bear for this to cause a rift between him and Ron, and just then, if it came down to a choice between the two, Harry wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t pick Malfoy.

The next day, Harry visited Pomfrey, and disturbed, went to relay the information to his friends.

“Pomfrey says there is another way to stop my heats from being out of control.” Harry murmured in an undertone as they sat at their usual table at the back of the library, minus Malfoy who was still conspicuously absent. Ron’s eyes brightened, and Hermione gave a small, hopeful smile. “I could get pregnant.”

Harry let the words fall like a bomb, watched Hermione’s eyes go wide and sympathetic as she realized what it meant. He watched Ron nearly fall out of his chair, and splutter for a moment trying to find his words.

“PREG-” He shouted, before Hermione shushed him, and he lowered his head, returning to a whisper. “Pregnant? That’s ridiculous! You’re barely eighteen!” He said, indignant. Harry smiled dryly at his friend.

“That’s the rub. I can hide, sleep with Malfoy, or get pregnant. So, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll stick with my current plan.” Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He was tense, despite his calming potion, and worried about Draco. He was probably suffering, on his own, burning up. Harry listened to Ron admit that Malfoy was a better option than being stuck with a kid so young, and Hermione insisted that they would support him no matter what, but his mind was elsewhere. He nodded absently, and let his thoughts wander distractedly throughout their homework, and dinner, and their usual post-dinner gathering.

“I think I’ll go to bed.” Harry finally gave up on pretending he was paying attention to the card game Hermione had been teaching them, and stood. Once he got into the hallway, he shivered in the cool night air that surrounded him, and hurried past Ron’s room, to his own door, eager for a fire and his own bed. He paused with his hand on the knob, and turned to look at the door across the hall. He couldn’t smell anything. He didn’t even know if Malfoy was even in there, but he found his feet carrying him across the hall. He stood before the door, eyeing the knob that looked just like his. He lifted a hand, about to knock, when the sound of a door opening and closing made him turn. Ron had just come from Hermione’s room, a pleased smile on his face, and Harry felt as if he’d been caught. The feeling worsened when Ron’s eyes landed on him, and he looked suddenly angry.

“What are you doing?” He stomped over, and yanked Harry away from the door, eyeing it as if it held a monster.

“I was… just…” Harry found the words faltering. He had no idea what he’d been doing. Checking on Malfoy? Visiting for a chat? Horny?

“You know why he’s absent don’t you? If you go near him right now, Harry…” Ron shook his head, his lack of words explaining the horror far better than he could have. Harry’s head filled with Malfoy’s words.

“I would hurt you, I would mark you, and I would impregnate you.” Harry shivered at the cold in the corridor.

“Go to bed, Harry. He’ll be fine.” Ron said, sounding suddenly tired, and worried. Harry nodded, feeling strange, light-headed. He disappeared into his own room, and hid in his bed, forcing his eyes to stay closed and his limbs to remain still, even though he didn’t fall asleep for hours.

Chapter Text

Harry hated how relieved he felt when Malfoy showed up to class two days later. The subtle hint of cinnamon that traveled through the classroom made the tension in his shoulders release like nothing else had. Harry felt weak for being so comforted by an Alpha’s pheromones. He knew he should be able to take care of himself, rely on himself, but… When grey eyes met his, and a trickle of sweat went down his neck, he knew he was doomed. He needed Malfoy in a strange, undeniable way.

Ron shot him a look from the side of his eyes that told Harry he could smell the shift on his pheromones, and Harry almost groaned. He tried not to contemplate that suddenly being around Malfoy’s pheromones again might have sent him into heat. He didn’t want to think about Malfoy being able to single-handedly cause his heats. He was already the only thing stopping them.

When Malfoy came to him that night, Harry was glad that he hadn’t had to ask, and was once again, humiliated that he’d been screaming ‘omega in heat!!’ to all the Alphas in the school.

“I have a delivery for one Potter, Harry. A parcel of long, thick-” Draco’s mocking words were cut off as Harry dragged him into the room and slammed the door. His lips were on Malfoy’s before the door had even latched, and he yanked the blond toward the bedroom. He knew his cheeks would be pink, and wanted the dark room to hide in, the soft bed to fall on, the small space to drown in Alpha pheromones.

Draco let him do as he pleased, allowing himself to be towed along, pushed to the bed, and disrobed. Harry tasted him as he took his clothes off, barely noticing that Malfoy was gently and efficiently removing his clothes, as well. There was skin touching skin, lips, tongues, teeth, and it was so warm. Harry climbed on top of him and slid down on his cock with a single motion, groaning at the satisfaction. There was no teasing, no fingers, no waiting. He had what he wanted, and he began moving, canting his hips back and forth, bouncing slightly, hands braced on Draco’s chest, desperate to feel that blessed peak of pleasure.

After he’d come to a shuddering halt, his come spattering across Draco’s stomach, he found himself on his back, being roughly fucked until he came again, and was filled with the perfect knot of his Alpha.

Heavy breathing filled his ears, and they didn’t speak until Harry had made him knot twice more, the last time with Harry pinned to his belly beneath Draco as slim fingers pulled at dark hair and teeth tore at a tanned shoulder. Draco groaned in completion and collapsed on top of him, his nose buried in disheveled black hair. Harry could feel his body moving as he caught his breath, and wiggled, relishing the feel of his Alpha on top of him, the warm breath ruffling through his hair and across his neck. His scent filled the air and his heat filled Harry’s body. It felt perfect, and safe. Harry felt himself drifting to sleep before Draco spoke.

“Did it just start today, or have you been in heat for a couple days?” His voice was low, and he pulled Harry so they were lying on their sides. Harry had preferred the smothering body weight, but didn’t mention it as Draco pulled blankets over their sweaty bodies and curled his arms around Harry, keeping them pressed closely together from shoulders to toes. Harry nestled his face into the pillow, and forced his words out.

“I was fine until your pheromones hit me in class.” He admitted. Draco chuckled, and Harry felt his cheeks darken. He changed the subject. “Was it terrible for you? Were you… in pain?”

“Not really… It was uncomfortable, but tolerable. I had Pomfrey put me in a private room in the infirmary, so I wouldn’t be tempted to come across the hall and take you.”

“Oh.” Harry thought of how he’d stood in front of his door, worried that Draco wasn’t inside. Had he been somehow able to tell? “Were you tempted then? To come find me?”

“Yes. I could still smell you on me, and it drove me crazy.” Draco murmured into his hair. Harry felt a strange warmth fill his stomach. It felt like contentment. Harry felt as if his body was heavy, his limbs didn’t want to move, and his eyes didn’t want to open. He could feel Malfoy’s knot still inside him, and he knew he’d be there when he woke up. He drifted to a sleep that was peaceful and perfect.

Harry woke as he did most mornings, jarred awake by his dreams. It had been the war, this time. Just hints of it, undefined terror and the need to run.

He jerked upright and looked around, half expecting to see the tent, the locket around his neck, his best friends slowly starving.

Instead there was the black horrible dark mark, pale scars, blond hair. Malfoy, his enemy, the person he’d saved from flames, his Alpha. It filled him with a strange mixture of emotions, and his panting breaths brought to him the scent of cinnamon and worry.

“Are you alright? Did you have a nightmare?” Grey eyes, usually cruel and mocking, were full of concern, warmth. Harry tore his eyes away and looked around the room. It was his new Hogwarts room. The room he’d been sharing his heats with Malfoy in. The room that was supposed to be his new home, and was a prison of pheromones and nightmares and-

“Potter? Harry, breathe!” Malfoy sounded alarmed, and Harry did what he could. He sucked in a choking breath, and tore out of the bed. “Oh, for the love of-” He darted to the lavatory, fumbled the doorknob, and finally reached his medicine cabinet. His hands were trembling as he pulled potions down.

“What’s all of that?” Malfoy’s voice was behind him, and Harry closed his eyes, slamming the first potion back, and snatched up the second. When he picked up the third without answering, Malfoy took the bottle of the first and sniffed it. His brows were drawn, his face etched with disbelief, and his mouth twisted with something like pity.

“You weren’t joking.” He finally said, and picked up the second, sniffing it, as well. Harry felt a short stab of worry that he’d recognize the potions. He was far better at the subject than Harry, afterall. His face twisted with confusion, and he went for the third.

“Calming Draught, contraceptive… What’s this one?” Draco asked indicating the second. Harry could feel the forced calm stealing over him, the bad dreams shoved from his mind, the worry of Malfoy being harsh set aside. He was different now. He took care of Harry. He smelled of cinnamon and safety.

“Mood stabilizer.” Harry answered as he picked up the jars and shoved them back into his cabinet. Malfoy watched him, his face morphing from understanding to outrage.

“Why the hell are you on so many potions, Potter? Suppressants, mood stabilizers, and anti-anxiety potions are NOT something you should be taking regularly!” He sounded upset, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to really mind. His pheromones were still worried, and Harry knew he was worried for him. There was nothing he could do, without making things worse. He gave a tight smile and pushed past Malfoy, into the bedroom. He began picking clothes up off the floor and sorting them into two piles. His, and Malfoy’s. Malfoy tugged his clothes on, and Harry kept his eyes away, waiting for the potions to fully take effect before he trusted himself to look over at the blond he’d come to sort of trust. Seeing the Dark Mark had been a shock he hadn’t expected. Thinking back, he couldn’t recall seeing it, despite how often he’d seen -touched- Malfoy’s naked body. It had to have been there, but he hadn’t seen it. Like so many things, the Calming Draught made him simply look past things that would upset him.

“How long?”

“What?" Harry turned and found Draco standing in the doorway to the lavatory, watching him with silver hawk’s eyes.

“How long have you been taking those potions?” He clarified. Harry sighed. He didn’t see why it mattered. They weren’t like the suppressants, messing with his natural chemistry. They weren’t like drugs, getting him high. They were helping him, making it not so hard to exist, not so hard to put the war behind him, and look ahead.

“The birth-control potion I’ve been taking since I went off of the suppressants, and the other two since May.” He answered, giving Draco a look of exasperation.

“How frequently? Once a month? Twice? Every week?” Draco’s voice trembled slightly, and Harry could tell he was holding back his anger. Was he upset that Harry might not have been taking care of himself? He did what he could to soothe that worry.

“Don’t worry, I take them every day.” He answered as he got dressed slowly. He usually took one of his potions before he showered, and the other after. The problem, he’d found, with taking them one right after another like this, was that they tended to make everything blur together for a bit after he’d taken them. They made the world slightly fuzzy, and his limbs sluggish.

“Why do you take them every day?” Malfoy asked, his voice strained. Harry gave up on his tie, his fingers not wanting to cooperate, and looked at Malfoy. Was he really that slow? Couldn’t he put it together?

“Because of what happened. The war? Dying and coming back? Killing Voldemort? Any of this ringing a bell?” Harry heard the biting tone of his own voice and it was unfamiliar. He shook his head, and tried to think of something else. “I had anger issues, even before, you know? So I’m taking care of it now. All of it. You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I don’t need to- Harry! Do you have ANY idea what those potions are doing to you?” Malfoy was right there, in front of him, and Harry could feel warm hands on his shoulders, squeezing.

“They’re helping me.” He answered.

“You don’t know ANYTHING about yourself, do you!?” Malfoy ranted, letting him go to pace angrily around the room. Harry sat on the bed, watching him, waiting for either Draco to calm down, or the effects of the potions mixing to fade. He would take either as a blessing.

“I know more about myself than you do.” His words came out of his mouth unbidden, and he wasn’t even sure where they came from. His thoughts were having trouble catching up to the conversation. He still didn’t understand why Malfoy was upset.

“Oh, do you? I very much fucking doubt that.” Malfoy snarled, standing over him, looming above like a pale angel. Harry stared up at him. “My god. You’re… Not even listening, are you? Fuck!” Draco snapped, and suddenly stormed out of the room. Harry watched him go and breathed a sigh of relief that came with the spicy scent of agitation. As soon as he could find his wand, he’d cast air freshening charms, he told himself, sitting still, waiting for the world to sharpen a bit more.

Harry glared at Draco, irritated with him, and beyond annoyed with his friends. Those vexations were nothing compared to the bubbling frustration he felt with the witch who bustled around him, casting diagnostic after diagnostic, using strange instruments on him, poking, prodding, pressing.

Hermione had been ranting at him all morning, even as she, Ron and even Malfoy had dragged him to the Hospital Wing. She’d only stopped when Madam Pomfrey spoke, and then kept right on. He had been tuning her out, and finally, Draco snapped.

“He’s not listening to you, Granger. It’s the potion. It makes him tune out anything upsetting. He just shuts it out.” His voice was venomous, and Harry still found it appealing. He glared harder. He didn’t want to find Malfoy appealing. The world was far sharper now, and he felt much more like normal.

“I feel FINE.” He insisted, trying to slide off the bed, around Pomfrey. She shoved him back, glaring daggers at him for trying to escape.

“I don’t care how you feel, Potter! You’re staying right here until those potions wear off, and I can diagnose you properly!” She declared. Harry sighed.

“Can I at least have some privacy, then?” He asked, eyeing the trio that stood nearby, all with mixed worry in their expressions. Pomfrey glanced at them, lips pursed.

“All of you, out.” She finally decreed. Harry was relieved when they went, and ignored the sounds of their protests.

Harry protested when Madam Pomfrey made him lie in bed all day, but there was nothing to be done for it. He was actually glad when Ron and Hermione came by after classes, just for something to do, even if Hermione wanted to argue.

"Are you feeling better, Harry?" She asked, taking his hand. Harry rolled his eyes. She made him feel like an invalid.

"I've felt fine all day.” He assured her, but she didn’t look convinced. She sat on the edge of his bed while Ron pulled up a chair to sit nearby. They chatted until Pomfrey kicked the pair out for dinner, and Harry ate his own in silence. His thoughts trailed to Draco, and he felt a stab of betrayal, recalling how the blond had run to fetch Harry’s friends, ratting him out for his potions. The betrayal had only doubled when they’d collectively agreed to drag him to see Madam Pomfrey. He entertained unkind thoughts about Malfoy for several moments, before he started to feel guilty. Despite his overreaction,

Malfoy really was just trying to help him. It was a strange thing for Malfoy to do, but then again, everything about Malfoy had been strange this year. Harry put it down to the newly acquired sensitivity to pheromones.

It was only because he was an Omega.

Harry woke up sweating, legs trying to run, hand slapping around trying to find his glasses, wand, friends. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but if they were still in Malfoy Manor-

Glasses were shoved into his hand, and he pushed them onto his face, looking around the darkened, white-covered room of the Hogwarts Infirmary, his chest heaving with breath, his heart racing as his mind caught up. He was at school. They were all back at school. The war was over. He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his chest, sighing a breath of relief. It was over.

“Are you awake now, Mr. Potter?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice drew his attention to his bedside, and he realized she must have been the one to give him his glasses. His mouth was dry, so he nodded. “You know where you are? What day it is?” She asked, eyeing him as though she didn’t trust his nod.

“Hogwarts, and it’s… Saturday night. Maybe Sunday morning.” He said, rubbing his head. It was starting to throb with a headache, and he glanced surreptitiously around. No one else was in the hospital wing that he could see.

“Very good. How are you feeling?” She was casting diagnostics, and Harry curled his lip.

“Not great. Don’t think I slept very well… Unfamiliar place, you know.” He mumbled, making excuses. She didn’t need to know about his night terrors, or how he almost missed Malfoy’s scent surrounding and comforting him. He discreetly sniffed his own shoulder and was mildly relieved to be able to smell cinnamon faintly sticking to him.

“Well, it looks like most of the potions have finally run their course. Bit of the Calming Draught still making its way out, but it should be all cleared out by noon.” She waved her wand, disappearing the colorful diagnostic charms, and tucked her wand away. “I’ll warn you now: I don’t imagine this will be very enjoyable for you, Potter.”

“What, lying here all day again? Wasn’t all that enjoyable yesterday, either.” He grumbled. Pomfrey’s eyes tightened and her lips thinned.

“Potion withdrawal. Mr. Malfoy informed me that you’ve been taking Calming Draught and mood potions every day since May?”

Harry nodded. His gut twisted with anxiety at her words. Withdrawal? It definitely didn’t sound fun. He already had a dry mouth and headache.

“And you’ve been taking them since you went off of suppressants, as well?”

Another nod.

“Well. I’ve never experienced this particular mix, and there’s really no way to know the full extent of the damage until the last of it is out of you, but I’d wager that those potions were the reason I didn’t find any of the side-effects of long-term suppressant abuse in you. Going completely off of all of them, I imagine, will be particularly tough, but it should help get your pheromones and heat cycle back to where they’re supposed to be.”

“But… those positions were to stop the nightmares, they had nothing to do with me being an Omega.” Harry argued. She gave him a look of reproach.

“Calming Draught will stop you from engaging in anything upsetting. Including, to a degree, your own body. Mood stabilizing potions most DEFINITELY affect your pheromones, young man. I’ve seen the one you were on. It’s meant for Betas due to its horrible tendency to completely regulate pheromones to keep Alphas and Omegas at the emotional baseline it’s intended to maintain. BOTH are meant to be used in emergency situations, a week at most after a traumatic event. The fact that you’ve been using them for months in tandem with pheromone and heat suppressants does not bode well for your inner balance, or chemistry. The amount of Calming Draught alone that you’ve been taking means that your mind has been almost entirely cut off from the effects of cortisol, and when the last of it wears off you will panic, immediately, and continuously, until your mind readjusts to the normal levels of stress.”

“Normal levels of stress?” Harry scoffed. “I was in a war, hunted, tortured, and murdered, and you think I have normal levels of stress?”

“Don’t get smart with me, young man. I have treated more war veterans and traumatized children than you could count. There is a natural process for grief and healing, and you cannot just run from that, or suppress everything to pretend you’re better. Eventually you will become as desensitized to these potions as the suppressants, and you will be forced to face what you’re hiding from. Better we get it over with now, before it gets any worse.”

“I’m… I’m not grieving. And I am not traumatized! I’m just…” He argued, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem to put words to what he was. He had nightmares, that was all. “I’m just Harry.”

Madam Pomfrey gave him a pitying look.

“Well, yes, I suppose you are, despite what others might believe. You’re just one young man. They can’t expect you to have come out of this unscathed, yet they continue to throw expectations at you. My advice, Potter: pay no attention to what other people want of you. Do what makes you happy and healthy.” She emphasized the last, and Harry rolled his eyes.

“It’d make me happy to leave the hospital wing.” He grumbled. Pomfrey ‘tsk’d at him.

“I’d make me happy to see you able to leave the hospital wing, Potter. Unfortunately, I can’t predict how you might act once the panic starts, and I can’t risk you being a danger to yourself or the other students.”

“Then… Can’t I just… sleep through it?”

“You might try to, if you’re able, but I doubt you’ll be able to fall asleep terribly easily, and I suspect you might wake up from the dreams.” She said with a sympathetic look. Harry looked to the side, but his mouth moved before he could stop it.

“Can’t you give me a sleeping potion?”

“No! No more potions Potter! I can’t even stun you, or it will just prolong the inevitable. If you get violent… I may have to immobilize you, but… I fear that will just make the panic worse. Is there… anything that might help you through it? A favorite blanket? Stuffed cat? Hot chocolate? What usually calms you down when you’re feeling overwhelmed?” Pomfrey asked.

“Potions.” Harry answered blandly. She gave him an eye of reproach.

“Very well. ‘Unaided’ it shall be.” She decreed. “Try to get some rest while you can, Potter. The next day or so won’t be your best.” She turned and marched back to her office. Harry sighed and flopped backward into his pillow. He wasn’t sure what Madam Pomfrey thought might be able to comfort him through the terrors he’d seen, and would dream about, but he hoped she was wrong. He hoped just knowing that the war was over, that he was back in school and everything was back to normal would comfort him.

Except nothing was back to normal. He wasn’t in Gryffindor, not really. He couldn’t play Quidditch. He was having crazy ridiculous heats and sleeping with Draco Malfoy.

He thought of the way he’d been panicking in the mornings, seeing the blond. He’d just assumed it was from it being Malfoy, but as he turned Pomfrey’s words over in his head, he wondered if it was due to the potions wearing off. Would he stop freaking out over Malfoy sleeping beside him when they were all out of his system? He seriously doubted he’d ever get used to Malfoy, or his overpowering scent.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to take Pomfrey's suggestion to rest, even if he doubted that he'd be able to fall back asleep without a potion.

Harry woke scrambling from the bed, to find light streaming into the room. His wand was in his hand, his heart was pounding in his chest. He scanned the room, and realized he was in the Hogwarts Infirmary. The last day flitted through his mind, and he tried to take a deep breath. His lungs refused to cooperate. He forced himself to sit down and close his eyes, repeating to himself what Pomfrey had said, determined to overcome it. He was not weak. He would not panic.

He just needed a potion, and he would be fine.

His eyes flew open, and he glanced around once more. There was no one. Not even the Infirmary Matron. Harry stood and snuck towards the door. His heartbeat was too loud in his ears, his hands trembled violently. He pushed the large double doors open, and took a step into the hall. If he could just make it to his room, he'd be fine. He had potions there. They'd never know.

"Mr. Potter! Where do you think you're going?" The shout from behind had him spinning, raising his wand defensively. Madam Pomfrey was halted halfway up the hall, eyes wide, locked on the wand in his hand. Harry lowered it a few inches.

"I just… wanted some fresh air." He lied, eyes darting around looking for danger. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up, and he felt as though SOMETHING was off, but he couldn't quite say what. Something was missing.

His eyes fell suspiciously on Pomfrey.

"We can open a window for you. Back to bed, if you please, Mr. Potter." She said, gesturing to the rumpled sheets he'd escaped. He eyed it distastefully.

"I'd rather not." He said, feeling far too energized to sit still all day again.

"Fine. You can walk around if you must, but you are NOT to leave this ward, understood?"

He nodded silently.

"I think I should probably take your wand, as well." She said, taking a step closer, holding out her hand. Harry stared, unmoving, still one step out of the infirmary. His skin rose with goosebumps, and he gripped his wand more tightly. His pulse went even faster.

"No… I think I'll keep it, if you don't mind." He countered. Her lips thinned, and her eyes narrowed. They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Put it away, or I must insist on confiscating it, Potter." She insisted. Harry swallowed. He couldn't. He'd be defenseless. Pomfrey’s eyes were wide, watching him carefully. Harry slowly lowered his wand.

“Sorry. I’m fine. I’m fine.” He said, shaking his head slightly, trying to clear away the fear that filled him. Pomfrey led him back to bed, and he sat, staring down at his hands, trying to stop them trembling.

Harry paced the length of the infirmary nervously. We hated that he was barefooted in pyjamas. He yearned for a pair of jeans, his trainers. His invisibility cloak. The doors were locked. Or at least to him they were. He couldn’t get out, and he felt trapped. He couldn’t get to his room, his clothes, or his potions. He paced back down the rows of beds, and his eyes locked on Pomfrey’s desk. She was out.

He didn’t know what time it was, but she’d brought him two meals that he hadn’t been able to stomach.

Her desk sat unattended, the familiar large cabinet behind it. Harry practically ran to it, and began yanking on handles. Most were locked, but then one popped open, and Harry began digging through it, searching, praying that what he needed was in there.

There were a few potions, but none were the right ones. There was Skele-Gro, something green, Pepperup, and-

“Mr. Potter! What on earth do you think you’re doing!?” The shout from behind was a surprise. He dropped the bottle he was holding, and turned, wand in hand once more. Pomfrey came up the ward towards him, looking furious.

“That’s it! I’m assigning you to a private, warded room, right now!” She declared, eyes taking inventory of what he’d damaged. Harry didn’t like the sound of her threat.

“Can’t I go back to my room?” He asked, thinking of his clothes, his potions, the cinnamon scent that would still be clinging to the sheets.

“Absolutely not! You will remain here, where I can observe you, and make sure you don’t do anything foolish! Give me your wand.” She held out her hand, and Harry stared at her. She was watching him. She’d trapped him. She was taking his wand. He couldn’t trust her. The door behind her was still open from where she’d rushed through, and he saw his chance.

He shot a stunner at the mediwitch and made a dash for the door, not bothering to see if his spell hit.

“Petrificus Totalus!” The spell rang out from behind him, and his limbs snapped together. His body went rigid, and he fell, smacking the floor painfully. The sound of footsteps clacking quickly towards him matched the rhythm of his heart, and he couldn’t even close his eyes for the end as a hand plucked away his wand. He felt his body levitate into the air and was forced to watch the ceiling as he was transported. They went through a doorway, then another. Something soft pressed into his rigid back, and then he was free. He gasped in a breath, shooting upright, looking wildly around the new room he was in.

“I’m sorry Potter. It’s for your own good. You’ll be safe here, I promise. I’ll see about having your friends come visit.” Madam Pomfrey said from the other side of the door. Harry growled, and lurched across the room. He slammed head first into an invisible wall and slammed a fist onto it. He was warded into the room.

“Let me out! What have you done to Ron and Hermione!” He demanded angrily. The woman on the other side gave him a look of pity, and he feared the worst. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THEM!?”

She walked away, leaving him stranded, alone, defenseless and terrified. He sank to the floor, tears springing to his eyes, unable to catch his breath.

“-not like I haven’t been attacked by a patient before, Ms. Granger, I’m quite alright, thank you. Mr. Potter, on the other hand, is… having a difficult time. I thought perhaps seeing you two might help to calm him down.” The voices trailed into Harry’s ears from down the hall, and he rushed back to the door, pressing his face as close as he could without hitting the barrier. He could see Pomfrey leading the way, and Hermione and Ron following behind her.

“Hermione! Ron!” he called, glad they were okay.

“Oh, Harry! Are you alright?” Hermione asked, stopping just before the door.

“You can go in, if you want. He’s not able to leave, but you can pass through.” Pomfrey said. Harry gave her a nasty look for trapping him.

Hermione crossed the threshold and flung herself at him. Harry caught her, hugging her to him. She was warm, alive, safe. She smelled strangely, and for a moment, Harry couldn’t place the scent. Then Ron came through the door, and everything was worse. Ron smelled wrong.

Harry felt the flavor of him filling the back of his throat, choking him. The scent screamed ALPHA! at him, but it was all wrong. It was familiar, but no longer comforting. He gagged, backing away, trying to get as far from the sickening smell as possible. A small noise drew his eyes, and he looked up to see Ron making a face, frozen just inside the doorway, hand gripping the wooden frame so hard his knuckles were white. Ron made the choking sound again, his eyes locked on Harry, wide, almost afraid. Harry pressed himself into the wall. He could hear Hermione's voice, Pomfrey's, but couldn't understand what they were saying.

He watched as Hermione and Pomfrey pulled Ron from the room. A wave of a wand and Harry was able to suck in a choking breath.

"His pheromones must be going absolutely out of control." Hermione was saying, her hand stroking Ron's as the redhead sagged against the wall, gasping for breath.

"It's way worse than before." Ron confirmed.

"I sincerely apologize, Mr. Weasley, I merely thought that… Well, please forgive me for being forward, but you are the only Alpha I've seen him hang around, and… with how he's been handling his irregular heat cycle, I just assumed…" she trailed off, waving a hand vaguely at Harry.

"No. Not me. I… wouldn't be able to." He looked meaningfully at Hermione and Pomfrey nodded her head.

"Well… then... Who?" Pomfrey sounded perplexed, and Harry sank to the floor. Once she heard, she'd know. She'd know how he had betrayed them all. How he'd slept with the enemy.

"I… think they were keeping it a secret." Hermione tried to cover, eyeing the way Harry sat on the floor, shaking.

"Well, if Mr. Weasley's reaction is anything to go by, that boy's pheromones are incredibly unstable right now. If it continues… he's likely to hurt himself. The scent glands can only withstand so much stress before they fail. If he were to completely lose the ability to produce his pheromones, he would be defenseless against those of Alphas." Pomfrey's words were met by silence.

"What can we do?" Hermione's voice was quiet, full of concern. Harry tried to tune them out. He didn't want anything to do with pheromones. He didn't want to be an Omega. He didn't need an Alpha.

He stood, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers over his head. His eyes shut tight, he heard the conversation moving farther away.

Images of the war replayed against his eyelids, and he tried to push them away. It used to be so easy not to think about. Now, it felt as though the memories were battering him, surrounding him on all sides, each tugging at a piece of his mind, demanding he think of it first, all trying to tear his mind apart.

He didn't realize he was crying until he began choking on the tears, coughing, sobbing, clutching the blanket tighter around himself. He curled tighter into a ball and sobbed until he was too exhausted to cry.

Chapter Text

Voices outside the door drew Harry’s attention. He slid from the bed and pressed himself to the wall by the door, listening. He didn’t know how long he’d been trapped here, but he was pretty sure it had been more than one day. His whole body was shaking with nervous energy as he strained his ears to hear what the voices coming up the corridor were saying, hoping it was something useful.

“-cortisol levels are still extremely high, his pheromone glands have been working at their maximum capacity for two days, and he hasn’t slept in three days. I had hoped he would be able to get through this on his own, without any further assistance, but… if you are unable to help him, then I’m afraid I may be forced to end this, and try again at a later date. It’s far too much strain on his body.”

“I don’t see how I’m supposed to help. He hates me.” The soft voice made Harry’s heart pound harder, made his legs tremble and his breath catch in his throat. He did hate that voice, and the face attached.

“I was led to understand that you and he have an arrangement? I am hopeful that he recognizes you as the Alpha he’s been with and it will stabilize his pheromones. Nothing else has helped. I tried to respect your privacy, to keep your arrangement at whatever level you have agreed for it to be kept, but… Mr. Malfoy, you are the only chance he has left of overcoming this withdrawal safely.”

“I see.” The words were soft, full of unspoken thoughts, and Harry wondered just what horrible things Malfoy would do with the chance to be alone with him, unarmed, shaking too badly to fight. The sound of footsteps had stopped, clearly trying to finish the sensitive conversation up before they got to the door, but Harry heard them anyway.

“I will warn you, he may try to attack you. The mix of potions he had been taking has been having a rather unique effect on him. His memory works perfectly, but his rationality is compromised, and his moods are volatile. I’ve had to confiscate his wand, and… His pheromones may be a bit of a surprise, just so you’re prepared. Mr. Weasley was unable to get more than a foot into the room.” Pomfrey’s voice warned, and the footsteps started again, drawing closer.
Harry closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. He had to be ready for anything. He had to be ready for Malfoy to try to kill him. For him to smother him under his pheromones as he’d done before.

“I’ll be fine.” The voice was strong, confident, and made Harry shiver.

“Very well.”

Harry could see the movement of them standing just beyond the door.

“Where is he?”

“Likely hiding. He does that whenever we approach, hides and listens to what we say.”

“Hm. You think he’ll attack me?” Malfoy sounded curious, and not at all afraid. Harry’s lip twitched in a silent snarl.

“I think it’s a strong possibility. He nearly stunned me, before I got his wand and isolated him. On that note, Mr. Malfoy, I will need your wand before you go in.”

“Why?” His voice was laced with suspicion, and Harry smirked.

“If Potter were to get ahold of your wand right now, he could do serious damage to you, himself, or the school. I doubt he could even control any spell he cast at this moment. If he tries to attack you, I will be right here, and I can immobilize him."

"No. He won't hurt me." Malfoy still sounded confident, Harry wanted to punch him just on principle. He stepped away from the wall, into view, glaring daggers.

"Come near me, Malfoy, and I will kill you." He warned, not bothering to look at Pomfrey. Malfoy smirked.

"With your bare hands? I very much doubt that. You've never been much of a killer, Potter." Malfoy pulled his wand out, and Harry tensed, ready to dodge whatever curse he threw. Malfoy held it out, and Harry watched it disappear into Pomfrey's grasp. He stared, confused. Was Malfoy planning to fight him without a wand, then?

"I will lock it in my office, with Potter's. You may come get it when you're ready to leave." She murmured. Malfoy nodded. Harry glared.

"One last thing, Mr. Malfoy." Pomfrey had placed a hand on his arm. He looked away from Harry, and Harry took the chance to shoot a glare at Pomfrey for being a traitor. "Don't completely overpower him with your pheromones, or it will merely postpone the withdrawal. Just... Help him through it.Just… Calm him down a bit, if you can.”

“I’m FINE.” Harry shouted, but neither paid him any mind. He clenched his hands into trembling fists, and contemplated trying to throw himself through the door for the hundredth time.

“I’ll do what I can.” Malfoy gave Pomfrey a warm smile, and Harry hated him for it.

“Don’t you DARE come in here, Malfoy!” Harry warned. Pomfrey finally looked at him then.

“May I ask why you are so opposed to having him here, Mr. Potter?” Pomfrey asked in the same clinical voice she’d been using on him since she’d locked him in. He gave her a glare, lips twisting. He didn’t want to answer, but it was unlikely she’d let him out if she thought he was acting irrationally. He had to answer, or risk being kept longer.

“We hate each other, and his pheromones send me into heat. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want him to force me to sleep with him again.”

“Force you?” Pomfrey looked surprised, and faced Malfoy. He looked irritated.

“Neither of us had encountered another dominant before, and when he was in heat, and we came into contact, it was a surprise for both of us. Recently, though, we did make an agreement to continue consensually. It’s still a bit difficult to control my reactions to him, so I can only imagine how it must feel for him, with almost no experience having to resist pheromones, especially those as strong as mine.” Malfoy drawled, making Harry’s cheeks flame.

“I only agreed to it because you put me out of my mind! That’s not really me! I don’t even like you! Why would I want to sleep with you if you weren’t making me? It must be some form of Imperius!” Harry accused.

“Like I said. No experience with resisting Alphas.” Draco smirked over at Pomfrey. Her face was tight, but she nodded. Harry growled.

“Don’t you dare! Stay out! Stay away from me!” He shouted, backing away as Malfoy took a deep, calming breath, and then a single, decisive step forward. Harry held his breath, not wanting to breathe in the toxic scent that would addle his mind. He grabbed the lamp from the table and held it aloft, threatening silently to throw it. Malfoy paused, just inside the doorway, and lifted his hands in surrender. He looked almost pained, as if he was trying to hold his own breath, too.

“I won’t come near you. I’ll just stay here. Just take a breath and calm down, will you?” His voice was soft, soothing. Harry hated it. Hated that he wanted to listen. Hated that he remembered the kind of pleasure that came with it. He threw the lamp.

“I won’t! Get the hell out! Get out!” He screamed as the ceramic lamp shattered against the stone wall beside Malfoy’s head, but it was too late. He’d taken a breath, and the scent of cinnamon drifted into his lungs. It was gentle, not at all the overpowering force he’d expected, and it threw him off guard. His arms dropped to his side before he could find anything else to throw, and the soft warm scent surrounded him and he choked.

His legs gave out and he fell to the floor, unable to stop himself from choking in one sobbing breath after another, despite that he knew it would mess with his mind. The scent screamed Alpha!!, and Harry wanted to crawl to him, climb into his arms, and beg to be held. It was the scent of being taken care of. It smelled of comfort and pleasure and safety. He clutched at the bed next to him, trying to anchor himself in place, telling himself he wouldn’t fall for it. He wouldn’t give in to whatever horrible magic Malfoy was casting on him.

Malfoy stood silently, watching, arms hanging limp by his sides.

“You can go. He won’t hurt me.” Malfoy finally said, barely turning to indicate that he was speaking to the mediwitch just outside the door.

“No!” Harry called, shooting to his feet, and managed to get to the end of the bed before he had to sit. His muscles felt like they were liquefying, shivering, unable to hold his weight. “You can’t leave me alone with him, he’ll kill me!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter. I can’t hurt you any more than you could seriously hurt me. Do you remember what we were talking about the other day?” Malfoy changed topics faster than Harry could keep up. Pomfrey watched for only a moment longer before she gave a curt nod and turned to leave. Harry watched her go, and his eyes snapped back to Malfoy. He wished he had his wand. He wished he had his friends. He wished he wasn’t an Omega, programmed to respond to Malfoy like he was some obedient slave.

“Potter, focus. Do you remember our conversation from the other day?”

“The lies you were giving me? Why the hell would I trust you, Malfoy? Why should I trust anything you’ve ever said?” Harry snapped, but the words were already trickling back to him. He shook his head, trying to dislodge them.

“You have the same effect on me, you know. Since we’ve slept together, I’ve been thinking. A lot. Probably more than you have, apparently.” Malfoy gave a sigh, and he looked almost… anxious. Harry narrowed his eyes, suspicious of whatever new ploy this was.

“I can think for myself just fine!” Harry retorted. Malfoy shook his head.

“No. The potions are messing with you. Far worse than being around me ever has. See, the potions you were on, Potter… They dull everything about you. Everything upsetting or exciting. They make it so you can’t really think about it. I guess… since you started taking the suppressants, you’ve never actually been around me unaltered, have you? Even now. You’re still fighting off the effects of those damn potions. You have no idea what it’s supposed to be like. Not really.”

“I don’t care. You’re evil, and I don’t want to know anything about you!” Harry shot back, feeling rather childish. Malfoy’s face twitched, and Harry thought for a second that he might have actually hurt his feelings. He clenched his hands into fists, refusing to give in to the urge to comfort the Alpha.

“If you really thought I was evil, why didn’t you let me die? Why didn’t you let me rot in Azkaban? Whether you were consciously able to sense and react to the pheromones around you, you’ve always reacted to me. Since we met, we’ve been circling each other like rabid dogs, waiting for… for what? To kill each other? That’s not it, or you would have let me die, several times over by now. Honestly, thinking about before the war… I can’t even remember why I hated you so much. You were irritating, sure. You were eager, earnest, and worst of all, you were always right. Even when you were wrong, you had the trust of others.”

“Like hell I did. Fifth year, no one believed me. He was back, and EVERYONE called me a liar!”

“But Dumbledore believed you. Your friends believed you. People who were scared turned a blind eye, trying to claim it was a lie, but they were only afraid because deep down, they believed you. Everyone trusted you to be The Boy Who Lived, the antithesis to The Dark Lord, the one thing that could defeat him. Even… Even I trusted you. I waited for you to destroy him. I… I'd hoped that you would get to him before he got to my family.” Malfoy’s lips twisted in a snarl, but he spoke on. “I knew where you were going, you know? That's why I took your lot to Umbridge. I was trying to save you, stupid as that was."

"How the hell would you have known?" Harry cut in, not sure whether Malfoy was still lying or not. He didn't smell like he was lying, strange as that thought seemed to Harry.

"My father sent me a letter, telling me to make sure you were able to get out of the castle that night. He… he wanted me to distract that cow Umbridge by Imperiusing one of the other students to cause trouble far away from her office. They expected you to use the floo, not bloody fly there on thestrals. Had to do it in proper bloody Potter fashion, though, didn't you?" Malfoy gave him an odd look that Harry might have mistaken for affection if it had come from anyone else.

"Anyhow, you and Dumbledore let him get away, and put my father in prison, and next thing I know, I'm standing before him, and he's saying how my father failed, but I surely won't. I'll spare you the details, but you know how it ended: I got marked, Snape killed Dumbledore, and in the end, you saved us all. You know, I hated you so much more sixth year because I blamed you for letting him live. If you'd just had the guts to finish him, my life wouldn't have been ruined… It was only when I saw you lying limp, dead, that I realized you're… just another boy being forced to face evil. I don't hate you anymore, Potter. I don't blame you. Actually, when I first smelled your pheromones, I thought it made perfect sense, you taking pheromone suppressants. I thought you'd done it to protect yourself from him. That you knew what he was."

"Voldemort was… an Alpha?" Harry found his lips asking, curious, despite his loathing for the blond taking up his space.

"Yes. He was the only other dominant I've met, as well. There was a reason people were either drawn to him or repulsed. And when he was angry…" Malfoy shuddered just remembering. "If you think my pheromones are bad, be glad you never suffered his. Father says they were less horrible, before he came back. More like my own, but… I'm actually glad you never had to face him as an Omega. If he'd known… Everything would have been worse."

The words trailed off, and Harry felt his chest squeeze with an unfamiliar emotion.

"Yeah, you probably would have dragged me to him, and let him mark me. It would have been funny watching me drool over the evil bastard, wouldn't it?" Harry's voice shook, and Malfoy stared at him a moment, as if trying to solve some puzzle.

"No. You really don't know anything about Alphas, do you?" He scoffed, but kept speaking before Harry could reply. "I've never lost control around an Omega the way I do with you. I'm pretty sure I would have had the same reaction to you if you'd gone off suppressants sooner. If you came around me smelling like that during the war, I probably would have defected sooner." He gave a humorless laugh, and Harry gave him a glare.

"You're lying." He accused.

"I'm not. But, I guess it doesn't matter what you think right now, does it? Half out of your mind with fear and exhaustion. You can call me a liar all you want later, for now you should probably try to sleep." Malfoy sounded supremely calm, and Harry hated that he was right. He did feel absolutely knackered.

Harry’s eyes were burning, his muscles giving out, and his head was pounding with headache, but worst of all was knowing that Malfoy was right. He needed to sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept properly. He thought it was probably when he’d been curled against Draco, post-coital and safe.

“I… I can’t sleep with you here. You’ll do things to me.” Harry spat, hating how he wanted those things. He wanted Draco to touch him, to hold him and make him feel safe and warm and taken care of.

“How about… If I lie down first, so you know I’m not going to do anything? You can even lie on top of me, pin me down, if you want, make sure I don’t get up to anything nefarious.” Malfoy said with a small smirk. The offer sounded perfect. He could trap Malfoy, and get some sleep. Part of him leapt with joy at the thought of being pressed up against his Alpha. Perfect in more than one way.

“Fine.” Harry bit out, and waved one shaking arm at the bed he sat on, inviting Malfoy to make himself vulnerable. The blond walked slowly forward, eyes on Harry the whole time as he slipped his shoes off and slid onto the bed, lying on his back, arms at his sides. Harry stared down at him and a small measure of his anxiety was eased. Malfoy was lying wandless next to him, defenseless. Harry shuffled around, growling and making a face as his body shivered and his limbs trembled, refusing to obey easily. He forced them to do his bidding, straddled Malfoy’s hips to pin him, and took his wrists in both hands, holding the blond down, making him even more helpless. They stared at each other for a long moment, Harry weighing the best way to lie down without seeming too friendly. Finally his body chose for him. He was too weak to keep sitting up, so he simply slumped forward, his face turned toward Malfoys to watch him for any ‘nefarious’ expressions. His cheek was pressed into a shoulder, and as his eyelids grew too heavy to lift, his eyes too tired to keep straining to watch Malfoy’s face, he found himself seeing only glimpses of a pale throat and chin between ever lengthening blinks.

Up close the smell of cinnamon was stronger, but still seemed soft and warm. Not the sharp scent it usually was. Harry breathed it in slowly, and let the scent carry him into a fitful sleep.

Harry lurched awake, hands searching for his wand, throat raw from terror. The room around him came into blurry focus, and he realized with both relief and horror that he was still in the Hogwarts hospital wing. His eyes shot down to the bed he sat on, and he found grey eyes watching him. Harry squinted, and rubbed his eyes. His glasses were missing. He was surrounded by the sharp scent of cinnamon. Malfoy didn’t move.

“Where are my glasses?” Harry demanded, voice rough from sleep. Malfoy tilted his head to the side.

“On the nightstand. I took them off so you wouldn’t crush them.” He explained. Harry snatched them up and shoved them on his face. The room was bright, Malfoy still wore his school uniform, and Harry was still straddling him. He froze. It had seemed like a perfectly sane thing to do last night, but now, he realized how stupid this was. He couldn’t hold Malfoy down while he slept! It was just cuddling! He clambered to the side, and nearly fell off the bed. A hand at the back of his shirt kept him from toppling over the edge and he managed to sit with his legs dangling off, trying to look comfortable, nonchalant.

"Did you sleep well?" Malfoy spoke quietly, but the sound of his voice seemed to echo through the room.

"No." Harry replied immediately. He didn't bother mentioning the nightmares.

"Well, you were unconscious for nearly twenty hours. You look much better." The words surprised Harry. He'd been sleeping ON TOP of Malfoy for a whole day? He got angry.

"Why are you still here? Don't you have classes? Aren't you hungry? Bored?" He glared at Malfoy, who saw fit to merely shrug, still lying comfortably back.

"I'll live. It is MUCH easier to hold a conversation with you when you're asleep, you know? You argue far less." His lips twitched in a playful smirk. Harry snorted, and clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise. He hadn't meant to laugh at Malfoy's teasing. His heart rate kicked up, and he stared at the blond, full of confusion.

"But… why did you stay? Why didn't you just leave? I threw a bloody lamp at you!" Harry recalled, feeling a bit ashamed.

"You needed me. What else could I have done?" Malfoy answered sincerely. Harry felt as if the world was spinning. He was surrounded by the dizzying sharp scent of cinnamon, Malfoy was lying there looking not at all bothered to have been used as a pillow for a full day, and Harry felt… safe.

His heart felt like it might explode right out of his chest, and he felt suddenly terribly jittery. He looked away, unable to meet the serious gaze of his Alpha. He hoped Malfoy attributed the pink on his face to the shame of his behavior.

"S… sorry. For… er… throwing a lamp at you." Harry stammered, twisting his fingers together. He felt terribly nervous being alone with Malfoy, which was awfully silly, he thought. He'd been alone with Malfoy plenty. Especially recently. His cheeks burned hotter.

"I was surprised you stopped with the lamp. Why not throw the nightstand? Pillows? There's even a perfectly good tray of food on the windowsill you might have tossed." Malfoy teased, and Harry glared at him.

"I could throw them now, if you'd like?" He offered. Malfoy laughed, finally sitting up. Harry's stomach flipped, and he looked away again.

"Hmm… Maybe you should. I like this new shy Harry Potter, but… I think I prefer you when you're a bit feisty." Malfoy breathed the words in a low rush of breath as he leaned in towards Harry. Harry gulped nervously and looked around for any excuse to move that wouldn't look like running away. Malfoy's scent had shifted, and Harry felt his own body growing warm in response.

"You… you should stop. I think you're making me go into heat again." He managed to choke the words from his throat despite how it tried to close on his humiliation.

"No. You're not going into heat." Malfoy said with a deep breath, testing the air. Harry looked at him, confused.

"Not yet, but… I can feel it. If you keep that up-"

"You're not going into heat. You're just getting turned on." Malfoy informed him with a chuckle. Harry looked at him confused.

"But… It's different. I don't like you." Harry thought of how he'd felt with Cho. Ginny. It was definitely different.

"Have you… Never been interested in someone just for sex before?"

Harry shook his head no.

"Have you ever had sex before?"

Harry blushed, but shook his head in a short jerky 'no'.

"My, my, Potter. That is interesting.” Malfoy was staring at him with a dark look that Harry recognized as one that preceded him dragging him into a bed. He swallowed nervously.

“Well then, good to see you awake. Are you feeling better?” The voice from the hallway made Harry lurch to his feet, face burning a damning heat. He spun to face the doorway, and tried not to look too guilty. To his eternal gratitude, Madam Pomfrey took one look around the room and did not mention what she may have interrupted. Harry realized after a moment of too-long silence that her question was aimed at him, and he needed to reply.

“I’m… better.” He said, refusing to look back at Malfoy, or his smug face. Pomfrey’s sharp eyes looked him over, and she pulled out her wand, stepping into the room.

“I’d like to cast some diagnostic spells, if you could have a seat, please.” She said in a crisp tone. Harry sat.

Madam Pomfrey told them that Harry was going through the very last stages of his withdrawal, that later that night, or tomorrow, he should be over it completely. Malfoy excused himself, and Harry tried not to feel anxious the minute the blond was out of sight, but for some reason the warm scent of cinnamon had soothed something he hadn’t even realized felt wrong until it was dwindling, leaving only faint traces of Malfoy’s scent around the room. Harry absent-mindedly hugged a pillow to his chest, breathing in the comforting scent as he thought over Pomfrey’s latest diagnoses.

He would feel less anxious as the day wore on, and he was already feeling far more emotionally stable. He flushed just thinking about how he’d screamed, threatened, and even attacked Pomfrey and his friends.

He ate his dinner in quiet and when Ron and Hermione arrived, Harry felt a wave of relief. Being alone seemed to be making the uneasiness he felt worse. They stood just outside the door, and Harry gave an apologetic smile.

“I… I don’t know if it’s safe, yet.” He admitted, not able to smell his own pheromones. He didn’t want to choke Ron like he had the other day.

“It’s okay. We can talk like this.” Hermione reasoned, giving him a warm friendly smile in return. Harry wanted to hug her. Ron looked wary, but tried his best to smile.

“Madam Pomfrey says you should be able to get out tomorrow. You’ve missed nearly a whole week of classes, but don’t worry. I took notes for you.” Hermione beamed. Harry grimaced.

“Thanks. I suppose I’ll have to study this whole weekend.” He shared a sympathetic look with Ron.

“Oh, Ron and I will study with you! You’ll be caught up in no time! Though… I don’t suppose there’s really a way to make up the technical potions lessons… Oh well, theory will have to suffice!” She said, resolutely cheery. Harry stopped himself from groaning.

“Alright.” He agreed, just as a new worry pinged through his thoughts. “Does… Does everyone know why I’m in here?”

Hermione gave him a look that said she would be hugging him if he weren’t quarantined.

“Of course they don’t. It’s only the three of us and Pomfrey that know, so… no one to go gossiping.”

“And Malfoy.” Harry grumbled. He could just imagine the pasty git hooting to all of his friends that their Chosen One was a potions addict.

“Oh, I… actually haven’t seen him since he was pulled out of Potions yesterday.” Hermione gave Ron a look to confirm this, and he nodded.

“Yeah, like he disappeared. Not even in the Great Hall at meals. Think he got expelled?” Ron sounded far too enthusiastic, and Hermione chastised him with a single look. Harry grinned, relaxing in the familiar presence of his friends, the comforting banter.

“Or not.” Ron mumbled, eyes darting to the side. Hermione looked with him, and Harry felt a sliver of irritation that he couldn’t see what they were looking at. A moment later he could hear footsteps clacking up the stone hallway, and Ron’s look of disgust suddenly filled Harry in. Hermione looked a bit tense, but neither said anything as Malfoy stopped, just close enough to the door that Harry could see a small strip of him. Arms, a leg, part of his shoulder. He leaned sideways, trying to see better.

“Well, if I’d realized you lot were here, I wouldn’t have bothered.” Malfoy drawled, then huffed in annoyance. “Well? Are you going in or not?”

“Oh, we… er… We shouldn’t.” Hermione said, giving him an apologetic look. It was strange to see her look >i?sorry towards Malfoy. It almost made Harry bristle, but Malfoy was stepping into full view, his face a mixture of confusion and doubt as he crossed the threshold of the door the others wouldn’t pass. “Malfoy, you shouldn’t!”

Hermione’s reproof fell on deaf ears as Malfoy looked Harry over, and then took in the tray of food that had been mostly eaten.

“Good, you ate.” He turned and looked at the pair still standing outside. Harry felt his cheeks darkening as the scent of cinnamon began gently filling the air once more, soothing the unnameable disquiet that had been tightening Harry’s shoulders and making him feel on edge. He took a slow, deep breath, testing the air filled with Malfoy’s pheromones, and couldn’t deny that it helped.

“But… I don’t understand. You both seem fine.” Hermione said, looking from Harry to Malfoy and back.

“It’s ‘cause they-” Ron cut his words off, his own cheeks going dark as he realized what he was about to say.

“Oh.” Hermione understood anyway, and her eyes went wide. Harry tried to hide his own blazing cheeks behind a glare, but Malfoy didn’t seem at all bothered.

“Sometimes you smell so strongly of Weasley that I forget you’re a beta, Granger.” Malfoy smirked. Hermione’s cheeks matched Ron and Harry’s, and Ron’s blush extended to his ears. “Of course I’m fine, I’m a dominant, too. That I’ve helped him through his heat only makes it easier to get him to keep his own pheromones at a reasonable level. Pomfrey thought it best if I stay with him until he’s able to regulate them on his own again.”

“Oh.” Hermione said, her brows twitching together for a moment, before she offered Harry a smile. “Well, as long as Harry’s doing well, I suppose that’s all that matters.”

“Though… I am curious. Weasley, why don’t you try coming in?” Malfoy stepped closer to Harry, and Harry fought the urge to turn and bury his face into that scent. Malfoy stood behind him, so close he could feel the heat of his chest, but Harry looked out at his friends, unable to look away from their faces. Ron looked irked, and Hermione looked concerned.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She said, holding onto Ron’s forearm as he took a step forward.

“Why? Harry’s pheromones have gone down quite a bit, so Weasley should be fine.” Malfoy egged them on, and Harry swallowed nervously. His skin felt prickly, and he desperately wanted to turn and see what Malfoy was doing, what he was looking at, what expression he was making. He could smell the threat on his pheromones, but couldn’t tell if it was aimed at him, or his friends.

“Ron might be fine, but Harry might not be. He’s already having trouble controlling his pheromones, I don’t want to risk Ron triggering some instinctive reaction that gets Harry hurt.” Hermione argued logically. Harry appreciated her finding a reasonable excuse to keep Ron out. He was sure Ron would be able to tell that having Malfoy so close to him was causing a reaction in him. He thought he might be going into heat again as a bead of sweat trickled down his neck and his heart pounded inside his ribs.

“Oh come on. I’m right here. I can take care of him, you know.” One of Malfoy’s arms wrapped around Harry’s shoulders and Harry gasped. He was sure his heart had just stopped in his chest, and he turned his head to face Malfoy’s which hovered right next to his own. A grey-eyed smirk met him, and Harry felt a ball of heat roll through his lower stomach. He liked the way Malfoy was holding him, protectively, affectionately. He elbowed Malfoy in the stomach and twisted away from the loose grasp.

“Don’t touch me. I don’t need to be taken care of.” He snapped, irritated by his body’s reaction to his enemy. If he could just keep his distance, the scent-bond would wear off and so would the strange pull he felt to be closer to the other.

“Oh? Don’t you, though?” Malfoy asked, stalking closer. Harry backed away, toward the door. “I satisfy your heat. I keep other Alphas away from you. Yesterday and today, I kept you from burning out and got you to sleep. I’d say you definitely need me.”

“Oh, that’s why you were pulled out of class! You were helping Harry!” Hermione finally pieced together, and Ron glared even harder at Malfoy. Harry felt his cheeks darken, not wanting to know how his friends might respond to hearing that he’d spent nearly twenty of the last twenty-four hours playing human blanket to the blond villain.

“Yes. Granger. Pomfrey was worried he’d break a pheromone gland with as much stress as he was experiencing. I, being the only other dominant in the school, as well as scent-bonded with him, was the only available remedy. I believe he’s still quite sore about that, so if you could refrain from causing him further stress with questions or judgement, I’d appreciate it ever so much.” Malfoy answered her, his ending tone turning sarcastic. Hermione gave Harry a look of sympathy.

“Now, Potter and I had our own studying we were doing before Pomfrey barged in earlier.” Malfoy said, giving Harry a look full of bad intentions. Harry gave him a glare back.

“We weren’t studying.” He denied, and looked toward his friends. Hermione’s eyebrows had nearly disappeared into her hair with surprise, and Ron looked murderous. He turned back to Malfoy. “You were just mocking me!”

“I wasn’t mocking. I was teaching. You were just upset that I turned you on.” He said bluntly. Harry gaped at him with open-mouthed horror. He turned to his friends, ready to deny everything. Hermione beat him to speaking.

“I… I think it’s actually a good idea! I mean, having been… intimate with him already, I’m sure it’ll be less embarrassing for everyone if Malfoy takes care of explaining certain… physical… aspects… of being an Omega that Harry might not know.” She said haltingly, and turned a bright smile on Ron, who only glared daggers at Malfoy. Malfoy turned a grin at them.

“True. Unless you think you’d like to try explaining to your best mate what a hard on is for? Or slick? Or why my pheromones arouse him?” Malfoy teased. Ron’s face went red from his ears to his neck. Harry almost felt sorry for him, but Hermione was tugging them away, her own face beet red.

“Wait, he’s not teaching me anything! You don’t have to go, he’s just being a dick!” Harry called after them. Hermione gave him an apologetic look.

“Well, Ron and I do have some homework to get to, so… Sorry, Harry. And pay attention! Even if he’s not a good teacher, you do need to learn… certain… things.” Her lips pressed into a tight line of humiliation at having to talk to Harry about his physical condition in a way they’d never done before. He glared at his best friends until they were out of sight. Betrayed.

He turned a glare on Malfoy.

“What’d you run them off for?” He demanded, waving a hand at the door. Malfoy stepped towards it, peeked out, and then promptly swung it shut. Harry stared at him, horrified. “What if Pomfrey comes back?”

“Then hopefully she will respect the closed door.” was the response. Malfoy was stalking toward him. Harry backed away.

“Stay away from me.” He warned. He already felt humiliated about what was said in front of Ron and Hermione, and he didn’t want to give Malfoy any more embarrassing ammunition.

“Or you’ll what? Throw another lamp?” Malfoy mocked. Harry glared, and considered it. He only had the one left. And it was on the other side of the bed. The bed that he was now backed up against. Malfoy stood right in front of him, several inches taller, grey eyes piercing, his scent surrounding Harry in a warm spicy blanket of lust. He didn’t look at all afraid of Harry’s warning. Harry swallowed nervously.

“So, where were we?” Malfoy’s voice was a low purr that vibrated right through Harry’s body. He found it hard to pull in a decent breath, difficult to think around the pheromones that filled his thoughts. “Ah, yes. We were discussing your lack of previous sexual interest.”

Harry felt his cheeks darken. Of course Malfoy wouldn’t have forgotten that little bit of information. Harry wished desperately he had his wand to Obliviate the bastard.

“I’ve been interested in people. I dated Ginny, and even Cho a bit…” He shrugged as if it were no big deal. Malfoy lifted one brow.

“Really? Both Alphas, and… you never had sex with either of them?”

“They were?” Harry was surprised. He knew Ginny was, but Cho, too? Had he subconsciously been seeking them out? He swallowed nervously.

“Yes, but you’re getting off track here. You are supposed to be telling me you at least got under some knickers." Malfoy rolled his eyes. Harry made a face.

"No. Why would I? We just… kissed. Nothing too inappropriate." Harry answered with a scarlet face.

"Were you just never alone with them?" Malfoy pried. Harry huffed and sat down, rubbing his face. He hated this conversation. He'd never really thought about it before, but suddenly, things were making more sense. The way Ginny had been irritated when he'd pulled away. The way she'd always breathed in his hair as if looking for something. The way he always seemed to miss some cue with Cho.

"Why do you even care? Are you jealous?" Harry asked through his hands. Malfoy scoffed above him.

"Hardly. I may have the possessive tendencies of an Alpha, but I'm not brainless. Anyway, I'm less curious about the gory details and more concerned about the effects of those suppressant potions. If you're only now feeling sexual urges, then you should probably be checked over for any… developmental issues."

"What, you think I'm broken?" Harry dropped his hands to glare up at Malfoy. Malfoy shrugged.

"I really couldn't say. Choosing not to get off, or even naturally not having an interest in sex is one thing, but… hormonally neutering yourself for so long… Muscles might deteriorate, or if something didn't grow right…" he sounded genuinely worried. Harry tried not to let it make him feel comforted.

"Pomfrey looked me over, and she probably already checked for all of that. Anyway, it's not like I never got horny, or never 'got off' before, just… never with another person." Harry admitted, averting his eyes.

"You managed to jerk off while on suppressants?" Malfoy asked crudely. Harry's face burned with mortification.

"Sort of… In the mornings, between potions, sometimes… I'd wake up and it would just… be there." He shrugged. What else was he supposed to do? Before, he hadn't really considered that the potions were taking away all of his sex drive, but with Malfoy's curious gaze boring into the top of his head, there was no denying it. He had enjoyed kissing, holding hands, casual touches, but he hadn't wanted more. He hadn't ever felt that burning in his stomach, the tingling of his skin. No one had ever made his breath freeze in his throat or his hands itch with a desire to touch, grab, hold. It felt eerily like being in heat, except less warm, less overpowering. Less desperate.

He peeked up at Malfoy and found the strangest look on his face. His lips were parted, his brows raised, and his eyes looked slightly out of focus. He seemed to notice Harry's movement and his sight focused once more on the humiliated brunet.

"Let me guess, your idea of a wank was to rub your cock a bit through your pants while trying not to wake your dorm mates by enjoying it too much?" Malfoy teased. Harry was torn. He wanted to jump to his own defense, but he didn't want to tell Malfoy any details of his few experiences.

"I only did it in the loo, so I didn't have to worry about waking anyone." Harry settled on a single detail. Malfoy's eyes grew intrigued.

"Did you get fully naked, or was that too embarrassing?" He interrogated. Harry felt his ears burning with his spreading blush.

"I… I'm not talking about this with you." Harry grumbled, glaring up into endless grey eyes. Malfoy smirked and leaned closer. Harry leaned back, but Malfoy didn’t stop coming. He could feel the pheromones thick in the air around him as Malfoy pushed him. Malfoy pressed one knee to the mattress and Harry found himself merely lying beneath Malfoy as hands rested on either side of him, trapping him from escape as Malfoy leaned ever closer. His eyes were a dark grey, his body was warm, and his pheromones felt like a tangible force around them, thickening the air, making Harry taste his lust with every breath.

“Go on, Harry.” Malfoy murmured down at him, his voice low, enchanting. Harry swallowed nervously at the sound of his name coming out like that. It did strange things to his insides. “Tell me how you did it.”

Harry clenched his hands into fists, trying to fight the effects that Malfoy was forcing on him. His whole body felt overwarm, his stomach felt like it was twisted into knots, and he wanted to touch Malfoy, to run his hands down his body and feel if he was as aroused as Harry felt. He thought Malfoy might be about to kiss him, and he was sorely tempted to just let it happen. The thought of that scared him right into talking.

“I’d erm… Go into the loo, lock the door… Then I’d-” He bit his lips, and turned his head just a fraction, breaking his gaze away from those burning silver eyes. He had to lick his lips before he could speak again. “I’d get undressed, get in the shower, and… and wank with the water running on me. Kept it from causing a mess.”

“I can just imagine you all wet, touching yourself.” Malfoy purred, leaning in to brush his nose against the side of Harry’s face. Harry found his lungs frozen, unable to draw breath, until a gasp was drawn out of him by Malfoy’s tongue sliding across his neck. It felt weird; warm and wet. And erotic. His eyes fluttered closed and he couldn’t bring himself to argue as Malfoy’s lips followed, pressing a slow, sensuous trail of kisses along his throat. Teeth scraped his pulse, and Harry let out a sound he thought might have been a moan. He clamped his lips firmly shut and brought his hands up to shove at Malfoy. The blond was forced off of him, and Harry sat up, glaring.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy!?” He demanded to know, fighting the urge to cover his lap with a pillow. That would only draw more attention to it, he was sure.

“Me? What about you? You clearly want it, I want it! What’s the problem? Why are you insistent on being so priggish?” Malfoy looked irritated, and Harry had a strange sense of deja-vu. Something similar had happened with Ginny a few times, where she’d started kissing and touching him, and Harry had broken it off, worried she was just trying to do what he wanted, and Harry… hadn’t really wanted it. He’d been curious, he knew he’d probably like it, but… it had been nothing like this. Nothing like being in heat, and nothing like having Malfoy trap him and kiss his neck a bit. Had she been aroused those times? He thought maybe she had. Did all Alphas get irate when they were aroused and denied? The thought made him want to squirm. He felt a bit vexed himself. He felt as if there was a tension inside him, built up by Malfoy and his stupid pheromones, and at any moment that tension might snap and leave him broken. He wanted more. He glanced at the door. Still closed. He looked back to Malfoy, weighing his options. He’d likely end up sleeping with him during his heat again, regardless of how he resisted now. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. It was too much. He didn’t want to have to make some grand choice about whether he forgave Malfoy yet or not, or whether he trusted him to do more than help himself. Letting himself be kissed, touched, without the mindlessness of his heat taking him over seemed like a larger step than simply slaking his newfound lust. He couldn’t quite put all of his emotions into words, but it filled him with an acute anxiety.

“I don’t know, I just… I don’t know anything about myself, really… Like you said. How am I supposed to know what to expect? How do I keep you from having the upper hand in every single situation? I… Can't…" Harry trailed off, unable to vocalize what exactly it was he couldn't do.

"You can't give up control?" Malfoy finished for him. Harry stared at him, full of offence for a moment, until he realized the words rang true. He had had so little control of his life. The thought of giving up any more of the control he'd fought so hard to have terrified him.

"I can't." He confirmed. Malfoy nodded, looking thoughtful.

"I… understand that." He finally said, no longer sounding irritated. The cinnamon scent had changed. Harry found it strange how he was noticing more subtle changes than he had before. It all still smelled mostly of cinnamon, but there were times it was darker, times it was so sharp it almost hurt his nose, and times when he swore he smelled something fresh and sweet with it.

“Most of us learn to control our pheromones, and our reactions to them as we grow into them. It just takes time and experience.” Malfoy told him. Harry didn’t like that. He wanted to have control over them now.

“Of course it does. And I suppose the way to get experience is sleeping with you?” He asked balefully. Malfoy shrugged.

“Not necessarily. It’s to be exposed to them, but… If you try to build up a resistance to Alpha’s trying to fuck you, you’re going to slip up eventually, and just do it. I’d rather it be me than Zacharias bloody Smith.” Malfoy spat the name like an insult. Harry huffed out a breath of laughter and his lips stretched into a smile.

“Of course. Possessive Alpha thing, or whatever.” He forced his lips back into a frown, but Malfoy just shrugged, not looking at all bothered by Harry’s assessment. His lips stretched into a smirk and he leaned an inch closer.

“You like it.” He murmured, his eyes locked on Harry’s. A thrill went through Harry’s stomach, and his shoulders tensed as he found himself unable to deny it. "Or maybe you just need to work out all of that built-up randiness you've been suppressing? I mean, I'm not even TRYING to force you with my pheromones, and you struggle to hold yourself back."

Harry's face blazed with humiliation. He opened his mouth to deny it, but Malfoy cut him off.

"You don't have to, you know. There are no Sex Aurors going to come haul you away for wanting an Alpha. And anyway, you can't learn to control something you refuse to engage with. You can't learn to control a broom if you refuse to ride it." Malfoy took a breath, finished with his short rant. Harry smirked at him.

"Good point, I suppose. So… are you the broom?" Harry asked. He felt far more comfortable in the knowledge that he had, and could push Malfoy away. That Malfoy still wanted him, but would argue rather than force him to submit through their pheromones. Malfoy's eyes darkened once more, and he looked Harry up and down, clearly surveying his intended conquest.

"If you're going to ride me, I will DEFINITELY be the broom." Malfoy purred, leaning in. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. The image of himself atop Malfoy was nearly irresistible. The only issue: he didn’t want Malfoy just lying back, watching him with a smirk. THAT would be far too embarrassing. He bit his lip, considering. Malfoy leaned in further, brows drawing together in curious disbelief.

“Aren’t you going to push me away again? Tell me I’m too presumptuous? Throw a lamp?” Malfoy teased, but Harry couldn’t seem to make his face cooperate. His eyes traveled to Malfoy’s mouth, thinking of how it had felt on him. His own mouth didn’t seem to know any words, so he merely licked his lips. His gaze drifted back up the pale features to meet the dark grey stare once more. Malfoy looked ready to eat him.

He didn’t know if he gave some silent signal, or if Malfoy just got tired of waiting for him to speak, but Malfoy suddenly closed the distance between them, taking Harry’s mouth in a greedy kiss. Harry closed his eyes and sank into it. It was familiar, yet new. It was electrifying, and comforting. Harry felt Malfoy push him back until he was lying down again, Malfoy’s body spread over his. A hand slid into his hair, holding him in place as Malfoy kissed him. Another pressed against his body, feeling his shoulder, chest, belly. He felt his pyjama shirt pushed up and when the warm fingers splayed along his bare stomach, he shivered. Harry felt rather awkward, not sure what to do with his arms, or his hands. He was sure he wasn’t as good at kissing as Malfoy was, but if the blond noticed, he didn’t mention it.

The taste of Malfoy’s tongue felt like a drug, intoxicating, addicting. He wanted to kiss forever, and never come up for air. He could feel Malfoy’s warm exhale on his lips, and he heard the sound of his gasping breath, clearly struggling to find oxygen. Harry felt the same. Every breath he managed to draw in seemed to be a gasp, every breath out a small sigh of pleasure. He no longer felt like he was in control of himself, but he wasn’t sure Malfoy was, entirely, either. Surely if he was, he’d feel SOME shame about how his obvious hardon was pressing into Harry’s thigh. Through his haze of kissing bliss, Harry felt a spike of curiosity. What would Malfoy enjoy? Would he like it if Harry touched him back? Did he like the way Harry met his tongue with his own? How would he react if Harry slid his hand down and intentionally rubbed his erection?

With a harsh breath in, Malfoy pulled away. He was breathing heavily as he stared down at Harry. He looked disheveled, as if he’d just run a good distance, and the longing look in his eyes as he looked down at Harry was almost regretful, but full of pride.

“See? Self control. It’s much easier to stop when you’re not in heat.” Malfoy managed to explain his sudden interruption. Harry glared up at him. Sure HE was able to stop, but Harry definitely didn’t want to. He was peeved that Malfoy seemed to possess the very self-control that Harry needed. He decided to take it personally, and destroy Malfoy’s arrogance. He grabbed handfuls of blond hair and pulled Malfoy’s lips back to his own. He caught the briefest look of surprise on Malfoy’s face before he was too close to see. For a brief moment, Harry was kissing unmoving lips, but as the apparent shock wore off, Malfoy returned his movement with a groan.

Harry relished his moment of success, but was soon drowning under the force of Malfoy's need. It was as though Malfoy had taken Harry's kiss as permission to truly devour him. His tongue invaded, his body bore down, and his hands grasped, pulling Harry firmy into him. Harry felt as though his body were on fire, every part of him burning to be touched. His cock was hard, pulsing, and nearly painful with his own need.

Malfoy’s hands slid under his clothes, his lips kissed hungrily. Harry tasted the scent of cinnamon on his humid breath, and heard the growling sound of his impatience. When one warm hand slid across his hard-on, Harry could only whimper and press his hips up into the sensation. Fingers wrapped around bare skin and Harry groaned as sweet relief washed over him. This was what he wanted. This pleasure. The satisfaction. The heat and taste and sheer overwhelming force that was Malfoy.

The spicy scent had grown stronger, and Harry was blanketed in it, his thoughts smothered into pure sensation and reaction.

Malfoy’s lips left his, tracing wet kisses along his jaw, down his throat. One hand shoved his shirt up, and warm breath preceded the warmer mouth that landed on his chest. Soft lips and a wet tongue teased him, finding one of his nipples to torture for one sweet, excruciating moment. Teeth scraped, and then the blond head dipped lower, licking his way down Harry’s stomach. Harry’s back arched and his hands clung to the platinum locks, frantic for Malfoy to keep going. He wanted that warm wet tongue on his cock. He wanted Malfoy to kiss him and bring him off, and-

“Ohhh fuck…” Harry let out a low exhalation as it happened. Malfoy’s lips replaced his hand, and Harry thrust slowly up into his mouth. It was mind-numbingly good. Better than being wrapped in the security of cinnamon. Better than being kissed senseless. Harry had no words to describe it as Malfoy’s mouth explored him, licking, tasting, teasing. He whimpered, moaned, arched. It was bliss. Hot, slick, and the slight suction of Malfoy finally sucking gently at him, it was perfect. Or so he’d thought.

He felt his pants tugged further down and helped kick them off. Malfoy’s hands slid up his thighs, tickling slightly as he pushed Harry’s knees up, bending his legs to splay him. Harry gladly moved into whatever position his Alpha wanted, hips rocking in time with the fellatio. Fingertips slid exploratively down his thigh, palms squeezed, and as his hand brushed closer, Harry knew what he wanted.

“Yes…” He groaned as one fingertip slid over the puckered entrance. With a slight push it slid in effortlessly, and Harry gasped, rocking his hips down harder, aching for more. His breath came in fast panting lungfuls, and another finger made him moan, low, guttural, and full of want. The fingertips pressed deeply into him, and Harry saw stars. His hips thrust up, pressed down, and his hands tugged hard at thick silvery hair, expressing the violent appreciation he couldn’t put voice to.

He had no idea what was happening anymore, only that everything felt so, so amazing. He couldn’t seem to get a breath, his body shook, and it all became too much. His cock twitched against the velvety tongue, his muscles clenched around Malfoy’s fingers, and his whole body tried to lift off the bed, his head falling back, his voice catching on a moan.

It lasted for long moments, each pulsating shiver of orgasm crashing through him like a tsunami, drowning him over and over until he was completely spent. He flopped down, panting hard, shivering, feeling suddenly exhausted.

Something startlingly warm hit his belly, and Harry managed to pry his eyes open, though the rest of him refused to budge. Malfoy knelt before him, hand fisted around his own cock, moving in slow long passes at the end of his own climax. It was his cum that had landed on Harry, and Harry was more surprised by the realization that he didn’t mind. Malfoy’s face, tense with his pleasure, relaxed as he finished. His hand left his cock, and he stared down at Harry, looking just as satisfied as Harry felt.

The blond gave a contented sigh as he let himself lie down next to Harry. His eyes closed as his breathing evened, and Harry stared at him, his thoughts trickling back into his head. He wanted to say something, to be mad that things had gotten out of hand once again, but…

His eyelids drifted closed, and he couldn’t even offer any protest as he was shuffled about, tucked in, and an arm draped over his waist. Sleep pulled him under like an unstoppable tide. He turned onto his side and breathed in the warm, spicy scent of his Alpha. His face pressed into a cotton covered chest, and his head pillowed on an arm that wasn’t his own, he was lulled to sleep by the soft sound of Malfoy’s breathing, and the gentle feel of being embraced.

Chapter Text

The first thing he was aware of was the screaming. It was deep, primal, and full of pain. There was a struggle, he could hear it. Someone was thrashing and screaming, and there was another voice, calmer, quieter.

“Wake up. It’s a nightmare, wake up. It’s just a dream…”

The next thing he was aware of was that he was being held. It wasn’t like it had been, though. It wasn’t the strong steel grip on his wrists, or the full-body tension of the body-bind curse. It was a loose grasp around his body, another warm body against his back, arms around his shoulders, but only air before him.

The screams choked off, and Harry felt his own chest heaving with the raw choked sobs that he could hear replacing the screams. He could feel his hands gripped painfully tight onto one of the arms that held him. He could smell Malfoy with him, and hear the soft soothing sounds he made. His throat felt sore, and Harry finally managed to get his eyes to open. He was in his bedroom. His private room in Hogwarts. Recent memories took over the nightmare’s paralyzing confusion, and he knew Malfoy had been there when he’d gone to sleep, just as he had been every night since Pomfrey had let him out of the Infirmary. He was under orders from Pomfrey to keep Harry’s pheromones from destabilizing again under the renewed stress. It was the third night he’d woken up to Malfoy, and the third night he’d woken Malfoy with one of his nightmares. The previous two nightmares hadn’t been terrible. A bit of mumbling and tossing about, according to the blond, but this….

Harry felt humiliation rise to his cheeks, dark and burning. He did his best to hold in the sobs, but ended up mostly just holding his breath. He wrenched away from Malfoy’s grasp, and made for the edge of the bed. He needed to escape into the bathroom before Malfoy could start mocking him. He had to get cleaned up before Malfoy saw his face. He had to-

“Nope. Get back here.” Malfoy’s stern voice matched the firm grip that yanked him back by his arm. Harry put up a weak struggle, but he knew it was useless. He was shaking far too bady to make much use of his limbs, and Malfoy was using that tone. The one that said Harry wasn’t going to get his way. Harry had become very familiar with that tone the past few days. It was the tone he used when he sat with Harry’s friends and told them of Pomfrey’s orders, when he told Harry to eat a few more bites, when he told Harry to shut up and just go to sleep. It had been a strange few days, and Harry was starting to get very confused. Pomfrey had told Malfoy to just hang around him, to share a room, not to coddle him, and treat him like he was his caretaker. It was times like this, when Malfoy did something so wrong so easily that Harry’s mind reeled.

Malfoy pulled him back against his body, cradling his head against his shoulder, as Harry tried to get his shaking limbs and choking gasps of breath under control. Malfoy simply held him, one hand brushing through his hair, and Harry found his arms wrapping around Malfoy’s waist, using the blond to support his own weight as they sat. The comforting scent of Alpha filled his senses, and he found it easier to breathe each breath that was filled with cinnamon and safety.

“Feeling better?” Malfoy’s voice was quiet, carefully even, but his hand paused on Harry’s head, no longer stroking. Harry sniffled and pulled slowly away, letting his arms drop, and his eyes darted up to look Malfoy in the eyes briefly.

“You know, you don’t have to act like my nanny. Just being around your pheromones is enough.” Harry said, his cheeks pink once more as he tried not to look too hard into the warm feeling that being so close to Malfoy always caused in him.

“Merlin, Potter… Every time you speak, you prove just how uneducated you are. There’s more to pheromones than just being around them. Touch is a big part of it.” Malfoy sighed, and slid out of the bed. “Wash up and get dressed. I’ll see you at breakfast.”

It left a bad taste in Harry’s mouth that even though he’d been planning on doing just that, Malfoy might think it was because he’d told him to do so. He glared at the blond as he left, and then got up himself, resigned to another day of being babysat.

Harry wiped the droplet of sweat from his nape and stared resolutely down at his History of Magic text. Professor Bins was droning on as usual, and every eighth year in the room looked bored near to death. Except the Alphas. They all looked tense. Harry refused to look up again, absolutely certain that he’d die of mortification if he had to make eye-contact with anyone he knew could smell the start of his heat. Ron sat faithfully beside him, his hands clenched into fists, and Harry couldn’t even offer him an apology. He knew it was worse. He could feel his pheromones like never before, the crisp sweet scent that lingered on his skin that was slightly sticky from damp sweat. He could tell his body was fully aroused. He hated knowing that every Alpha and Omega in the room knew that he sat there, cock rock-hard, and desperate to be fucked. The only thing worse, he thought, would be them knowing he’d run away. So he sat resolutely, pretending as though Zacharias Smith wasn’t boring holes in his head with his stare, that Ron wasn’t trying to hold his breath, that Malfoy wasn’t glaring at Smith with murder in his eyes.

The bell ringing was a sweet release, and Harry was the first from the room, nearly running, despite his attempts to remain calm in the face of his embarrassment. His hands were shaking, and he wiped another few beads of sweat from his brow. He felt too warm, and tugged at the collar of his shirt. He wanted to take his clothes off and lie down.

“Harry, I think you should take the rest of the day off.”

It was surprisingly Hermione who voiced the concern, though she definitely couldn’t smell what was going on. Her worried eyes lingered over his glazed eyes, sweaty forehead, and darted to watch as Ron stood a few paces further away than normal.

“I don’t want to run away from this. It’s… already embarrassing. If I take the day off, and everyone knows I couldn’t take it, that’s…” He trailed off, his thoughts fuzzing up as the scent of cinnamon entered the hallway mere moments before a certain blond did. Grey eyes locked on him, and his heart began to thump erratically in his chest as he realized Malfoy was coming toward him.

“I’m not saying you should go for yourself, Harry. You clearly can’t concentrate, and neither can anyone else. Even us ‘betas’, it’s hard to study when this lot looks like they’re going to start brawling any moment.” Hermione said, gesturing to Malfoy who had stopped next to her, and Smith who slunk past eyeing Malfoy with contempt. He even gave Ron a look of milder dislike. The smell of mint came and went, and Harry felt a strange urge to follow after it, to bury his face in that fresh, clean scent and let it soothe him. The scent of cinnamon overtook it, and Harry’s eyes snapped to the source.

“Don’t even think about it.” Malfoy growled, eyes locked on Harry, though by the thickness of his scent, he was definitely aware of Smith, and Harry’s minor reaction to him. Harry swallowed, and he didn’t care anymore, what his friends had been saying to him, what they thought, what their classmates might snicker about behind his back. He took a step closer to Malfoy, knowing he’d take care of it, that he’d ease the burn, and satisfy his throbbing arousal. Malfoy’s pupil’s widened, but he swallowed, and his jaw clenched, while Ron hissed in clear disapproval of the overpowering scent of Harry and Malfoy reacting to one another.

“Go to your room, Harry. I have to fetch something, and I’ll join you in a few minutes.” Malfoy sounded strained, but he was using that tone again, and Harry knew there was no use arguing. His Alpha would be there for him, he’d take care of him. He swallowed, nodded, and left without a word, feeling rather dazed.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to make it to his room, or how long he waited, but his clothes had been left in a messy trail from the door to where he sat on the bed. When the door to the outside opened, his hand around his cock barely faltered. He could smell the Alpha that had entered. He moaned softly and squeezed his cock a little harder. The door to his bedroom opened, and a blond came in. Dark eyes caught sight of him, and with only a split-second to take in the sight of Harry touching himself, Malfoy slammed the door closed behind him and was on Harry in two quick strides. Lips crashed against his, hands sank into his hair, and Harry’s fingers released himself, to grab at Malfoy’s clothes. He was wearing far too many of them. He heard the sound of cloth tearing, buttons scattering across stone, and before long Malfoy was just as naked as he was. He grabbed Harry and lifted him further onto the bed, covering the naked Omega with his own body, pressing their skin together from head to toe.

Harry was delirious with the joy of it. His head fell back and he savored every press of Malfoy’s lips to his body, every caress of skilled hands, and every inch of the thick cock he could feel rubbing against his with slow uneven thrusts of Malfoy’s hips.

“Please, I need you…” Harry managed to whine, his own hands pulling at Malfoy’s body, trying desperately to move the Alpha where he wanted him. Malfoy growled against his neck, and gave a sharp nip to his collarbone. His hands were firm and impatient as he spread Harry’s legs and settled between them. Harry wrapped his legs around slender hips and pulled Malfoy in. The heat that filled him pulled a groan from his throat, and he closed his eyes for a moment, awash with sheer pleasure at being filled so perfectly. Malfoy’s fingers the other night were no comparison at all. This was what he needed. Malfoy’s cock was long and thick and seemed to touch every single good thing inside Harry. Harry threw his head back as he came, and felt soft skin giving under his fingernails as they dug into Malfoy’s back.

A soft chuckle met his ears as the forceful orgasm abated, and he pried his eyes open to stare up at the perfect, happy face of his Alpha. He was making his alpha happy just by enjoying what he was given. It was so easy. He leaned up and pressed a kiss to the smiling mouth, tasting the sharp flavor that was laced into his saliva. It tasted so, so good. He licked at Malfoy’s tongue, needing more and Malfoy opened his mouth wider, pressing his tongue to Harry’s granting his silent wish. Harry moaned, lost to the flavor and scent of him, and when he thought it couldn’t possibly be any more satisfying, Malfoy began moving, thrusting into him, hard, fast, and dominating. His hands were touching Harry all over, holding him close, teasing, pleasuring. Harry came undone again, gasping in Malfoy’s warm breath as his body wrapped around Malfoy’s, holding him deep inside as Harry shuddered through his second orgasm. As he relaxed once more, Malfoy’s pace slowed, deepened, and Harry gasped as it drove into something amazing. Each forward push brought him another electrifying shudder of pleasure, and Harry wanted more. He wanted his Alpha to hold him tighter, kiss him harder, never let him go. He wanted to make his Alpha happy, and keep him satisfied in return. His hips moved against Malfoy’s seeking more pleasure for them both, and Harry moaned, breaking the kiss to satisfy his need to bite. His teeth sank hard and fast into Malfoy’s shoulder, and he whimpered around the taste of his sweat and skin. But it wasn’t right. It was good, but not right.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Malfoy’s voice was chanting, his hips snapped harder once more, his hands grabbed more violently, holding Harry as Harry slowly unclenched his jaw. He’d liked being bitten. Harry had known he would. He wanted to be bitten, too. He pulled Draco’s head closer, and pulled at his ear with his teeth, pressing his Alpha’s face right to his neck, inviting him to make his mark, to viscerally claim Harry as his own. Harry whimpered as soft lips pressed to his pulse, and a tongue darted out to taste him. It felt so right. His whole body writhed at the feeling of being so close to it. Teeth nipped at his throat, and Harry pulled him in harder, no longer inviting, but demanding.

“Please…” He moaned, clinging to the Alpha as he felt him try to pull away.

“Fuck…” The returning growl was right against his ear, and he could feel the need of his Alpha. He needed this, too. He needed to claim him, to mark him. To bond with him, and keep him. Harry wanted it more than anything. He wanted to belong to this agonizingly perfect Alpha. He was trying to hold back, though. His movements were sharp, controlled, his forehead was pressed to Harry’s shoulder, his fingertips digging painfully into Harry’s sides as he tried to control his urge to possess the other.

That was fine, Harry could do it for them. He licked his way along Malfoy’s throat, tasting the salty sweat that speckled his skin, tasting the sharp, spicy flavor of pure Alpha that existed there. There. That was it. Harry licked it again, just to make sure. Malfoy’s body shuddered against his with pleasure at it, and Harry knew. He parted his lips-

“Don’t-” Malfoy’s voice caught in a hiss and then a moan and Harry felt the flavor of his Alpha’s blood surge through his body, vibrating through him like a taut cord inside him had snapped. Malfoy’s hips plunged against his, driving him deep into Harry, and Harry could taste his pleasure, his longing, his pain. It coupled with his own and swept Harry away on a tide of ecstasy. He could feel the pleasure of being knotted, Malfoy’s pleasure at knotting his Omega, the satisfaction of being bonded. Malfoy groaned, a muffled sound, and Harry opened his eyes as the pleasure dwindled into a more passive thing, still throbbing through him, but no longer blinding. He released Malfoy’s neck and let his head fall back. Malfoy was panting, hard, but sat up a little, using one trembling arm to support himself as he winced, and glanced at his other, and then down at Harry. Harry’s eyes went to the raised arm, and he saw blood. Not a frightening amount, but it was startling. The bitemark on Malfoy’s forearm spoke volumes. He’d bitten himself instead of Harry. Part of Harry was horrified, realizing that he’d marked Malfoy. Part of him was furious that Malfoy hadn’t marked him back.

“You stupid, fucking, idiot.” Malfoy growled down at him, eyes flashing furiously. Harry licked his lips, tasting the remnants of his blood and pheromones that lingered there. He could feel the knot that tied them together, and his eyes fell to the bloody mark just at the base of Malfoy’s neck, and Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to leave, no matter how angry he was. He grinned up at his Alpha, pleased with himself, and reached for his face, wanting to be kissed more. The pleasure had lulled, but he knew there was more to come, and he didn’t want to waste time not enjoying himself. Malfoy growled but allowed himself to be pulled in. His mouth was just as angry, his kiss violent and full of furious passion. Harry enjoyed every moment of it, and greedily lapped up the flavor of his Alpha’s tongue. His Alpha. The thought sent a thrill through him. Malfoy was his Alpha. Malfoy was his.

Malfoy kissed him until his anger abated from the kiss and his knot had diminished enough for Harry to begin wriggling underneath him again, ready for his next onslaught. Malfoy surrendered, giving Harry what he needed, filling him over and over again, kissing him, licking him, biting, but never hard enough. Harry whined, dug his nails in, bit him until his jaw was sore, but Malfoy never gave in to that one need. He ended up biting his own hand as well, and by the end, he was covered in claw marks and bite-bruises from himself and Harry. Harry had lost count how many times he had knotted and come down, but when the heat finally started to abate, he felt a bit raw, exhausted, and could see the glow of the sun coming back up. He hadn’t even realized it had set.

Malfoy’s body was twined around his, his breathing still evening out from their last violent bout of wordless pleasure. They lay on their sides, still connected by the final knot, and Harry nestled comfortably into his chest and let his eyes close. He knew Malfoy was still angry. He could smell it, could feel the tension in his Alpha’s body, but he was far too tired to worry about it just then. They could argue when he woke up. If Malfoy was even there, when he woke up. That thought sent a pang of discomfort through him. He’d been sleeping next to Malfoy for nearly a week now, and found it was getting terribly comfortable to wake up next to him, or in his arms, feeling protected and complacent.

“Stay with me?” He yawned, eyes watering as he fought to stay awake long enough to know what the morning would bring.

“Are you going to sleep?” Malfoy sounded miffed, and Harry smiled against his bare skin.

“Mmhm. M’sleepy.” He mumbled, hearing how his words slurred, but his tongue refused to do any better.

“I’m sure.” Malfoy said a bit tartly, then sighed. “Go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.” His arms tightened around Harry, securing him into the embrace, and Harry heard him say something else, but didn’t have any idea what it was as sleep drew him away.

Harry woke, warm, comfortable, and feeling suspiciously well-rested. He stretched, his arms breaking him free of the cozy embrace as he rolled onto his back to stretch properly. Malfoy grumbled, his arm wrapping around Harry’s waist as he tried to pull him back in. Harry took a deep breath of the cool air away from Malfoy’s body. His arms came back down, and he turned his head to look at Malfoy, who was frowning sleepily down at him. That was strange, usually Malfoy was awake before him.

“It’s only half-ten, go back to sleep.” Malfoy grumbled, closing his eyes, though his frown remained. A small laugh escaped Harry.

“You’re always up by eight. Did you fuck yourself into a coma last night?” Harry found amusement in Malfoy’s uncharacteristic sleepiness. He was actually rather cute with that sleep-tousled, grumpy look. His eyes opened to glare resentfully at Harry, and the clear silver color of them in the morning light made Harry’s breath catch.

“You kept me up until nearly six, Potter. It’s Saturday. Do you have a reason to be so cheerful with so little sleep?” Malfoy groused, and Harry found his eyes inspecting the sleepy blond. His eyes were red-rimmed, making the silver appear even lighter. His cheeks were pale, and his lips pink and kiss-abused. There were bitemarks and hickeys all over his neck, his shoulders littered with more bitemarks and what looked like curved rows of little half-moon scratches. He looked as though he’d had an absolutely grueling night. Harry had a hard time feeling sorry for him. His backside felt a bit sore, and the strange irritation that Malfoy hadn’t bitten him back had returned.

It hit him like a tonne of bricks.

He’d marked Malfoy. If Malfoy had bitten him… They’d have been bonded for life. Harry felt his cheeks burning, and his lips part, and looked at the already scabbed over wound that Harry had left the night before.

“I… I’m sorry for… erm… biting you.” Harry offered. Malfoy’s frown deepened.

“Oh. That.” His voice was several degrees colder, and he looked instantly less sleepy. Harry winced.

“And… Thank you. For not doing it to me.” He looked away as Malfoy sat up, uncomfortable with the apology and thanks, but feeling Malfoy deserved it.

“Really? Seemed like you were pretty ticked I wouldn’t bond with you last night. I’m willing now, if you still want, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice was mocking, and Harry felt the blush recede under the teasing.

“Don’t be a cock. I… I had no idea what I was doing last night… It was… different.” Harry observed, feeling a bit slow.

“That’s what it’s normally like.” Malfoy shrugged. “Why I didn’t want you near me during my rut.”

“Oh.” Harry said lamely. He wasn’t sure if Malfoy was still mad about being marked, or tired, or happy to see Harry awake. He looked tired. Harry felt an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach at Malfoy’s words. “Have you helped another Omega through their heat, then?”

Jealousy, he realized a moment too late. Malfoy smirked at him, clearly knowing, but answered without mocking him.

“Two others.”

Harry’s stomach twisted with hatred for those two nameless Omegas. Malfoy’s smirk widened.

“I never knew you were so keen, Harry. Jealous, and marking me? Whatever will your family think?” Malfoy finally teased. Harry glared.

“Nothing, they’re dead.” He said in a flat tone. Malfoy’s face twisted, and then he looked like he’d been slapped. Surprised, and a bit confounded.

“I… I meant the Weasleys…” He said it with a look as if he’d forgotten Harry had another family. He shook his head, dismissing the strangeness of it. “And Granger, and probably McGonagall, too, though she’ll deny she has any favorites.”

“Oh.” Harry breathed again, just as confused for a moment. Was that how Malfoy saw his family? All of the people who cared about him, despite being an orphan? He’d rather thought blood would mean more to Malfoy than love. Malfoy sighed.

“Well… I’m awake now. Breakfast is definitely over, but we can waste a few hours until lunch…” His eyes grew dark, and his hand stretched out to rest on Harry’s hip suggestively. Harry groaned.

“No. God, please, no. I’m still kind of sore from last night.” Harry lamented, feeling far more physically tender than awkward about Malfoy coming onto him. Malfoy smirked.

“Me too.” He grinned, then sighed. “I suppose I should go see Pomfrey, get some Bruise Salve, or something…” He removed his hand from Harry’s hip, and Harry wanted it back immediately. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed Malfoy touching him, and thought back to what Malfoy had said about pheromones having to do with touch as well. It was just physiological, he didn’t actually like Malfoy. Malfoy who was pulling on his trousers, and…

“That’s my shirt.” Harry informed him, though Malfoy HAD to know. He’d pulled it from Harry’s clean laundry.

“You ruined mine. I have more in my room, but I’m not walking across the hall half naked. You’ll get your shirt back when the elves do laundry again.” He drawled, rolling his eyes. Harry frowned at him. He pulled on his shoes and then paused, looking back at Harry from the door to the bedroom.

“Don’t forget to take the contraceptive.” was all he said before he left. Harry heard the door open, and the soft startled gasp of a familiar voice.

“Oh, hello. That’s Harry’s shirt.” Hermione’s voice came to him, and Harry scrambled from the bed, yanking on a pair of pyjama bottoms as quickly as he could as he heard Malfoy’s laughter disappearing into the hall.

“Harry, are you up?” Hermione’s voice came after the snap of the outside door closing.

“Yeah, give me a mo’.” Harry called, covering his bum with flannel, and snatching up a t-shirt. He pulled it over his head as he went through the door, fully covered by the time he laid eyes on his friend.

“Malfoy was wearing your shirt, you know?” She said, pointing at the door behind her, looking a bit confused.

“Yeah, his got… erm… broken.” Harry managed lamely. Hermione’s brows lifted, and to his surprise, it looked like she was fighting a smile.

“Well, I’m happy to see you getting along so well.” She said pertly, pressing on in a more serious tone before Harry could feel properly chaffed. “Anyway, you weren’t at breakfast, so Ron pestered me to come check you were alright. I take it you ARE alright?”

“Yeah, fine. Just… having a bit of a lie-in.” He said. “We… erm… we were up kind of late.”

“I thought as much, but Ron was worried. He thought Malfoy would be taking advantage of you or something.” Hermione rolled her eyes. Harry swallowed nervously.

“Actually…” He began, and Hermione’s eyes flew wide, round as saucers.

“Did he hurt you? Harry… Did he mark you?” Hermione sounded horrified, her voice going quiet on the word, and Harry put his hands up, waving off the words, but his face blazed, as he denied it.

“No, no. He didn’t do anything…” He sank into a chair, huffing, staring at his friend, feeling suddenly terribly guilty. He really didn’t know enough about any of this. He didn’t even know what he’d done. Not really.

“But… I marked him.” Harry grimaced. Hermione stood there, stunned for several beats. Then she sank into the sofa, her mouth wide with shock, and Harry gave a grimacing smile. “I… sort of lost my head. I didn’t know what I was doing. I… don’t even really know what it is. I mean, I know it’s some kind of… short-term immunity to pheromones or something.”
Hermione shook her head.

“Harry.” She said in the way only she could, full of love and concern and frustration. “It’s much more than that! It’s… for Alphas and Omegas, a mark is… it’s a commitment. It’s an incredibly intimate thing, and it can be terrifying for the one who’s marked.”

“Okay… Can you explain it to me, then? He… Malfoy was mad when I did it, furious, but… This morning he seems to be over it. He was joking about it, actually.” Harry explained. Hermione gave him a look of pity.

“He’s probably putting on a front, pretending he’s not bothered to save face. You should probably actually talk about it with him later… It will fade in a few months, but… If he marks you back, Harry… It’s permanent. No going back. That’s not something to take lightly.”

“I know! But…” Harry shook his head. “That’s ALL I know about it! Everyone just says ‘don’t’. They don’t say anything else about it!” Harry vented. Hermione smiled apologetically at him.

“Alright, well… Marking is like a temporary, one-sided bond. How much do you know about bonding?”

“It’s permanent, you do it by biting each other, it blocks pheromones from everyone else, and it binds you together, whatever that means.” Harry shrugged. He didn’t know much more about bonding than marking.

“Mostly, yes. It doesn’t block the pheromones, it just makes you not affected by them. You’ll still experience them, but you won’t be suggestible to Alpha’s, or repelled by another Omega’s scent-mark. You will kind of just be repelled by all other pheromones, like how Ron smells to you now.”

“Oh.” Harry nodded along, and Hermione continued, getting a bit more comfortable as she slid into the familiar role of lecturer.

“It is permanent for as long as you both live, so there is a way out, but only someone truly evil would consider it.” Hermione made a face at that, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if Malfoy was ‘truly evil’. He didn’t think so, but… could he be certain? Hermione went on.

“The bond itself is… hard to describe, apparently. Not many of the books have a very detailed description of what it feels like, but it is sort of a pull to the other. For a bonded pair, they feel drawn to each other, even if the bond was unintended, or if they never knew each other before. They don’t say if it’s an actual physical pull, or just emotional, but I imagine it’s a bit of both.

“Where things get really complicated is how it actually changes your physiology. If the journals I read weren’t lying, then… You will be connected on a deeper level. You’ll be able to feel each other’s emotions, and even physical pain. From anywhere. Like you carry a tiny piece of them with you. It literally binds your magic together for life. It’s more binding than getting married. It will sync up the heat cycle and rut, to increase chances of pregnancy, and it will make you physically need their pheromones. Too long without, and you’ll get sick, start to weaken, and even… die.”

“Well that sucks.” Harry said nonchalantly. Hermione gave him a look of sympathy.

“You won’t be able to have sex with anyone else, either. Your body will reject them, and their pheromones will make you sick, and only being back with your bond-mate will fix it again. I don’t know if that has deadly consequences, too, but I imagine it would, if it went on long enough. They say it DOES make the… intimacy far more… intimate? They don’t go too far into detail about that, but it’s something to do with heightened sexual awareness, or shared experience, or the like. Interesting, but not the important part of it, I think.”

Harry was fairly certain he knew what she was talking about, that he’d felt it the night before, but Hermione was moving on before he could even feel awkward.

“Being scent-marked, you’ve probably already experienced a lesser version of the pull to be around him, the urge to make him happy, and protect him?” Hermione asked. Harry nodded with a blush.

“Well, after being properly marked, it gets far stronger. Right now, Malfoy probably feels compelled to stay with you, to make sure you’re safe, healthy, and happy. It would be incredibly easy for you to manipulate him into doing things for you with this. Until the mark wears off, you will basically be the center of his universe. If he enjoys feeling miserable, he could resist, but… It’s far easier to just.. Play along until it’s over. The compulsion will weaken as the mark does, but if you bond, then it’s like each of you only exists for the other. You’ll be capable of doing other things, capable of being apart for short periods, but the pull will always be there. Being marked is like a one-sided slightly less powerful version of that. Malfoy will be more attuned to you when he’s around, but he won’t be able to feel you from a distance, like if you were bonded.”

“Oh.” Harry said. He felt like he’d been saying that an awful lot that morning. After a moment, he realized Hermione was done lecturing, and he bit his lip.

“I suppose… I should apologize again, then.” Harry grimaced. Hermione furrowed her brow.

“Actually, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I know you mean well, but… The Alpha/Omega dynamic means that he wants you to want him. Especially now. If you keep apologizing, it could hurt his… I don’t know, ‘Alpha pride’ or whatever they call it. He will probably be much happier if you show you appreciate him in some way before trying to apologize again.” Hermione explained. Harry groaned.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that? What is there to appreciate? Should I send him a card thanking him for the sex? Chocolates in the shape of co-... Nevermind.” Harry cut himself off, cheeks burning, and Hermione chuckled.

“Just… Let him take care of you a bit. It took me forever to figure that out with Ron, that me doing everything myself made him feel a bit… inadequate. It’s not always about sex, Harry. Remember, he may be putting on a good face, but emotionally? He’s probably a mess. He’s probably just as confused as you, with your history, and suddenly you’re the most important thing in the world to him? Imagine how wrong-footed he must feel?” Hermione said in a rather scolding voice.

“You’re being awfully sympathetic for the little tosser.” Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Hermione laughed.

“Well, I never told you, but… he apologized to me. After his trial ended, he pulled me aside and said he didn’t care what the wizengamot decided, so long as he got the chance to tell me he regretted everything he did. To me, to you. At first, I thought he was just trying to make a good show for the trial, but… he never said any of it to the prophet, and he could have. He could have claimed it was all his parents’ doing, but he never gave a single interview… I see him now, suffering through everyone’s opinion of him, and how he’s acting, especially with you, and… I think he’s trying to change. I really do see more in him, Harry. And I think there’s been plenty of hate the past few years to last a lifetime, so… I’m letting it go. He apologized, and I’ve accepted, and he hasn’t said a bad word to me since. So.”

She said it like it ended the discussion, and Harry thought it probably did. Hermione had almost more to complain about than him. He thought of that, between him, Hermione, and Malfoy, who might have had the worst end of the deal. Himself, probably, he thought bitterly. He’d died, afterall.

“Yeah, alright.” He finally said. Hermione stood, and Harry felt dual longing to be left in peace, and not to be left alone at all. Hermione gave his shoulder a squeeze on her way out the door.

“I’ll go let Ron know you’re fine, and I’ll see you at lunch.” Hermione smiled, and exited. Harry sat, thinking about everything she’d said until he could no longer ignore his growling stomach, and went to dress for the day.

Chapter Text

Harry found Malfoy to be far less starry-eyed and slack-jawed than Hermione had made him anticipate. In fact, Harry found he hardly behaved differently at all. Except sometimes he’d lean in too close to Harry as he sat with them at the Gryffindor table, or he’d reach out to touch him, only to pull his hand back, glaring at the appendage as if it had acted on it’s own. A week had passed since he’d accidentally marked Malfoy, and he’d been trying to stay rational, let Malfoy do as he pleased, but… Mostly Malfoy just hovered. If Harry had thought Pomfrey’s order to be near him had been bad, at least then Malfoy had been playful, trying to seduce him, teasing him for his awkwardness over his newfound desire to be cuddled.

Malfoy seemed to be trying to avoid acting at all like Hermione had said he would, in fact. Despite constantly being around Harry, and spouting to any random student to dare comment on it that as the only other dominant in the school, he was under Pomfrey’s instructions to keep Harry safe. He never elaborated what he was supposed to be keeping him ‘safe’ from, but no one ever asked after receiving that waspish answer. In fact, other than constantly being nearby, Harry found Malfoy seemed almost reluctant to touch him. He was always near, but seemed to be keeping a distance now, as if Harry might explode if he touched him. Harry also found that if he casually asked Malfoy to do something, he’d simply do it.

“Pass me another knife, will you? This one’s got gravy on it.” Harry said, watching Malfoy from the corner of his eyes, not turning his head completely. Malfoy absently handed him another knife, not looking up from his own dinner for more than a moment. Harry smirked. Before, he’d have at least offered a snarky comment, or a roll of his eyes.

“Would you hand me another fork, I’ve dropped mine.” Harry lied. Malfoy handed him a fork. Harry turned to look at him now. He could see Hermione glaring from across the table. She and Harry had gently broken the news of the biting accident to Ron, who had only exploded a little, and then encouraged Harry to use it to his advantage. So far, Harry felt far too guilty to properly abuse the connection, but this… It was amusing, and slightly worrying.

“Can I have your spoon?” Harry asked, watching as Malfoy was about to dip it into his dessert. Malfoy paused, and held it out, eyes looking around for another to replace it. Harry didn’t take it, and after a moment, Malfoy looked up, confused.

“What?” Malfoy snapped, looking from Harry, to Hermione who glared at Harry, to Ron, who was hiding a smirk behind his own pudding.

“Are you feeling alright? You’ve handed me a pile of silverware.” Harry indicated the small mountain he’d collected throughout the night, and Malfoy frowned at it, then looked at him.

“You asked for them.” He said, as if explaining cause and effect to a toddler. Harry leaned forward, dropping his voice so his friends wouldn’t hear.

“I know. And you didn’t even notice. What’s up with you?”

Malfoy’s eyes flickered to the pair that were quickly pretending not to be interested in their conversation, and then around the surrounding Gyffindors. He glared at Harry.

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” He said in an annoyed undertone. Harry stared at him, and knew he was lying. Just this once, he thought to himself, he’d cheat.

He focused on pushing his pheromones at Malfoy, not enough to really disturb anyone else, but enough to make sure Malfoy felt it.

“Tell me. What’s wrong?” Harry breathed, never breaking eye contact. Malfoy’s lips parted as it hit him, his pupils widened a bit, and he looked a bit pained, as if he was fighting the compulsion to please Harry by spilling his guts. Harry gave him a small smile. Malfoy broke.

“You don’t want me.” He said it in barely a whisper, sounding horribly crushed.

“What?” Harry asked, but Malfoy had ripped his gaze away, and was glaring at the table, clearly holding his breath.

“That’s not fair.” He snapped, not looking at Harry. He stood, clearly angry, and marched from the Great Hall. Harry looked to his friends for help.

Ron looked confused, but Hermione gave Harry a reproachful look.

“Go talk to him. In private. Remember what we talked about? Try to be supportive.” Hermione encouraged. Harry stood and followed after his marked Alpha without worrying about how it would look if he rushed off after Malfoy. He didn’t care what they all thought just then. Malfoy was definitely not okay, and knowing he was the cause filled Harry with the need to fix it.

Out in the Entrance Hall, Harry found the sharp scent that went up the stairs, and he made his way to their corridor. He went to his room, but knew as soon as he entered that Malfoy wasn’t where he belonged. He marched back out to Draco’s door across the hall and gave three firm raps. The door was yanked open, and Harry was met with an angry silver stare.

“Yes?” Malfoy snapped. Harry swallowed the strange feeling of unrest that seeing Malfoy so angry with him caused.

“I’m sorry I did that. I want to talk.” Harry said. Malfoy glared at him a moment, and then held the door open with a long-suffering sigh, his head hung low. Harry passed him and stood in Malfoy’s small sitting room, the layout identical to the rest, except for the furnishings. Everything was made of silver metal and light sandy-colored wood. There were two white sofas and a glass table between them. There were bookshelves filled with textbooks, cut crystal shapes, and what Harry thought might be small wooden puzzles. It was a strange insight into Malfoy, but when he turned back to face the angry blond, he found Malfoy standing with his arms crossed.

“So… Care to explain what’s wrong, or should I start guessing what you meant?” Harry challenged. Malfoy glared for a moment, his eyes travelling up and down Harry. Harry felt as if he were being judged.

“First, I’m pissed that you did that to me, in front of everyone.” Malfoy began. Harry swallowed, nervously. “Second, I’m a bit peeved that you marked me.”

“Oh?” Harry asked with a flair of genius. Malfoy’s glare darkened.

“I do not enjoy being unwillingly bound to people Potter. Especially ones who will force me to submit to public humiliation.”

“Oh.” Harry replied, realizing what that must feel like. Malfoy had said he also didn’t like letting go of his self-control, and Harry had trapped him in the very definition of that.

“It’ll wear off in a few months, and we can pretend it never happened. Until then… I don’t… I don’t think…” Malfoy choked on the words, as if he was having trouble getting them out. “We should… risk… me being around you in heat… In case you just do it again. I know you don’t want me, any more than I want this. So… We should just… stop. I’ll help you balance your pheromones, but… as soon as you’re good, we should just avoid each other until this fades.”

Harry stared at him, surprised.

“But…” Harry couldn’t think of any decent argument. It was all perfectly sensible. The only argument he could really think of was silly. He didn’t want to. Having Malfoy around made him feel safe, comfortable, and he was loath to give that up.

“‘But’ what, Potter?” Malfoy snarled, uncrossing his arms, stalking closer. Harry glared up at him. Malfoy wouldn’t hurt him. If he’d ever been worried before, the past week had proved that.

“But I thought you liked sleeping with me?” Harry managed not to sound too whiny. Malfoy looked at him as if he’d grown another head.

“Of course I like sleeping with you.” He stated as though Harry were stupid for even considering it wasn’t true.

“Then… Why don’t you want to?” Harry knew he was oversimplifying it into an argument, but he couldn’t help it. He’d just started getting comfortable with Malfoy, looking forward to ‘training’ his self-control by getting blowjobs, or… more.

“I DO want to, Potter. That’s the problem. I want to, and you don’t, and if we keep this up, it’s just going to be harder for me to stop. I nearly fucking bonded with you, Potter! Did you forget? I WOULD have bonded with you if I hadn’t gone to Pomfrey for help not losing my mind around you! I thought I could do it, before. That I was fine, but… Without those bloody potions keeping you all equalized and calm, your pheromones are insane. I nearly fucked you in that hallway in front of everyone! I can’t control myself around you, at all. If we keep taking risks, it’s going to have consequences.”

Harry fought the urge to ask ‘so what?’. Seeing Malfoy so upset, it made the idea of being bonded with him seem not so bad. The sex was amazing, he wasn’t as terrible as he had been, and Harry was sure he’d be just as caring and protective of any child they had.

Harry shook that thought away violently, but staring up into Malfoy’s face, he felt a strange ache inside of him. Something he had never known existed before. He wanted children. He wanted a family.

Getting to see the Alpha side of Malfoy was making him think strange things about Malfoy being the father of his children, how that might look, how he’d behave with his own offspring.

“Well… I don’t imagine you’d be the worst possible person to be bonded to. The sex is pretty great.” Harry shrugged, shortening his thoughts into speech. Malfoy looked livid.

“Bonding is NOT something you accidentally get yourself into just because it’s not the worst possible thing that could happen! You bond with someone you love! Someone you want to spend your life with, and have a family with, and make love to! NOT your childhood nemesis, and pariah of the world you saved!” Malfoy shouted. Harry felt the words hit him in the gut. Malfoy was talking about him. He wanted Harry to bond with someone else. He didn’t think he was good enough for Harry. Harry thought unhappily of Hermione’s warning, to make sure Malfoy didn’t feel… Well, whatever this was, he supposed. Unworthy. Malfoy thought Harry didn’t want him. He thought Harry deserved someone he loved. It felt like a kick to the stomach, and Harry did the only thing he could think of to prove Malfoy wasn’t some worthless, undesirable. He grabbed Malfoy’s face and kissed him. It was a desperate, uncoordinated kiss, full of unspeakable desires.

Malfoy yanked away, looking completely startled. His hands were resting on Harry’s shoulders where he’d pushed him away, but he stopped there, staring at Harry with a mixture of horror and desire.

Harry felt his cheeks burn. He hadn’t planned on Malfoy pushing him away, and he was torn between pulling him back down or pulling away. Malfoy made the choice for him.

His lips were greedy, demanding, and violent. He captured Harry’s mouth with a need that staggered Harry, and he didn’t relent. In moments Harry felt lightheaded from lack of oxygen, but Malfoy still kissed him. His hands had wrapped around Harry’s back, one snagged into his hair, keeping Harry’s lips to his, the other hand traveled down, squeezing Harry’s bum unabashedly. He tasted so right. Harry felt his cock stir with arousal, and kissed back just as hungrily. He wanted Malfoy. He liked being with him. Liked being touched by him, kissed, held, comforted. It was like nothing he’d had before, and he couldn’t let it go. Not yet.

He stumbled as Malfy dragged him through his rooms, gasped when he was tossed impatiently onto the bed, and moaned when Malfoy’s lips descended on his neck. They were warm and wet from his kisses, his tongue was hot, and his breath tickled. Harry tilted his neck, and Malfoy’s hands descended onto his clothes, pulling them off with abandon. They were thrown to various corners of the room, and Harry was left completely naked underneath a still-dressed Malfoy. Malfoy broke the kiss and pushed himself away, but he didn’t leave. His eyes traveled down Harry’s naked body, and he looked like a dragon looking over his prize. Harry shivered under that ravenous stare, and reached his hands up, carefully undoing the buttons on Malfoy’s shirt. His fingers were shaking, and he felt a ball of anxiety tighten in his lower belly as it occurred to him that he was really doing this. He was seducing Malfoy. He was going to willingly have sex with Malfoy, without his heat as en excuse. It would be more than the head he’d gotten, more than the mindless pleasure-seeking that happened when he was in heat. This was going to be personal, intimate, and he was going to be self-aware the whole time.

“We… We don’t have to.” Malfoy’s hand rested over his as Harry paused at his trousers. Harry stared up at him. This was his Alpha, who would do anything he asked, anything he needed. Who wanted him, and thought he didn’t want this in return. Harry slid his hand free and reached up to grab a handful of white-blond hair and pulled Malfoy into another kiss.

“I want to.” Harry murmured against his lips. This close, Malfoy couldn’t possibly see his blush. Once Malfoy had gotten back into the rhythm of kissing him, Harry returned his hand to it’s quest, unbuckling Malfoy’s belt, popping open the button, pulling the edges of his shirt free, and slowly sliding every stitch of clothing off of the perfect pale body. It was his. He could touch it all he wanted. He could kiss any part he wanted. He remembered doing something very similar during one of his heats, but it seemed like a foggy memory, and he couldn’t seem to recall what Malfoy felt like under his hands.

His fingers curled around the bared flesh, exploring, searching, teasing. Malfoy groaned, and pulled back for a breath, but as soon as the shock of Harry touching him faded into pure pleasure, they were kissing once more. It felt strange to Harry to be taking the lead, but he could taste Malfoy’s tension, knew that if he stopped, so would Malfoy. He needed Harry to do this. To prove he wasn’t just tolerating Malfoy. And Harry felt a stab of guilt, realizing he’d practically told Malfoy himself that’s what was happening. He’d said he didn’t like him, that he resented Malfoy having any control over him, even if it was unintentional. Harry felt his cheeks flame as was glad Malfoy was distracted. He worked on distracting him further. He pushed Malfoy by his chest, and Malfoy went easily, following the silent command. For a moment, he looked resigned, as if he knew all along that Harry didn’t really want to risk a permanent bond just to get off. Then Harry began climbing atop him, and his face took on a whole new look of awe. Harry stared down at the body beneath him, inspecting, the same way Malfoy had done to him. Harry’s mouth practically watered with the desire to lick every inch of him, to taste and feel and claim him.

“You’re really going to do this?” Malfoy seemed awestruck and only a trace of his earlier concern was noticeable.

“Unless you want me to stop.” Harry confirmed. Malfoy shook his head violently.

“No. Don’t fucking stop.” He grabbed Harry’s hips, and thrust his own up, rubbing his hard-on against Harry’s bare arse. With Harry on top, eager, willing, in control, some of his previous presence came back. He was eager, wanton, and Harry loved it.

“Fuck, you’re so wet…” Malfoy groaned, clearly enjoying the feel of Harry without even being inside him. Harry pressed back, tilting his hips, and realized that yes, it was slippery. He reached a hand down and touched himself, exploring, curious, and a bit grossed out when a sticky, clear fluid came away on his hand. It was coming out of him. He looked at Malfoy, hoping the other wasn’t grossed out by this, not sure if he should panic, or be embarrassed.

“...Why?” Harry finally asked, rubbing the slick texture between two fingers. Malfoy sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, as if he needed to fortify himself before he could answer any questions.

“It’s to make things easier. It happens to females and omegas, and it feels amazing.” Malfoy punctuated the last comment by thrusting his hips up again, slipping the head of his cock along the slick path. The sensation of the warm cock brushing right along the sensitive skin kept Harry from responding. Instead, he focused on that feeling, rubbing back and forth a few times. Malfoy breathed harshly and helped guide him, eager for the wet friction, and Harry only managed to stop when he remembered it should be going inside him. He could remember that from his heat. How it had felt filling him, how he’d felt complete and the waves of pleasure.

He carefully repositioned himself, lining the head of Malfoy’s cock up with his hole, pressing down just enough to feel it, to hold Malfoy in place as he stared down at dark grey eyes. Malfoy’s fingers tightened on his hips, silently begging him not to stop there, not to decide he’d had enough. Harry slid slowly down on him, testing every inch for any discomfort or pain. There was none, only the feeling of being stretched, the fullness he remembered. When he was finished, Malfoy’s shaft deep within him, he paused, and felt accomplished. His eyes met grey, and he found Malfoy biting his lip, struggling to let Harry do this his way. Harry felt an acute stab of affection for him, and leaned down to kiss him.

It was a gentler kiss, slow, full of promise and intent. Malfoy’s hands slid up and down his sides, soothing, feeling, encouraging. Harry kept kissing him, knowing what torture it had to be for the Alpha, to be inside him, and only kissing. It was a bit different, Harry thought, from his heat. He hadn’t come the minute it was inside him, and he felt far more lucid. He felt a bit embarrassed when his muscles tightened with pleasure at the kiss, and he heard Malfoy groan. Before, he’d been told that he’d be able to take his partners in, but… he hadn’t ever really thought about it. About how it might feel, inside him, or how he might feel about it. It felt… right. It felt fulfilling and pleasurable, and he found himself growing more confident the longer he teased Malfoy. This was easy. Malfoy was his. There was nothing to be ashamed of when Malfoy wanted him to feel good. Malfoy wanted him, period.

Harry moved slowly, exploring each new sensation all over again, finding a rhythm. His hands, planted on the bed, moved to Draco’s body, and slid down his chest as Harry sat up, searching for that sparkling pleasure he knew could come. Draco, to his merit, barely moved. His hands slid down Harry’s thighs, his hips gave a tiny jerk, but then he was still again, staring up at his Omega riding him, enraptured. Harry felt a rush of power at having Malfoy underneath him, trying so hard to please him. If he thought about it, it actually fit perfectly with what Hermione had said. Malfoy had been trying so hard to be good this year. Here he was, faced with the present ‘center of his universe’, confronted with what he wanted, tortured by what he thought Harry wanted, and he was still trying his best to behave.

Harry paused, smirking down at the tense blond, feeling an unfamiliar desire to tease his Alpha. He wouldn’t mind if Malfoy got a bit more involved, afterall.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” Harry managed to breathe, taking the moment to catch his breath, to once again simply revel in the feel of being so filled and connected.

“Please don’t fucking stop.” Malfoy growled, and his hips rolled under Harry, emphasizing his need. Harry enjoyed it, and rocked back against him, gasping in a breath of unhurried pleasure.

“Are… Are you sure? You don’t seem very into it.” Harry baited, returning to his position upright and motionless. Draco’s eyes darkened and he growled.

“I’m trying to be polite.” His fingers dug into Harry’s hips as he tried not to move again. Harry rolled his own hips, enjoying the way it pushed Draco deeper into him.

“Why? You’ve never been polite before. What makes you think I want ‘polite’, anyway?” He bent down, pressed his lips to Malfoy’s ear, and licked it before he spoke again. “I want you. Stop fucking around, and fuck me already.”

His face was burning with embarrassment at the shameful words, but Malfoy didn’t notice. He was too busy lurching into action. He grabbed Harry, rolled him onto his back, and began kissing him fiercely, claiming his mouth as his hips drove down, merciless and perfect. Harry moaned, and this was what he’d wanted. Malfoy was able to hit the things he wasn’t sure how to find. The way he held Harry’s legs, the angle of his cock, he wasn’t sure, but suddenly, there was that sparkling ecstasy that came with every snap of his body.

He could hear Malfoy growling expletives, feel his lips moving along his skin, tasting, nipping, testing. Harry arched into it, tilted his head to the side. His thoughts were going all fuzzy again, and all he knew was that he wanted more. He wanted harder, faster, deeper, rougher. Malfoy gave it to him in spades, his teeth catching one of Harry’s lips, his tongue pressing in, forcing Harry’s mouth further open, stealing his every breath. Harry grabbed handfuls of platinum and held him, his legs wrapped around Malfoy’s hips to keep him from ever pulling away, but Malfoy didn’t seem to want anything except to be closer. Their chests were pressed together, one of his arms had wrapped around Harry’s back, holding his hips up, pulling him in as he pushed down. His other hand was wrapped around Harry’s shoulder, fingers tight on Harry’s hair, but Harry didn’t mind. It was perfect.

He came, warm gushes of his orgasm landing on his belly, his whole body tensing with the pinnacle of pleasure, and as it ebbed, he felt Malfoy’s body tense above his, his hips had slowed, his face was buried in Harry’s neck, and his arms were shaking as he held Harry to him. Harry felt the warmth deep inside him, the slow release of breath, and then Draco’s body relaxed, and his weight pressed down on Harry. Harry let his hands wander, tracing invisible patterns on pale shoulders, feeling the sweat-dampened blond locks, and finally let his legs release Malfoy’s hips. His own hips twinged with discomfort after being held in that position for so long, but he did his best to stretch carefully, not wanting to jostle the Alpha in his arms too much.

“Fuck… What the fuck was that?” Malfoy finally huffed against his skin, and lifted his head, staring down at Harry with a look of awe and confusion. Harry grinned up at him, feeling his cheeks warm at the scrutiny of a fully sated Malfoy.

“I think it’s called sex.” Harry jibed. Malfoy chuckled, and rolled off of Harry, to the side. He pulled the smaller body with him, keeping them trapped together as he got more comfortable.

“No shit. Why did you have sex with me?” He asked, seeming far more coherent than he had since dinner. Harry wasn’t sure he liked this questioning suspicious Malfoy as much as the horny mark-driven one who only wanted to please him.

“I wanted to.” Harry did his best to shrug. “Was it bad?”

He knew it wasn’t fair, the way he was looking up at Draco, just a hint of worry, and all-too relaxed from their coupling. Malfoy groaned.

“Of course not. It was… Nevermind, you were there for it. You know what it was.” He closed his eyes, frustrated, and Harry turned his face down to rest his forehead against Malfoy’s chest. It felt a bit awkward still, snuggling against Malfoy like this, but… Malfoy was his. He could take the comfort his Alpha offered if he wanted, and he didn’t have to feel bad about it. The feel of Malfoy holding him, fingers carding through his dark hair gently, despite Malfoy’s exasperation was all he needed to know about how Malfoy felt about being this close. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, hadn’t tried to keep Harry away from him, even when he’d known Harry was confused, overwhelmed, and struggling with his own identity. He’d been there, whenever Harry had needed. Even when Harry hadn’t known he’d needed him.

Harry nestled closer. Pressing his whole body against Malfoy’s when another thought occurred to him. His cheeks darkened, and he shifted, making sure before he spoke.

“Hey… Why… Why didn’t you, erm… Ya know…” He mumbled into Malfoy’s chest.

“Hm? Didn’t what?” Malfoy sounded confused. Harry swallowed.

“You didn’t knot.” He said it as steadily as he could, but bit his lip to keep from laughing in awkward desperation. He’d never had to say it before. Never really had to think about Malfoy’s physiology with a clear head.

“Oh, yeah. Knotting only happens when an Omega’s heat pheromones trigger it.” Malfoy explained, pulling covers over their bodies. He sounded tired, and Harry was glad he seemed to have dropped the subject of Harry’s sudden change in promiscuity. Harry wasn’t sure he ever wanted to deeply examine or talk about why he liked or wanted to sleep with Malfoy. Just saying he was doing what felt right was a good enough excuse for him. Blame the pheromones, and he wouldn’t have to face any awkward introspection.

He felt a breath on top of his head, and the soft press of a kiss to his crown before Malfoy magicked the lights off. It filled him with a warm buzzing feeling that made it hard to sleep long after Malfoy’s breathing had evened out, and his arms had gone limp with sleep. It made him feel not just taken care of, but cared for. As if Malfoy, marked by his bite, might actually cherish him. He didn’t think anyone had ever cherished him before. It felt strange, almost gooey inside him, despite reminding himself that it wasn’t real. It was because of the mark. Malfoy didn’t actually like him.

That thought was a bit disheartening as Harry realized with a pang what the rest of it all meant. It hurt to think Malfoy didn’t like him, because… He was starting to like Malfoy. Not just the pleasure he brought, but the comfort he provided, the snarky comments, even when he was clearly unable to resist being enamored by the one who’d marked him, his quick wit. Harry had been impressed by how easily Malfoy had managed to keep up with Hermione’s frequent rambling, one-sided arguments. He’d been even more impressed that Malfoy had managed to keep a civil tongue when he debated her, and had even once conceded to her arguments. THAT had been a shock.

Harry pulled back slightly, looking up at his Alpha, draped in soft silver moonlight from the window and a sliver of golden light spilling in from the sitting room. In sleep, he looked so beautiful Harry felt the urge to touch him and verify he was real. His hair was definitely longer than it had been. Harry lifted one hand, giving in to the urge to brush a lock from his face. His eyebrows were narrow, perfectly tapered, and only a shade darker than his hair. His lashes were pale, nearly disappearing against his pale cheeks in the darkness. His lips were slightly parted, and Harry felt his gut wrench with an uncomfortable knowledge. He liked Malfoy. He’d grown fond of him, he thought he was beautiful, and he didn’t want to give him up. Not for another Alpha, not to another Omega, and not because he was worried about public gossip.

“You’re my Alpha.” Harry breathed, testing the words out. His heart was racing as he voiced the thought, and it felt a bit illicit. A small smile stretched his lips, and he felt emboldened by the dark, the even breaths that told him Malfoy couldn’t hear him. “You’re mine.”

The words disappeared into the silent room, and Harry found it felt good to say it, even if he couldn’t tell anyone except the dark. He stared at perfect sharp features, pale hair, and paler skin until he’d memorized every curve of Draco’s face, and his own eyes grew too heavy to continue looking.

Chapter Text

Harry slipped into a strange new routine during the next few weeks.

He’d wake up next to Malfoy, sometimes they’d have a quick tumble, and then they’d part ways briefly to shower and dress for the day. Harry would go down to breakfast, and sometimes Malfoy would be waiting for him at the doors to the Great Hall, other times he’d take longer, and join them a few minutes later. They’d ignore Ron’s wrinkled nose when he could tell they’d been at it, Harry would fight a blush, and then they’d all go to classes. After the first week no one commented on Draco’s presence among the Gryffindors, and no one mentioned to Harry’s face how he HAD to smell like he’d been bathing in cinnamon every day. Even when they didn’t spend the morning drenching each other in pheromones, Harry had learned that the time they’d spent together, the casual touches, the way

Malfoy would drag him into a dark alcove and snog him senseless between classes was scent-marking him worse than their previous intermittent interludes.

After classes Draco always joined them for whatever homework or studying Hermione decided they should get done, and at least in the privacy of his friends’ rooms, Harry would allow himself a bit more of the guilty pleasure of touching Malfoy. To each of their credit, Malfoy did his best not to irritate Ron too much with his overpowering pheromones, and Ron tried not to make Draco feel too unwelcome most of the time. Which was a relief, as Malfoy seemed to never leave his side apart from their morning grooming, brief trips to the loo, and the rare occasions a professor needed a word.

Harry would never say it aloud, but he found he liked having Malfoy nearby. His scent was comforting, knowing he had marked him made him feel secure, and it was far easier to ask him questions when Harry encountered some new aspect of his biology than it was to ask Hermione. Like the incident with his first ‘period’. Harry had merely thought Malfoy had gotten too rough with him the previous night, but when he mentioned it, Malfoy had set him straight. Harry was still mortified to think that he bled, like a girl. It had only lasted for half a day after his most recent heat, and Malfoy had assured him that it was completely natural, and didn’t bother him in the slightest, but Harry was still bothered.

He’d never ever mention though, that his favorite part of having Malfoy around was falling asleep wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his scent, and most nights filled with the warmth of recently sated passion. Hermione and Ron knew they were sleeping together, but he rather hoped they just assumed they slept next to each other, fully clad in proper pyjamas, with several inches between their bodies. It was a small, silly hope, but he hoped, nonetheless.

Time was passing quickly, unnoticed, and Harry found each week easier to face without the aid of his usual potions. His nightmares dimmed into mere horrors rather than physically painful terror, and the rapid acceleration of his pulse whenever a spell backfired or someone shouted too loudly was easier to calm. Malfoy was always right there, pulling him away, grounding him, encouraging him to stay focused and not sink into the horrifying too-realistic flashbacks that Harry had found himself experiencing on occasion. After the first one, Hermione had quietly told him that she suffered the same, but that it did start to get better. She'd given him a meaningful look when she’d told him that Ron was a huge comfort, and then glanced at Malfoy. Harry had taken her meaning, and not felt nearly so embarrassed when Malfoy pulled his shaking body out of the Potions classroom after a cauldron had exploded. None of the eighth years even mentioned Harry’s new jumpiness, or his sudden attachment to a certain blond, or the one time he’d had a full-blown gasping panic in the middle of Charms and Malfoy had marched across the room, and wrapped him in comforting pheromones and a grounding silver stare. He hadn’t said a single word, just knelt in front of Harry, eyes locked together, saturating the whole classroom with the sharp scent of cinnamon. Several students had fled the class, but no one had tried to rebuke him for the abuse of power. Not after Harry had started breathing again, and been promptly dragged from the room with Hermione pulling one hand, and Malfoy’s fingers gripping his shoulder as he brought up the rear.

It WAS getting better, he admitted to himself. Halloween was right around the corner, and he hadn’t woken up to one of his screaming nightmares in nearly a month. Malfoy had been there for those, as well. Even when Harry merely jolted upright, or woke, thrashing and mumbling, Malfoy was there, holding him gently, comforting without being restrictive, and murmuring soft words against Harry’s hair until he had calmed down and was falling back asleep.

Malfoy had nightmares, too, Harry found out. The first time Harry had woken to a nightmare not his own, he’d been confused, disoriented by the frightened murmurs in the dark. When he’d figured out that it was Malfoy, clearly in the midst of some awful dream, Harry had done for him what he’d been given. He wrapped Malfoy in a light hug, pulled him against his chest, and woke him with soft words of reassurance. It had been strange to see Malfoy cry when he’d finally awoken, but Harry had kept holding him, rocking slightly as he told him it would be alright. They never spoke about what the nightmares held, but sometimes the cries, the murmurs and pleas were enough to know.

Harry sat in the library and doodled on a bit of parchment he was supposed to be using for his essay, but his mind refused to focus. It was the last weekend before Halloween, and his mind was wandering, already ready for the holiday. Several of the other eighth years had planned a trip into Hogsmeade that night, but Harry was considering refusing the invite and staying in. Hermione and Ron planned to go, and Harry thought a party would be fun, but just thinking of his last trip to The Three Broomsticks made his skin crawl. Madam Rosemerta hadn’t appreciated Malfoy’s presence at all, patrons had kept asking Harry for his autograph, and the noisy bustle and chatter had set off another of Harry’s milder panics. He couldn’t remember at all how he’d ended up outside in an alley, but

Malfoy had been there, cradling his face, telling him to breathe while Hermione and Ron stood a ways off, blocking passerby from being too nosy at the mouth of the small alley.

He didn’t want to miss the party, but… He didn’t want to ruin it, either.

“Harry, how far have you gotten?” Hermione’s voice was right next to him, startling him from his thoughts. He tried to cover his drawings with his arms, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Harry!” Hermione chided, hands on her hips as she peered over his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be writing your essay on Veritaserum, not doodling pumpkins!”

“Sorry.” Harry muttered, cheeks blazing at being caught out, Ron snickered, and Malfoy leaned in at his other shoulder, tugging his arm away, peering down at the doodles.

“They’re not pumpkins, they’re jack o'lanterns. My, Granger, what eyesight you must have.” Draco teased. Hermione gave him an unamused stare, and Harry felt his lips twitch in a smirk.

“I hardly think it matters. Why are you scribbling pumpkins instead of doing your essay?” Hermione said with a pointed look at Malfoy when she said ‘pumpkins’, daring him to correct her. He held his tongue. Harry was disappointed, half-hoping Malfoy would irritate Hermione into forgetting his own transgression.

“I… er… Well, the essay’s not due ‘til next week, and I-”

“Harry.” She cut him off, and Harry looked away, sheepish. She looked at Malfoy, clearly seeking help. “You’re reasonable! You tell him! Homework is important, and just because it’s not due right this minute does NOT mean you should put it off!”

“Sounds like you’ve already told him.” Malfoy shrugged, and Ron had to hide a snort with a fake cough as Hermione turned to glare at him, too.

“Ron has written several inches already! You’re going to fall behind if you don’t take your homework seriously, Harry.” Hermione warned, sitting back on her bench with a huff.

“Don’t drag ME into this.” Ron muttered, ducking his own head over his work. His ears were a very telling shade of red, and Harry was certain that whatever he’d written was most definitely not about

Potions. Harry turned his own face down to his paper, and tried to recall any single fact about the truth potion. His quill traced out more pumpkins, instead.

“You know, we could just stay in and have our own little party…” Malfoy’s voice hummed against his skin, and Harry struggled to understand the words over the very distracting sensation of Malfoy’s hand in his boxers. He’d finally mentioned his misgivings to Malfoy, and the blond had ‘hm’d and continued kissing his neck. Harry had entirely forgotten about their conversation until Malfoy’s comment.

“Er, sure…” Harry agreed easily, not really caring what Malfoy had suggested. It was always good with him, anyway.

“We could have our own bar, and nick snacks from the kitchens. Just the two of us?”

“Sure…” Harry moaned, throwing his head back as Malfoy did that thing with his hand. He was far too good at that, Harry thought absently. He was seconds from making a mess of his pants, and Malfoy didn’t even seem to notice.

“We could even do fancy dress if you want. I could steal a set of your robes and pretend I’m a Gryffindor all day.” Malfoy joked. Harry let out a short groan of pleasure, unable to find any words to say.

They’d all abandoned him, and left him with only primitive sounds and movement to express himself. He grabbed Malfoy’s face, pulling him into a kiss, hoping he’d shut up soon and get on with things. He liked this, but he knew it wasn’t nearly close to finished. Soon enough Malfoy would lose track of the conversation and ravage him. He always did. Harry always encouraged him. When he could manage, that is.

Malfoy nipped his lip and dominated the kiss, stealing Harry’s breath, and discarding the last of their clothes. Harry clung to him, urging him deeper as Malfoy thrust inside him, kissing him harder when he pulled away. Malfoy lost himself just the same as Harry, his kisses turned violent, his hands grabbed almost too-hard, and his teeth definitely left marks. Harry loved every moment of it.

When they finally collapsed, panting, sticky, and exhausted, Harry finally realized what Malfoy had been saying. It definitely sounded promising.

“You can’t just wear my robes. That’s a terrible costume.” Harry grumbled, lying sprawled across Draco’s chest, his hands tucked under pale shoulders.

“Oh? What would you dress up as, then?”

“I’d dress like a bat and say I’m Snape.” Harry laughed, and then froze, realizing too-late that the man in question was no longer a professor. No longer even alive.

“That’d be hilarious. Think I could get away with transfiguring a pair of cat’s ears and wearing a badge that says ‘Headmistress’?” Malfoy said not a moment too late. Harry was pulled away from the depressing thought of Snape, and couldn’t help a laugh at the image Malfoy described.

“You’d get chucked out of school for sure.” He chuckled. He knew Malfoy was grinning without having to see it. He smelled relaxed, happy, and satisfied. Harry loved it best when he smelled like this. He could almost discern his own scent hidden among Malfoy’s, just a hint of crisp sweetness, and he was reminded of what Luna had said, weeks and weeks ago.

“Hey, do I really smell like apples?” He asked, leaning up slightly to look down at Malfoy’s sleepy face. His eyebrows twitched up, and his eyes opened from their previous near-sleep. His lips stretched in a renewed smile.

“Yes. Does that offend you?” Malfoy asked, teasing again. Harry ‘hm’d in thought.

“Not really. Luna said it actually smells good with yours. Like cinnamon candy apples.” Harry explained. Malfoy tilted his head to the side, and his nostrils flared slightly. Harry wondered if he could almost smell himself during these times, too. When they’d been so thoroughly filled with each other that the other’s scent practically poured from their pores.

“I didn’t know Lovegood swung that way. Interesting.” He said, completely surprising Harry. Harry bristled at the thought of Malfoy taking an interest in which direction Luna ‘swung’.

“Don’t even think about it.” Harry warned. Malfoy smirked impishly at him.

“Don’t think about what?” He asked, and Harry glared down at him. Malfoy was his. Luna was his friend, but she couldn’t have him.

“Don’t think of sleeping with my friends. Or anyone else.” Harry growled. Malfoy’s brow twitched, almost challenging, but then his smirk softened, and his hand came up and he laced his fingers through Harry’s hair.

“I won’t. I can’t.” He said, staring at Harry with a look of utter sincerity. “Remember? You marked me.”

The words were a whisper, and Harry was saved from responding by Malfoy pulling his face slowly down into a soft, agonizingly sweet kiss. Their lips moulded together, slightly damp, unhurried.

They’d shared a few similar kisses, and each one made Harry feel as if his insides were melting into useless warm jelly. He was defenseless against the tender way Draco opened the kiss, completely lost to the way his gentle hands cradled Harry’s face. It was a kiss that promised Draco didn’t yet hate him for stealing his freedom. It was the kind of kiss he wouldn’t admit to anyone else that they shared. The kind of kiss he’d thought he might share with someone he loved.

Draco slowly shifted their bodies around, his hands gentle, almost reverent as he pulled Harry underneath him and pulled Harry’s legs up around his hips. Harry slid his hands into silvery hair and kept kissing Malfoy in that amazingly slow, meaningful way. His body was hard, tense, but everything was gentle, deliberate, and steady. It was different from their usual romps, and when Harry came again, clinging to his Alpha, breathing in the scent and flavor and feel of him, he felt loved. And he knew, knew that Malfoy hadn’t done this to make Harry happy. He’d done it for himself.

The morning came with more pleasure, but it was the normal, quick, passionate kind that he’d gotten almost used to. Malfoy was back to his normal self, fucking Harry to just-this-side of not being able to think afterward, and biting roughly at every part of him he could reach. Harry liked it nearly as much as he’d liked the tender moments of the night before, but there was just something almost magical about the way Malfoy had kissed and touched him in the dark. It felt far more intimate. Far more vulnerable. Loving. The words came back to him, and Harry tried not to think about it. He tried to get on with his day, but Malfoy seemed to be a persistent reminder of it. Malfoy had made love to him.

He thought of it whenever he smelled that intense cinnamon scent, stronger today than usual. He thought it when he looked at Malfoy, grey eyes always already on him, catching his every furtive glance. He thought it when he watched Hermione look at Ron with an adoring smile and dazed eyes when he did something completely boring like handing her a book without her asking for it. He thought of it constantly.

He knew they wouldn’t talk about it, that he didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted it to keep happening. He floated through his day, mind caught up in the memory of the night prior, and fantasies of the night to come, and when it was finally time to go to bed-

Malfoy stopped outside his door, looking almost pained.

“What?” Harry asked, instantly nervous. Had he somehow upset the blond with his distractibility?

“I… I should sleep in my own room for the next few days. This morning was… too close.” Malfoy said quietly, though there was no one else in the hall at the moment. Harry stared up at him, confused.

He’d thought Malfoy liked being that close to him. Had he been wrong?

“What do you mean, ‘too close’?” He asked, preparing to have the swelling warmth that had been building inside of him all day popped like a balloon by Malfoy’s answer.

“I was too close to marking you. You didn’t notice?” Malfoy looked puzzled for a moment, and Harry realized what he’d meant. He meant the biting. He’d liked the biting.

“I didn’t mind.” Harry shrugged. Malfoy’s eyes darkened, but his jaw tensed.

“Well, regardless of your masochistic kinks, Potter, I’m definitely too close to a rut to be sleeping with you at the moment.” Malfoy explained, but his expression softened before Harry could get properly upset. “Will you be alright without me?”

The question sent Harry reeling. Malfoy was the one who was marked, compelled to stay with Harry, the one who would struggle the most with being separated for a few days. But he was worried for

Harry. Harry looked down, unable to meet his eyes as he blushed, thinking of the previous night once again, the way Malfoy’s quiet question matched the soft tone of that kiss. Malfoy cared for him. It was obvious. Painfully obvious. Harry didn’t know if it was the mark, or Malfoy’s Alpha instincts, or something more personal. It made his chest squeeze painfully to think that when his mark wore off, so might this, whatever it was, that seemed to be growing between them.

“It’ll only be for a few days…” Malfoy’s voice was soothing, and his hand came up, gripping Harry’s face, forcing him to look back up. Harry met that silver stare, and found himself drowning in the affection he saw in them. Malfoy could feel his unease, and was comforting him. As always. Harry forced a smile.

“I know. I’ll be fine.” He swore, “Ron and Hermione will look out for me, make sure I don’t get into trouble. Just worry about taking care of yourself.”

Malfoy’s brows drew together, and Harry wasn’t sure for a moment, if something he’d said had upset Malfoy, or if he was grateful for Harry’s reassurance. He didn’t wonder long as Malfoy’s lips pressed to his. The kiss was gentle at first, his hand cradling Harry’s face, his lips promising sweet comforts, but it quickly changed in tenor. His mouth grew demanding, his hand tangled in the hair at the base of Harry’s neck, and he pushed Harry against his door, trapping the brunet with his body as he deepened the kiss.

Harry could do nothing except kiss him back, holding onto whatever he could reach, trying not to spin too far out of his head as Draco claimed his mouth and wordlessly promised a perfect euphoria.

“Hey, not in the hallway! Fuck off into your room if you’re doing that!” The irate voice was a bucket of cold water over his head, and Harry pushed Malfoy away, face blazing as he looked guiltily to the side to see Ron walking the short distance from Hermione’s room to his own.

“Sorry.” Harry panted, hands still on Malfoy’s chest. Ron grumbled and went into his own room with a sharp snap of the door. Harry laughed nervously and looked back to Draco.

Grey eyes watched him as though they hadn’t even flickered away for an instant, and Harry could smell the arousal on him. He could feel his own pressing into his trousers and groaned.

“If you’re really not sleeping with me tonight, then you should probably go to your own room.” Harry sulked. If he opened his own door just then, he knew he was likely to pull Malfoy in and damn the consequences. Malfoy nodded, and dropped his hands from Harry’s body, taking a step back. He gave Harry one last wanting look and turned to disappear into his own room. Harry sighed and slipped through his own door a moment later. He’d just have to take care of the problem in his pants himself.

No one mentioned that Malfoy was absent the next day, though Hermione looked momentarily surprised to see Harry without his usual attachment, her eyes quickly filled with understanding. Harry had noticed that pretending nothing was happening seemed to be the polite thing to do when an Alpha or Omega disappeared from class for a few days. Harry had managed to follow the new rule himself when Ron had been truant, and then Hermione had gone missing a day later. Hermione had been pink-cheeked when they’d returned to public, but no one dared say anything. Even when Harry saw a definite bitemark peeking above her shirt collar, he said not a word.

He was grateful now that no one was asking questions. They all knew, or at least they assumed. But it didn’t stop the curious stares, and for the first time in nearly two months, Harry realized that

Zacharias Smith was watching him again. His eyes were narrow, calculating, and Harry couldn’t think what on earth he might be contemplating. He made sure he stayed near Ron or Hermione all day, not at all liking the way that brown gaze followed him, almost hungrily. Any interest he’d felt towards Smith had vanished. Malfoy was his Alpha, and he knew no one else would compare. Smith might smell nice, but he’d been noticeably absent from the war. Harry knew he would never understand the nightmares, or know how to calm his panics. Not only that, his pheromones weren’t nearly strong enough. Harry knew that if he wanted, he could bring Smith to his knees, make him crawl on the floor and beg for him. And it was disgusting. He needed an equal.

Unfortunately, his Alpha was hidden away, locked in his room, and suffering. Harry hated the thought.

Harry woke to a burning inside him, and was reaching for the absent body before he’d fully woken up. He was met with cold sheets, and remembered with a stab of pain that Malfoy wasn’t there. The trickle of sweat down his nape was a herald of suffering, and he groaned. He just had to make it two more days, and his Alpha would be back. Two days seemed like a lifetime when he hadn’t had to suffer through longer than half a day of the burning heat in nearly two months. Malfoy always dragged him to one of their rooms and got him back in shape for class the next day. This… He hated being alone again.

Harry hadn’t even thought of what Malfoy being away might mean for his heat. He’d hoped he wouldn’t go into it at all until after. The time between them had been growing longer, and it had been three weeks since his last one. He’d foolishly hoped that it had normalized this time.

Without Malfoy as a buffer, or an excuse to skive off, Harry was stuck in class, miserable, making every other Alpha and Omega miserable as well. They could all smell his heat, and he knew that his pheromones were too strong. Ron kept trying not to choke, sitting as close to him as he could tolerate in a show of support, but Hermione seemed unbothered, for which he was thankful. She sat in her usual spot right next to him, and kept offering him small smiles.

An insane thought tumbled around his head, over and over, and no matter how hard he fought to smother it, it just kept coming back. He knew it was his heat, muddling his thoughts, that it would only get worse as the week progressed, but the idea was starting to look more and more sensible. He’d just have to go find Malfoy and take care of both of their problems.

Harry found himself staring at the door to Malfoy’s room after dinner, and shook his head, derailing the thought once more. It was unlikely Malfoy was even in there. Last time he’d gone to the infirmary. Harry ducked into his own room and sank onto the couch, trembling, too-warm, and far too aroused. His hands would be useless to help him, so instead he made them useful. He pulled out the small bottle he kept in his pocket, and eyed it dubiously. He didn’t know if Pomfrey would think this was an emergency, but he knew Hermione probably would. He took the single sip of the potion and set the empty bottle on the table, waiting for it to wash through him before he stood.

The heat lessened, and his mind cleared, and Harry left his room, and marched right to Hermione’s door. She answered after a short knock, and looked surprised to see Harry.

“Hey. I know it’s late, but could I have a word? I… I need to ask you something.” He felt his cheeks darken, but Hermione held her door wider. Harry was a bit surprised to find Ron nowhere inside, and took a seat in her living room.

“What is it?” She asked, looking him over. Harry took a deep breath.

“You’ve been with Ron during his rut, right? What was it like?” Harry asked, not quite able to meet her eyes. Hermione sank silently into a chair and seemed to be considering his question for a long moment.

“That’s… an incredibly personal topic.” She finally answered, sounding hedgy. “Are you thinking about joining Malfoy for his after your heat cycles stabilize?”

“I… yeah.” Harry answered. “But… he said it was… dangerous.”

“Well… I imagine it’s different for me than it would be for you. For one thing, I can’t actually feel Ron’s pheromones, so it’s just… just the normal things for me. For another, I don’t have my own pheromones for Ron to react to, so… it’s a bit calmer than it would be with an Omega. He still loses his head a bit, but even without the pheromones he recognizes me as his girlfriend, so he still… erm… is interested.”

Her cheeks were bright red, but Harry nodded, ignoring his own blush.

“So… He won't go totally nuts if he can't smell me?" Harry asked hopefully. Hermione eyed him suspiciously.

"No. But you can't take suppressant potions, Harry." Her voice held a note of warning, and Harry felt the need to explain.

"But if… er… if he marked me, then… it'd be easier?"

"Well… you'd have to wait for yours to fade before you let him do that, but in theory, yes. Being marked by an Alpha might make them less violent during their rut, since the need to mark is already satisfied."

"And… being bonded?" Harry asked, his cheeks flaming with the implication. Hermione gave him a long stare before she spoke.

"Harry, I think… bonding is something you should think very hard about before considering. There's no going back if you do it." Hermione warned. The thought that Malfoy could be his, forever, made

Harry's insides do the warm melting thing again.

"You would probably get pregnant, too. We haven't really spoken about it, but unless you're ready to enter a lifelong commitment and start having children, I don't think bonding is the best option right now."

Harry nodded absently, thinking it over. He'd never talked to her about it, that was true, but he'd thought about it. He thought Malfoy would actually be great with children. He was caring, gentle, but definitely not a pushover. Harry wasn't so sure about himself, though. The thought of carrying an actual child terrified him, but… thinking that Malfoy would be there with him made it an almost painfully acute need. He'd been thinking of what he wanted to do, after, and all that came to mind was nothing. He'd had enough stress trying to defeat dark wizards, and he wanted to just take time to enjoy life. Malfoy seemed ambitious enough for both of them, anyway.

"Do you think I'd be terrible?" He asked her. Hermione looked sad for a moment.

"A terrible father?"

He nodded.

"No. I think, once you finish school and work through your trauma you'll be a great father.” Her tone was pointed, and Harry looked away. He wasn’t sure he could work through all of his nightmares before he was too old to even have a child. “Do you want to have children?”

Harry looked up, surprised by her question.

“I… I do.” He admitted. “Before… I never actually thought about it. It just scared the shit out of me, honestly. I mean, men aren’t supposed to get pregnant! But… it’s different now. Everything is different.”

“I can’t say I understand, but… I imagine it’s a very difficult thing to process.” Hermione sounded sympathetic, and Harry nodded. He still had trouble, sometimes, wrapping his head around the idea that HE could give birth. But when he was with Malfoy, when he woke up cradled in his arms, when they’d made love the previous night, it all seemed to fit perfectly. Malfoy would take care of him, and any child he bore just as well. He could imagine it: Malfoy with a child, their child. It was an image filled with so much light, hope, and happiness that Harry found it hard to breathe for a moment. He wanted that. More than anything before, he wanted his own family, he wanted happiness, and he wanted Malfoy to be there when he woke up in the dark, terrified and anxious.

“Do you think he’d be very mad if we bonded?” Harry asked, and Hermione looked surprised.

“Malfoy, or Ron?” She quirked one brow, and Harry shrugged.

“Both, I suppose.” Though he’d only meant Malfoy…

“Well, Ron might be a bit loud about it, but he would settle down before too long. He sees how much better you’re doing now, even if he doesn’t care much for Malfoy. Malfoy himself, on the other hand… Well, obviously you’d have to ask him to be sure, but I don’t think he’d be upset at all. I mean, he’s obviously terribly besotted with you, but… He may not want to have that sort of anchor. He doesn’t strike me as the type to settle down and marry right off.”

“Oh.” Harry was sure he was focusing on the wrong part of her comments, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from asking. “You think he fancies me?”

“Harry.” Hermione said it with a soft smile and kind eyes. “Draco Malfoy is hopelessly in love with you. Have you not noticed? I’d rather thought he would have told you, since you are dating.”

“We’re not.” Harry denied, but Hermione quirked a brow at him. He shrugged. “Not really. I marked him, so he HAS to act that way. I’m just… taking advantage of his brainwashing.”

“Harry.” Hermione sounded a bit more exasperated now, and he wasn’t quite sure why his cheeks burned. “Marking is not the same as brainwashing. He’s still who he was, and even a full bond wouldn’t force the way he looks at you. Half the non-Betas in the school have accidentally marked one another, and NONE of them have been brainwashed into faking a relationship. Malfoy obviously has deeper feelings than he’s said, Harry. It’s actually rather sweet, I think.”

“But… Why wouldn’t he tell me if he wants to be with me? If he’s already acting like my… boyfriend… then why the hell wouldn’t he just make it official?” Harry felt a bit silly for such a childish complaint, but Hermione’s face pulled into a bittersweet frown.

“I think… He might be worried you’ll reject him. If what you have now is working, he may be afraid to upset that in hopes of having more. Sort of a ‘he’ll take what he can get’ type of thing.” Hermione speculated. Harry nodded. She’d given him a lot to think about.

“Thanks, Hermione. You’re always great with advice.” He said, grinning. Hermione looked instantly worried as he stood, shooting to her own feet.

“Advice? Harry, you’re not going to do something rash, are you? I know you’re uncomfortable, but he’ll be back before you know it.” Hermione babbled, and Harry nodded.

“I know. I’ll probably go see if there’s anything Pomfrey can do to help.” He lied, knowing there was nothing the mediwitch could do. Hermione pursed her lips, but didn’t stop Harry from leaving.

He went back to his room and sat on his sofa, trying to puzzle through the swirling confusion inside him. He needed to talk to Malfoy. He glanced at the tiny empty potion bottle on the table and wondered how much longer it would last. He probably wouldn’t be able to go to class tomorrow, anyway. He stood, feeling as if he was suddenly short on time. He had to talk to Malfoy before it wore off.

He peeked out of his room and tiptoed across the corridor to Malfoy’s. He knocked quickly, eyes scanning the hall, hoping Malfoy wasn’t locked away in the Hospital Ward.

He jumped slightly as the door swung open, and his eyes darted up to meet an irritated silver stare. When Malfoy recognized him, his irritation vanished into a look of starvation, and he grabbed Harry, yanking him through the door. It slammed behind him, and Harry was pinned to the other side, Malfoy’s lips on him, his hands grabbing desperately.

“Wait, wait!” Harry called, shoving Malfoy away as best he could. The blond seemed to have suddenly become part octopus, as he was suctioned firmly to Harry, refusing to let go even when he was forced back a few inches. He looked down at Harry with an expression of confusion. His nostrils flared, and his pupils contracted a bit, but he still didn’t release his Omega.

“I’m on a suppressant. I had to talk to you.” Harry explained. Malfoy said nothing, merely staring at him silently, as if he was simply waiting to be able to kiss him again. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his cheeks were flushed, and Harry realized a moment later that he was only wearing a thin silk night robe. It was tied loosely at the waist, barely hiding any of his body. Harry swallowed, trying not to enjoy the sight too much.

“Draco…” Harry said the name quietly, feeling it on his tongue, watching how it made dark eyes go darker. “Are you able to think clearly at all right now? Or are you in some crazy brainwashed state of horniness?”

“I can think.” Malfoy’s voice was quiet and husky, and he looked almost pained. “I want you.”

“Sure, but… if I needed you to let me go, could you?” Harry asked, testing him.

Malfoy’s fingers twitched, and then released him.

“It’s stupid for you to be here, you know.” Malfoy growled, not moving back, despite that his hands had moved to rest on the door to either side of Harry’s head. He wasn’t technically holding him, anymore, and that was all the confirmation Harry needed that he was lucid.

“I know, but… It’s only stupid if we end up bonded, right?” He managed a daredevil smirk, and Malfoy’s whole face darkened with desire.

“Don’t.” He warned. “Not now. I… I can’t. I am trying not to ravish you, Potter.”

Harry swallowed, finding it hard himself to not just grab his Alpha and get on with things. He had to be sure this wasn’t a mistake. A trickle of sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and he felt his time running out.

“Would you really want that, though? Outside of all your Alpha instincts, and outside of me being an Omega. It would be like getting married, wouldn’t it? Is that what you want?”

“Do I want to marry you?” Malfoy asked, looking a bit confused. His eyes lingered on Harry’s lips, but he managed to bring them back to Harry’s eyes when Harry answered.

“Do you?”

“I have fantasized about marrying you since I met you.” Malfoy breathed, his head dipping closer, nearly kissing, but he stopped barely an inch away, catching himself. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clearly trying to control himself. “Sometimes I fantasized that you were an Alpha, too, and we’d hate-fuck, fall in love, and you’d help me tell my father to piss off… I never imagined you were an Omega. I never hoped you’d be so perfect.”

He did kiss Harry then, unable to stop himself, and Harry found himself quickly lost to it. He was certain that Malfoy would be embarrassed about what he’d said later, but at that moment, it made Harry’s chest feel like it would explode. He felt like fireworks were going off in his mind, and he couldn’t bear to push Draco away again. His Alpha wanted him -needed him- and he wanted this.

Draco kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, and only when he was light-headed and his grip loosened, did he relent. His lips broke away, traveled down Harry’s face, pressed to his neck, and Harry felt the rush of his breath as Draco breathed in the scent of him. He could feel the potion wearing off, feel the heat returning to him, and demanding his Alpha satisfy it.

“You’re in heat?” Malfoy growled, lifting his eyes to look down at Harry. Harry nodded mutely.

“I… I needed you. I need you.” He wasn’t sure if he was demanding or begging, but it worked. Draco brought their lips back together, kissing him, nipping, claiming. His hands had returned to Harry’s body, tearing pyjamas away, lifting him against the door. Harry wrapped his legs securely around Draco’s hips, and with his last coherent thought hoped that no one was in the hall to hear him moan as Draco slid into him.

Draco held him, thrusting at an impossible angle, one hand holding him up by the arse, the other tangled in his hair, and Harry kissed him back just as greedily. He came swiftly, crying out with the release, and Malfoy slowed, his own climax shuddering through them both. Harry felt the slight swelling of his knot, but before it could fully lock into place, it diminished, leaving Harry feeling not quite satisfied. In the brief moment of clarity, he thought the almost-knot was likely due to the suppressant potion still working it’s way out of him. He wasn’t yet producing enough pheromones to trigger it fully.

He found himself pulled away from the door, and clung to Draco's shoulders with the sudden fear of being dropped. Draco carried him easily right to his bedroom. He laid Harry down, following on top without ever letting him go. Harry pulled him down as soon as he was settled, and kept kissing him. The kiss transformed into the slow sweet thing that made Harry wish it would never end.

Instead of softening and pulling away as Harry had grown familiar with, Draco’s cock seemed to stay markedly stiff. As he kissed Harry slowly, his hips still moved, rolling a slow pleasure through both of them with equally measured motions. Harry found himself quickly reaching a second peak, and trembled helplessly as Draco filled him over and over. Harry kissed him desperately as the overwarm sensitivity and insatiable lust rose to claim his mind again. He gave in easily now, secure in the knowledge that his Alpha would take care of him, as he had done for every single one of Harry’s heats.

Harry moaned, nearly delirious, and aching for more. Draco gave him what he needed without having to be told. His whole body grew tense, his kiss became harsher, and as Harry clung to him, he became more wild, almost frenzied as he drove deeper and harder into Harry. Harry could barely catch his breath. It was amazing. It was almost painful, but not quite there, still far too good for Harry to complain. Draco’s hands were sure to leave bruises, his teeth were surely doing the same, and Harry was sure that his body was only meant to bend so far before it broke. Malfoy seemed to know exactly where that limit was, holding Harry for just long enough to make him whimper, and then he’d release him, drag his body into a new blissful pose, kissing him the whole time. Sometimes their mouths were together, other times Malfoy’s mouth was all over him, tasting his skin, scent-marking him with possessive, bestial tongueings.

Harry lost track of how many times he’d come, but finally, Draco slowed, his cock pulsing deep inside Harry, filling him with his seed as his knot swelled to lock him in place. Harry lay underneath his Alpha, a rare moment of lucidity telling him that what he’d just done was far stupider than he realized. He could seriously get pregnant from this. Highly fertile, filled with Malfoy’s cum, and trapped with it inside him, each cell trying to find its way to Harry’s womb. Harry wrapped his arms and legs around Draco’s body and hugged him, enjoying the automatic way they’d returned to the unhurried kissing between orgasms. Malfoy’s arms snaked underneath him, pressing their bodies impossibly close. Harry sighed contentedly at the perfection of the moment.

“Are you trying to get me pregnant?” Harry asked jokingly, trying to feel out just how Malfoy might feel about such an accident. Malfoy’s face pressed to his collar and he growled, squeezing Harry tighter, pressing his hips closer. Harry wondered if he was too far gone to even realize what he was doing.

Draco, can you let me go?” His request was met with another tightening of the embrace. Harry felt a bit like prey trapped in a constrictor’s coils. “Can you kiss me some more?”

That seemed to get through, and Draco’s lips pressed to his skin, searching a path up his throat, across his jaw, and found his mouth. His tongue was warm and velvety and tasted of sharp cinnamon and… Harry could taste himself, too. Crisp, sweet, almost like apples. He loved that Draco was so filled with his scent.

As the knot receded -more quickly than usual, Harry thought-, Malfoy began fucking him again, deep, snapping thrusts that rocked the whole bed. Harry could still feel a slight bulge of the shrinking knot, and shuddered at the sensation of it pulling in and out of him as it faded. Harry laced his fingers into pale hair and tried, really tried to hold onto his rational thoughts.

It was no use. Draco was like a drug, intoxicating him, demanding he take more, and only satisfying for a while, until Harry was burning again, desperate for another mind shattering round.

Draco went, and went, and Harry felt his body growing sore, tired, burning in different ways. His whole shoulder felt like it had been turned into mince from where Malfoy had bitten him, over and over, always bruising, but never quite breaking the skin. With each half-finished mark, Harry found a frustration growing inside him. Malfoy was his. He shouldn’t have been holding back. He should have been giving in, claiming Harry as his own, satisfying his Omega and their need to be together.

Harry felt the erratic pace of Draco’s next impending climax, and the swelling of his own coming rapidly with it. He needed more.

Harry pulled his lips from Draco’s and blindly found his way to Draco’s neck. His own mark had faded nearly invisible in the two months since he’d made it, but his lip stretched easily over the same spot. Harry sank his teeth into his Alpha, claiming him once more, tasting his blood, his pleasure, the pain of his bite and the furor of his rut. Harry licked the wound, saturating it with his saliva in a primal way, forcing more of his pheromones to mix with his Alpha’s blood, marking him as his.

A growling and painful bite of nails was the only warning he got before a sharp burning, piercing sting covered the bruises on his nape. The pain was distracting for the briefest moment, and then… It was like nothing Harry had ever felt. He could feel Draco. Everything about him, his whole being, his magic, his soul. He felt shaken, pleased, possessive.

Harry could feel his silent begging in tandem with the harsh breaths on his neck as the stinging teeth were pulled away. Malfoy’s tongue pressed to the wound, the same as Harry had done, and Harry held him, filled with awe and unable to move under the weight of what they’d just done.

“Mine…” The word was barely more than a snarl, and Harry found himself being pierced by dull teeth again and again, as if some damn had broken inside Malfoy, and he wanted to be certain that the mark had really taken. His hips moved with a broken rhythm, and he moaned, a sound Harry knew was equal parts pleasure and acute need. He could feel it now, better than he ever could before. Malfoy’s need to keep and protect and claim him. The madness of his rut was less now, but there was something just as dark underneath, a nameless fear that made him bury his face in Harry’s hair and breathe in the comforting scent of his Omega.

“You’re mine.” He breathed, sounding a bit less crazed, but Harry felt the insane swell of happiness that stretched his lips into a smile and made him want to shout. Malfoy was his. Forever.

Harry lost track of time after that, it was all a jumble of pleasure, exchanging repeated, brief, painful marks, and sleeping a few stolen moments at a time while Draco was knotted inside him, unable to move. At one point, he recalled waking up to warm lips on his neck, and a hard shaft gliding slowly in and out of him, until he’d fully come around and begged Draco to do it properly.

By the time Malfoy finally pulled all the way out of him, his whole body felt abused, covered in bruises and slightly bloody bite marks. His muscles were sore, he was absolutely spent, and utterly satisfied. The last few hours had been spent with Malfoy rutting against him ceaselessly, no longer having to pause as he knotted, Harry’s heat finally ended. It had left him totally at the mercy of Malfoy’s pleasure, and he’d found that while his own body had given up, and was beyond climax, he could feel Draco’s, physically, and through the bond. It was strange, and amazing, and a bit terrifying to realize that the Alpha would climax and barely even pause as he kept going. Harry felt as the frenzied rush to possess and claim ebbed, and he could feel Draco’s exhaustion and completion equal to his own.

He lifted one sore arm and brushed pale hair from a pale forehead.

Grey eyes found his, fully lucid for the first time in what felt like weeks.

“We…” Draco couldn’t seem to find the rest of his words, so Harry just nodded. He knew what he was trying to say.

“Yeah.” He didn’t bother apologizing. Through the new bond they shared, he could feel the mixture of emotions his Alpha felt. Worried, tired, and extremely pleased.

“Your friends are going to murder me.” Malfoy breathed, a trace of fear vibrating between them. Harry traced a finger down his cheek and tried not to laugh.

“No they won’t. Ron will whine a bit, Hermione will tell me it was foolish, and they can all get bent.” Harry replied. Malfoy’s lips twitched in a small smile at that, and then his brow furrowed.

“Potter… was I hallucinating or did you ask me to… to marry you?” He sounded appalled, but Harry could feel the tremor of fear, hope, and want.

“Hm. Did I?” He asked, but Draco didn’t seem to even notice his teasing. A small wave of horror was filling his face, and Harry watched, intrigued as he felt the embarrassment.

“Please tell me I was hallucinating, and I did not ramble on about stupid childhood fantasies?” He begged, sounding entirely desperate, his cheeks pink as a hand lifted to hide part of his face in shame.

“Oh, you definitely did.” Harry chuckled, and tugged at his arm, wanting to see his face, even though he could feel what Malfoy did, he enjoyed looking at him. He was beautiful. “I thought it was really sweet, actually. But… I thought you’d said that you never liked men before?”

“No, I said you were the first I’d slept with, not that I didn’t like them.” Malfoy sounded snippy, but he was definitely still embarrassed.

“So you like me?” Harry teased, and was answered with a lurching feeling of absolute terror from Malfoy. As he stared at Harry, taking in his face, gently tracing patterns on his naked back, realizing that they really were permanently bound, his fear calmed into an easy comfort. He licked his lips.

“Of course I don’t like you. You don’t marry someone you like.” He sniffed, and looked toward the ceiling for show, but barely a second later, his eyes drifted to the side, peeking at Harry’s reaction.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” Harry returned the question. Malfoy turned back to face him fully.

“Well, thanks to your genius plan to jump me while you were in heat, it looks like we’re stuck together forever, so we might as well.” Malfoy shrugged cheekily. Harry glared at him, but it was difficult to be upset when he could feel the warm elation, the perfect happiness that came with the words.

“We should probably wait until after school, though.” Harry amended.

“Probably for the best. Mother will want to have a hand in the planning.” Draco warned. Harry grimaced.

“We are NOT getting married at your mansion.”

“It’s a manor, and I wouldn’t. That’d be in poor taste. I was thinking a beach?”

“Not a cold one.” Harry qualified. Malfoy smiled at him.

“Of course not. Something tropical. Get away from the reporters for a while, drink cocktails out of coconuts, swim naked in the sea…”

“That sounds more like a vacation.”

“Well, if we’re getting married, we’ll need a honeymoon, won’t we?” Malfoy waggled his eyebrows, and Harry couldn’t help his amused smile.

“Are we getting married?” he asked, purely to be contrary. Malfoy gave him a look that said he knew it, too.

“Well, we probably should…” Malfoy trailed off, clearly leading somewhere with the hanging comment. Harry decided to play along.

“Why?” He offered, and Malfoy gave him a soft smile full of warmth as he leaned in. Their lips were just barely touching when he answered.

“Because I love you.”

Harry was obstructed from answering by the way Draco’s lips pressed gently to his. His eyes were closed, and the gentle chaste kiss was perfect even against his abused and swollen lips. Harry felt the truth of the words through their bond and could do nothing except sink into the kiss, savoring the unbearable sweetness of the admission, the kiss, the way Draco was cradling his body, comforting, but not too tight.

Finally, their lips parted, and Harry gasped in a shuddering breath.

“I love you.” He finally managed to whisper back. There was no point denying it anymore, really.

Draco was his. His Alpha. His safety. His love.

As long as they were together, he felt like everything would work out in the end.

~ The End~