Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started with a prickle.

Harry barely paid it any attention at first. He was busy brewing an Elixir of Euphoria, stirring the bubbling cauldron as he counted in his head. Clockwise, one, two, three. Counter-clockwise, one, two, three, four. He took the stirring rod out, laid it on the table, and quickly added two ounces of porcupine quills. The liquid frothed and turned a luminescent purple.

He paused, checked the recipe in his textbook, and idly scratched at the side of his throat. He was right on track for the potion's second phase.

Now he needed to wait two minutes. He kept an eye on his watch, scratched himself two more times, and started to frown. Was it the collar of his robes that tickled his throat? They were new, bought a month ago, but he'd have noticed before if the collar was ill-fitted...

Soft footsteps announced Snape's arrival. Harry drew himself straight and steeled himself for the inevitable criticism. Snape would say his potion was too light, or too thick, or would ask if by any chance a baboon had been brewing it.

"Feeling itchy, Mister Potter?"

That wasn't a jab, or a sneering remark, or even the subtle implication of one. Harry frowned, confused. And why did Snape care anyway? Ah, no, he understood now. Snape was implying Harry hadn't bathed this morning, or something like that.

"No, sir," he said, keeping his focus on the potion.

A slight silver sheen appeared at the surface. Harry hurried to add the moonstone powder, then reduced the flames under his cauldron until he'd gotten the liquid to a gentle simmer. At least he hoped it was a gentle simmer.

Snape was still there, watching. Harry glanced at him, a squirming, nervous energy twisting his guts, but the man didn't say anything. Surely that was proof his potion was on the right track.

His throat was itchy. He scratched himself one-handed while administering the last stirs. One, two, three—there. That should do it. Pleased with the result, he bent over his cauldron and took a big inhale. Yep, it even smelled right—of vanilla, sandalwood, and something musky.

"You seem distracted, Potter," Snape said.

Harry realized he was still scratching the side of his throat. He shrugged.

"Must be something I ate."

Snape's eyes narrowed. His black gaze snagged at Harry's throat and remained there for a long, uncomfortable moment. Unease tightened Harry's stomach. Why was Snape looking at him like that? Almost like—like he knew why Harry's throat was prickling him. Like he didn't like it?

Or like he liked it too much.

Finally, his eyes flicked down to Harry's potion.

"A passable attempt," he said, upper lip curling.

He stalked away in a swish of dark robes.

Harry swayed on his feet in the wake of Snape's departure, the sudden change in the air around him leaving him nearly light-headed. The space had been wired with tension, burning with Snape's presence, and now it was empty. The thought that he preferred that electric charge to a cold void went through his head. He decided he must be coming down with something. Some type of sickness that muddled his mind.

He coasted through the rest of the class on auto-pilot. His sample bottled and delivered to Snape's desk, he filed out of the room with the other students.

"You go ahead without me," he told Ron and Hermione. "I have to swing by the Hospital Wing."

He scratched the side of his neck, groaning as the itchy feeling intensified. What was this thing? Magical chicken pox?

"Are you feeling ill?" Hermione asked, eyeing him with concern. "I told you you shouldn't have eaten so many pancakes for breakfast!"

"I'm sure it's nothing serious," Harry said.

Madam Pomfrey frowned when he described the itching. She examined his neck and emitted a sort of hum that didn't tell Harry anything.

"Is it chicken pox?" he asked.

"I don't see anything there, Mister Potter. The redness of your skin appears to stem entirely from your own doing. As far as I can tell, there is nothing wrong with you. Physically, that is."

Harry left the Hospital Wing with a potion he'd seen Hermione and a few other students take from time to time. It calmed the nerves and settled anxious minds. But Harry didn't feel anxious.

He wasn't scratching his neck because he was stressed.

He was scratching it because it itched!

"This is not going to help," he grumbled to himself as he downed the potion before joining his friends in the library.

His neck kept itching throughout the evening. It kept itching while he tried to sleep, too. He turned and tossed in his bed, scratching at his throat, wishing he could have one moment of peace.

Sleep eventually found him after what felt like hours.

He dreamed of Snape.

They were in the Potions classroom, just the two of them, and Snape was standing too close, practically breathing down Harry's neck.

"Your potion is going to boil over, Mister Potter," he was saying in low, raspy tones. "You must watch it more carefully."

"I am watching it," Harry replied.

His gaze was trained on the potion, on its bubbling surface. Meanwhile, Snape moved behind him, unseen. Closer.

Closer…

So close Harry could feel the heat of him, could hear him breathe near his ear, was aware of every inch of empty space between them. The rest of the room seemed to shrink down until the walls surrounded them, caging them in a narrow world that existed only for them both.

"Be careful, Potter," Snape whispered. "You might just lose yourself if you allow me any closer."

Snape's lips brushed along his throat, a feathery contact that electrified him from head to toes. He heard himself moan, uncontrollably.

"But perhaps that is precisely what you want," Snape said, and his voice turned darker, a purr that twined itself around Harry's spine. "Perhaps you wish for me to unravel you."

Before Harry could answer, the dream dissolved.

Come morning, he barely remembered it.

*

His neck itched something fierce.

Predictably, the potion Madam Pomfrey had given him was useless. Harry went through his day constantly scratching the side of his throat, cursing his bad luck. Wasn't it enough that he had Voldemort after him? That he had lost his parents, that everyone expected him to defeat the most powerful Dark Lord of this age? No, he had to be suffer from this, too.

Whatever this was.

Maybe he was allergic to Snape. This seemed as probable as any other cause.

Yes, an allergy to the dour Potions Master, finally, after so many years of being sneered at, belittled and mocked.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't avoid Snape. He had to attend his classes, and he had to endure painful Occlumency lessons with the man. The last one had left his head throbbing with a headache that had persisted for hours.

"Why can't Dumbledore teach me…" he bemoaned to himself as he headed down to the dungeons. "Why must it be the worst possible person who also hates me…"

Dumbledore had been distant lately. Harry felt like the Headmaster was avoiding him, though he had no idea why. He hadn't done anything to warrant this strange treatment—or at least, nothing that he was aware of.

Snape's office was always cold, unnaturally so. Harry shuddered as he entered. Shadows wreathed the walls while rows of jars containing strange, misshapen animal parts lined the shelves. There were more and more jars as the years passed, and the room sank into gloom a little further each day. That was Snape's doing. This place had probably been a perfectly normal office before he took over, with standard bookshelves, a welcoming fire in the hearth, and no shadows growing from the corners.

"You're late, Potter," came Snape's voice, carrying cold judgment.

"I didn't mean to be."

He had left his Common Room early, but he had stopped several times in the corridor to scratch at his throat, and then he had spent a moment tugging up the collar of his robes so Snape wouldn't see the redness of his skin. He didn't need to give the man more reasons to mock him.

"Have you practiced clearing your mind?"

"Yes," Harry lied.

Snape's brows twitched toward his hairline. Harry had the sinking feeling that the man was not fooled. Not fooled at all.

"Is that so? Well, we'll soon see about that..."

His black wand appeared in his hand. He trained it at Harry and shredded his way into Harry's mind, whose thoughts scattered under the pressure, any defense he might have mustered falling away in an instant. Various memories flashed through his head as Snape perused his mind—he was running from Marge's dog, he was falling from his broom, he was under the lake, lost, a forest of kelp rising all around him...

Snape stepped out of his head with no comment. Harry blinked, readjusting to the reality of the gloomy office. He scratched his throat idly, mind still swimming with the echoes of the memories Snape had stirred up.

"Still feeling itchy, Mister Potter?"

"No," Harry said, stupidly.

He lowered his hand and tried to look like someone whose neck didn't itch. Snape stepped closer, raised a hand, and set two fingers against the side of Harry's neck.

Harry froze.

Like a baby deer in the headlights, all thought processes shut down, and his body just stood there, locked in that instant of shock.

Snape—Snape was touching him.

His professor.

The man who hated him and had made it his mission in life to make Harry miserable was touching him.

What? came a thought, confused and feeble, emitted from what few neurons were still firing between his ears.

And then another thought.

A bigger thought, far more important, and completely confounding.

His neck no longer itched.

Snape's touch brought a sensation of relief so intense it was nearly pleasure. His fingertips were cool against Harry's skin, nestled under his pulse, a firm, steady contact.

"Oh," Harry said.

He would have added "please keep your fingers there at all time" if Snape hadn't spoken right then.

"When did you experience the symptoms for the first time?"

"Uh?"

"That itching sensation, Potter," Snape said with complete calm, as if the situation was normal, as if he touched Harry every day. "When did you feel it first?"

"Um, yesterday, during Potions."

Snape emitted a hum. He shifted minutely, his fingers brushing across Harry's throat, bringing a new sensation, something like a coil of heat that twanged along Harry's nerves.

"Do you know what's happening?" he asked.

"Your fingers cured me."

It seemed like a reasonable guess. Snape smirked, which did not bode well.

"They've brought temporary relief. That itch at your throat comes from your scent gland, Potter. It appears to be developing. You have entered the first stage of presentation. My congratulations."

Harry was so confused he had trouble choosing a question.

"My what gland?"

"Your scent gland," Snape said, enunciating the words crisply. "In a couple of days, it will fully come through. A wonderful little organ, the gland. It emits pheromones matching your secondary gender, and of course, this is where an Alpha will bite you to signal his claim."

"Alpha?"

Snape's eyes darkened.

"You do know what you are, don't you?" he said, fingers stroking the side of Harry's throat.

"I'm—I'm the Chosen One."

"Oh, Mister Potter…"

Those fingers pressed against his skin, rubbing back and forth. Another jolt of heat followed, traveling down his spine, making him shudder.

"You're an Omega," Snape said.

Harry shook his head.

"I'm not! I can't be, I—I'm just Harry!"

Snape's teeth flashed in a crooked smile. The pads of his fingers caressed a precise spot at Harry's throat, a spot that now felt overly sensitive. Heat poured into his belly with every swipe of Snape's digits. To Harry's utter confusion, his cock began to twitch and swell.

Why did it feel so good? Snape was merely stroking his throat, and he didn't even like Snape!

"You're casting a spell," Harry said.

Snape was bewitching him somehow. He knew dark spells, spells to make people lose their mind and start having erections when their throats were being fondled!

"No," Snape said. "Your Omega instincts are answering to me. There's nothing to fear, Potter. It's perfectly normal."

"How is this normal?"

Snape's hand was on his throat and Harry's cock was fattening up, pressing up against his slacks. They were so far from normal they had left it miles behind and were now racing toward the very fucking strange.

"Because I'm an Alpha, Potter. And you, as an Omega, are made to yield to me. Your body recognizes this. It's why my touch soothes your emerging scent gland, and why every atom of your body is straining toward me at this moment."

Oh, things were straining for sure.

"This will help," Snape said, and shifted so his free hand made an approach toward Harry's groin.

He moved his hand slowly, leaving Harry ample time to step back.

But Harry didn't move.

He watched Snape's hand come closer and closer, and every inch of him seemed to thrum with acute need, desperate for that hand to make contact. His cock ached so fiercely he couldn't think past it, a brutal throb that reverberated throughout his entire pelvis. He wasn't sure he was even breathing.

He wanted—

He needed—

"Shall I help, Mister Potter?" Snape asked in a whisper.

And he was the devil, tempting Harry down a path that led to unexplored depths, offering something unthinkable, something that should not happen.

That could not happen.

"Yes."

That would happen, because Harry was too weak to resist.

Snape cupped him through his trousers, a firm pressure against his hardening cock, and Harry all but moaned.

"Indeed," Snape said. "Your Omega instincts are at work, Potter, flooding your body with endorphins and driving you to seek pleasure. This is pure biology. You cannot fight it."

Harry didn't think he could, nor did he want to anyway. Snape's fingers were working their own kind of magic, stroking and fondling him through his trousers, lighting him up with wicked heat. It had never felt like this—he had wanked plenty of times, thrusting into the tight ring of his fingers, and it had never been this good. Never been this strong.

It was like Snape had taken ahold of his nerves and hooked them up directly to a livewire, flooding Harry's system with the most raw, the most delicious electric bliss.

And that was just Snape's hand touching him through fabric.

"Look at you," Snape said, a purr in his voice. "You definitely are an Omega, Potter. You're responding so eagerly to my touch..."

"Gnnhg," Harry said, his hips twitching into Snape's hand.

His heart hammered behind his ribs, his blood rushing in his ears. His body was one tight line of tension existing solely between the stretch of Snape's hands—between those fingers now encircling his throat and those other fingers palming his cock with consummate expertise.

"Your purpose is to take an Alpha's cock," Snape said, in a cold, clinical tone, as if he were explaining the recipe for a potion in class. "To allow him to use your holes, to receive his seed, to milk his knot dry with your tight little arse."

Harry didn't know what Snape was saying anymore. He didn't have the mental capacity to parse through the words that were coming out of Snape's mouth, nor did he care. He was going to come, explosively hard, and then he'd probably die from his brain melting out of his ears.

"Oh, oh, oh!"

There—

Release hit him with no warning or mercy, as his hips twitched forward once more. He spilled himself with a strangled cry, in four blissful spurts, each one forcefully wrenched from his balls.

"Oh, God…"

He panted, feverish and lightheaded, as the high of his orgasm faded.

Blinking, he became aware Snape was no longer touching him. He had stepped back, and he was watching him, head tilted to the side. Harry shuddered under his gaze. Now that the fog of arousal had dissipated, he was left with his chest heaving, his palms damp, and the front of his trousers wet.

He found himself utterly mortified.

What had just happened? How could he have let Snape touch him like that? And why had this resulted in the strongest orgasm of his life?

"How do you feel?" Snape said.

He looked unbothered, his features set in a cool, collected expression. That calmed down Harry's nerves. If Snape considered all this normal, then it probably was.

"I'm… I'm fine?"

Except no.

The moment the words left his mouth, he realized his neck itched. Eyes going wide, he placed a hand against the side of his throat.

"You will need an Alpha to help you navigate this new chapter of your life, Potter. Without someone to guide you, you might end up hurting yourself. All of your symptoms will be managed better with an Alpha's touch."

"All of my symptoms?" Harry said, alarmed. "What's going to happen next?"

"A few things. As for your scent gland, my saliva will soothe that troublesome itching and allow the gland to come through without discomfort."

"Your saliva?"

"Unless you'd prefer it to itch," Snape said smoothly.

"No! No, your saliva, okay, fine. Um…"

He stammered through a few nonsensical syllables, trying to formulate his question.

"Speak your mind," Snape said.

"Why—why are you helping? You hate me. Wouldn't you just prefer to mock me and—and I dunno, watch me suffer from afar?"

Snape hummed, running a finger across his lips.

"I believe the arrangement can be mutually beneficial. As an Omega, you will have needs, and as your Alpha, I will tend to them."

Needs.

What sort of needs would he be having?

His mind flashed back to how hard he'd come against Snape's hand, and he gulped. This was probably a bad idea. He should say no. Or ask for more information. But his neck itched fiercely, and Snape's touch had made that terrible, burning sensation go away, and what if other horrible symptoms came along?

He needed Snape.

"Okay," he said.

Snape looked pleased, his mouth bending in a smile. The sight sent a beat of adrenaline into Harry's veins. Snape never smiled at him like that unless he was about to be deeply unpleasant, directing barbed words at Harry or taking away points.

"Excellent," he said, and Harry relaxed a little. "Tilt your head, then."

Harry did.

"The other side, Potter."

Oh. Right. The gland.

Harry removed his hand from his neck and tilted his head to the left. Snape slid a hand at his nape, tangled his fingers in Harry's hair, and tugged his head a bit more. Harry didn't have time to consider how it made him feel—that firm hand in his hair, those fingers brushing against his scalp—because already Snape was licking him.

His tongue swiped across the side of his throat. Harry emitted a tiny noise of surprise. It was hot, and wet, and not unpleasant at all. It really should have been disgusting, to have Snape lick him like this, but instead it sent more heat into Harry's groin, an overflowing amount that made his spent cock twitch. Another slower, wider pass of that agile tongue had him clenching his teeth. He killed the moan that was climbing up his throat and told himself this was not arousing.

It was not, it was not!

A third swipe of the tongue made his toes curl. The moan he'd been trying to smother came out as a huff. How much saliva did Snape need to slather upon his skin before it was enough?

"There," Snape finally said, stepping back and freeing Harry from his grip. "That should prevent any itching."

"Thank you."

He was thanking Snape for licking him. What a perfectly normal evening he was having.

"That will be all for tonight," Snape said. "Go to bed, Potter. And keep your mouth shut about this."

That last part was unnecessary. Harry would never have told anyone that Snape had made him come, or that Snape had licked him and he had liked it.

"Is it a bad thing, being an Omega?"

Did Snape want him to keep it a secret because it was shameful?

"That's why Dumbledore won't talk to me or even look at me, isn't it?" Harry went on when Snape didn't answer. "Because he guessed I'm an Omega and it's a problem."

"Yes," Snape said, a gleam in his black eyes. "Albus would rather not interact with you because you're an Omega. He lost someone very dear to him in his youth, his own mated Omega. It's heartbreak beyond anything you can imagine. And now, years and years later, setting eyes on you, an Omega, brings up a swell of painful memories. You must respect the Headmaster's grief, Potter. Do not approach him."

Oh. Harry hadn't known all that. It wasn't mentioned on Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog Card. That made him feel better, actually. Dumbledore wasn't avoiding him because of something he's done. He was avoiding him because of what he was, and Harry wasn't responsible for that.

"Okay," he said. "I won't."

"Come back tomorrow evening so we can assess your progress."

Harry nodded.

"Oh, and Potter? If you're late again, you will be punished."

Harry nodded again, absently this time. He had so much to think about. He cast a cleaning spell on himself, Vanishing all evidence of his shameful pleasure, before stepping out into the corridor.

This had been one of the strangest days of his life, and that was saying a lot considering he was Harry Potter.

*

Severus watched the boy depart.

This had gone even better than planned. He had anticipated more push-back from Potter, more delicate questions to answer in a convincing manner, more skepticism from the boy. Instead Potter had melted to putty as he came against Severus' hand, and he had accepted the lies Severus fed him with barely any complaint. That little tidbit about Albus' reluctance to engage with Potter had been the cherry on top of Severus' elaborate deception.

Was Potter that starved for affection to let Severus fondle him, lick him, and to agree to come back for more?

Smiling, Severus rubbed his fingers together. They were still sticky with the potion he'd dipped them in, the antidote to the itching powder he had applied to Potter's collar. He'd engineered the mixture so it would react with his saliva and penetrate deeper into the pores, neutralizing the original agent.

For the next phase, he would need to add another potion to Potter's drinks. That could wait until tomorrow. At breakfast, perhaps, so Potter would experience its effects throughout the day and arrive confused and in need of explanations to Severus' office in the evening.

Yes, yes. There was no need to rush things.

With carefully crafted potions and a smattering of lies and enticing falsehoods, he would guide Potter along his transformation.

Soon, he would have the perfect Omega.

Chapter Text

Harry slept wonderfully that night.

His throat didn't itch, he was relaxed thanks to the spectacular orgasm Snape had given him, and he was no longer worried about Dumbledore's strange behavior. Snape had given him answers. Snape would keep giving him answers. Harry didn't really understand what an Omega was, or an Alpha, but Snape would tell him.

Mutually beneficial, he had said.

What kind of benefits would Snape get? All Harry could think about was Snape's hand on his cock, and his body soon reacted to that thought, so he cleared his mind and went to sleep.

He woke refreshed and ready to face a new day.

Stretching in bed, he greeted Ron and the other students in his dorm. As he shuffled to the showers, he toyed with the idea of asking Ron what he knew about Alphas and Omegas, and ultimately decided against it. He didn't want anyone overhearing. What if it was a sensitive subject in the wizarding world? What if it was taboo? He had to be careful.

Under the warm spray of water, he checked his body as he slathered soap all over himself. Snape had talked of more symptoms to expect, but so far Harry felt normal. He didn't feel anything at his throat. Maybe the scent gland hadn't come through yet...

He cupped his cock and gave himself a few pumps. He was half-hard. Might as well start the day with a morning wank. As his hand moved up and down his length, he cast about for some good material. He thought about his usual go-to lately, a mental snapshot of one of the best pages of the latest issue ofNaughty Seekers and Snitches, depicting a young, fit Seeker as he drove into his partner from behind. Harry liked to imagine himself in the partner's place, fantasizing about that thick cock pounding into him.

But today, for some reason, it wasn't as appealing as before.

Instead, he found himself thinking about Snape.

Snape's hand on his cock.

Snape's fingers, wrapped around him, pumping him in long, forceful tugs. Yes, Snape would know exactly how to handle Harry's cock, wouldn't he? He'd wank him off while staring at him, those dark eyes cold and incisive, and he would tell Harry to come in his hand, right now, do it, Potter, spill all over my fingers like a good boy—

Harry bit into his lips to muffle his groan. Pleasure shot through him as his cock pulsed, painting the shower wall in white strips. He huffed and finished cleaning himself.

He tried not to think about what that meant, wanking off to thoughts of his Potions professor.

Certainly it didn't mean he was attracted to Snape.

He was just horny, and since he was an Omega, he wanted an Alpha. Hadn't Snape said this was how it worked?

He kept pondering the matter as he went through his day. At breakfast, he made sure not to glance in Snape's direction. Hermione asked if he was feeling better and he told her he was back to normal.

"Madam Pomfrey was able to help, I take it," she said.

"Yeah," Harry said, digging himself further into the lie. "She came to my rescue."

He couldn't tell her he'd been cured by Snape's tongue. She would worry and think Snape was taking advantage of him or something.

There was Transfiguration, and then Herbology. Harry ended up alone with Hermione as they came back from the greenhouses since Ron had forgotten his gloves back there, and he decided to ask her. Hermione knew a lot of things. She could probably tell him about Alphas and Omegas like she'd told him about the wards surrounding the castle or the tale of the Four Founders, in a long stream of densely packed information that hit like a Bludger.

"Hermione, what do you know about Alphas and Omegas?"

She frowned at him.

"As in the letters of the Ancient Greek alphabet?"

"Uh, no."

"In the Bible, then? That's what Jesus is called at one point, I think. The Alpha and the Omega."

What? Harry was fairly sure what was happening to him had nothing to do with Jesus.

"No, I mean—I mean as a person. Like someone being an Omega."

"Oh," Hermione said, and now she was blushing. "I didn't realize you read those type of books."

Ah-ah. Progress.

"I've come across them recently," he said, trying to sound casual. "They're interesting."

"That's one word for it," Hermione said, with a strange little noise.

"But I don't really understand what an Omega is."

"Um, well, which books have you read? Because if it's the most recent ones in the series, they don't explain the lore at all. The author assumes the reader is already familiar with it, which is stupid if you ask me, but of course people aren't usually reading those type of books for the lore."

"I am. The lore is what I'm into."

Hermione gave him a look he couldn't decipher.

"You should read the very first one in the series, then," she said. "Claimed by the Prince. It's probably the one with the most explanations about the whole Alpha/Omega system."

"How many are there?"

"A lot. I swear the author is more prolific than Lockhart was. There's Hunted by the Prince, Trapped by the Prince, Seduced by the Prince, Tricked by the Prince, and a few others in the same vein. The latest one is called A most perfect Omega, which is a change from the usual title format. Don't look at me like that, I'm not a fan of those books! Lavender is, and they're all over the dorm. The other day was a copy of Tormented by the Prince on my pillow!"

"I thought you liked every single book in existence."

Hermione scoffed.

"I have standards," she said. "I happen to enjoy romance novels as long as they're well-written. The Prince books all have plots thinner than a wafer, and the characters spend most of their time in bed. I tried reading one and got bored halfway through the first sex scene."

Harry was doing some very rapid thinking. It seemed his only source of information besides Snape would be those books. Which were sex books? But it didn't matter. He needed to get his hands on one.

"Could I borrow one of those books?"

"I told you, I don't have any," Hermione said.

"Can't you ask Lavender to lend you one, and then you give it to me?"

"You could ask her yourself."

Harry grimaced. He didn't want anyone to know he was researching Omegas.

"I'd rather not," he said.

"Well, me neither," Hermione said. "If I ask her, she'll start thinking I'm interested in those kind of books, and that's how rumors start."

Ron arrived at that moment, which effectively cut short the discussion.

After lunch, they had History of Magic. Harry sat at his desk, doodling nonsensical shapes on his parchment while Binns droned on about the goblin wars. That was when disaster struck. Or well, strangeness, at any rate.

He felt some sort of wetness under him.

Confused, he shifted around subtly. Yep, definitely wetness, a sticky slickness in his underwear. It seemed to be right under his butt? Like… like something was leaking from his arse.

He tried not to panic.

This must be one of the symptoms of his Omega presentation. Was he losing control of his bowels? Surely Snape would have warned him if the symptoms were so humiliating! He clenched his buttocks and sat rigidly straight, determined to pretend everything was fine. No one was paying any attention to him so far. Half the class was asleep, and the other half was either pretending to take notes or staring off into space.

He cast a cleaning charm under his breath.

There.

Problem fixed.

Until five minutes later, when his underwear began to feel wet once again. His arse was sort of tingly, too. He needed to take a look at what was happening.

He raised his hand.

It took Binns a full minute before he noticed Harry had his hand in the air.

"...yes?" he said, looking confused, as if he'd forgotten he had students in front of him.

"I need to go the bathroom, please, sir."

"Yes, of course. Go, Mr Riddle, go."

Harry didn't bother correcting Binns on his name and hurried out of the classroom.

Once in the bathroom, he locked himself in a stall, dropped his trousers, and stuck a hand between his arsecheeks. God, he was wet back there. He brought his hand close to his face and examined it. His fingers were coated in a clear, sticky fluid that formed translucent strings between his digits as he widened them. He gave his hand a whiff. It smelled musky but not unpleasant.

What the hell was this?

He wondered if the Prince books talked about that. He didn't see how this could be made sexy. Why, yes, your arse is wet, let us make love now… No. This was ridiculous.

With a sigh, he cast another cleaning spell and put his trousers back on.

He skipped the rest of the History of Magic class and took refuge in the dorm. He wanted to go to Snape right now to ask him what was going on, but the man was teaching and Harry couldn't burst into his classroom to inquire about Omegas' arses.

He had to wait.

He cast cleaning spells regularly, cursing fate for making him an Omega. It seemed this new condition would only bring problems. (And maybe handjobs from Snape, but he was yet unsure as to how he felt about that.)

Ron came by and asked what Harry was doing in bed.

"Felt like taking a nap," Harry answered.

"Snape's running you ragged, eh?"

"What?"

"I saw you come back from your Occlumency lesson last night. You looked like you'd been through the wringer."

"Oh. Yeah, Snape's been, uh, hard on me. The bastard always is."

Ron grunted and emitted some commiserating noises.

Finally, it was time for his meeting with Snape.

Harry hurried down to the dungeons, casting another cleaning spell on the way. Snape bid him to enter seconds after he knocked on the door.

"Is there something the matter, Potter?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"My arse is leaking."

"Nothing to worry about," Snape said, rising from his chair. "It's part of the expected range of symptoms when an Omega goes through his presentation."

"You could have warned me! It happened while I was in class, too. I nearly panicked!"

Snape gave a low hum. His gaze swept over Harry lazily.

"Over the last two days, you've been growing glands in your rectum, which are now producing lubricant, or as it's called in the colloquial jargon, 'slick'. Its primary purpose is to facilitate penetration."

"Lubricant? From my arse? Like.. like a girl but from my arse?"

"Indeed," Snape said. He patted the flat surface of his desk. "Come here and show me."

Harry understood the words, but all the same, they didn't make sense.

"Show you," he repeated, the two words stripped of all inflection.

Snape clicked his tongue.

"This is meant to help you, Potter. As your Alpha, I will guide you through the changes you will experience, including those that might feel embarrassing. Think of it as a medical exam if it that helps."

"And Madam Pomfrey can't do it?"

"Madam Pomfrey, while an accomplished medi-witch, hasn't the faintest idea what Omegas are. Our existence is a closely guarded secret among our kind. She cannot help you. At best, she would think you cursed and would recommend useless potions. At worst, she would prescribe you medicine that could damage your organs."

"Oh," Harry said.

"Now, will you allow me to inspect you?"

Harry shuffled to the desk and stood there, unsure what to do. A firm hand curled at his nape, and Snape guided him down until he was bent over the desk, one cheek pressed against the cold wood.

"Relax, Potter. This won't hurt."

Harry hadn't imagined it would. The tight anxiety that was currently squeezing his insides had a lot more to do with the fact that he was bent over Snape's desk while the man stood behind him, planning to do who knew what.

Inspect him.

Did that mean—

Oh yes, it did.

Snape was tugging Harry's trousers down. The gesture wasn't lewd, or charged with sexual intent, or anything Harry might have imagined if he'd been told Snape would be doing this to him. It was efficient and neutral.

His underwear was next. Cool air kissed his backside, and Harry winced. He was so wet. Sticky fluid had soaked through his boxers and coated his inner thighs. Snape hummed as he looked.

"There seems to be a good amount of slick. That bodes well."

Harry see-sawed between shame and a strange, sharp arousal.

His professor was looking directly at this arsehole!

Harry splayed out his palms upon the desk and tried not to squirm. His cock was showing vague interest, and God, he hoped Snape wouldn't notice. It was one thing to be aroused by Snape touching his gland, but quite another to become hard because of a simple look.

Except it didn't stay a look for long.

With another pensive hum, Snape touched him. He ran a finger across Harry's taint, scooping up some of the slick there. Harry jerked into the contact, emitting a little noise of surprise.

"And your slick is of good quality, too," Snape commented. "Not too runny, not too thick… a perfect middle ground. I may need to collect a jar of it at some point."

"What? Why?"

"Omega slick is a prized ingredient in potion making. And very rare."

"I'm rare?" Harry said, liking the sound of that.

It wasn't like he needed another reason to be special. Fate had already burdened him with quite a lot. And yet he wanted to hear Snape say it—that he was rare.

That he was special.

"Exceedingly so," Snape said. "I believe there are five female Omegas in the entire world. You would be the only male."

More heat poured into Harry's belly. He inhaled, mouth open, his hands clenching.

"I will now take a closer look, Potter."

It was a warning, and it was useless.

Harry would never have been ready for what happened next, no matter what he'd been told and how in advance.

Snape placed both his hands on Harry's buttocks.

And spread them.

Gently, firmly.

Exposing his hole.

A shudder went through Harry, starting at the crown of his head to spread all the way down to his toes, electric and heated. He clenched, a dribble of slick escaping him, running down the curve of his arse.

"Uh…" he said, brain overloaded with all the sensations.

He felt Snape's hands on him, he felt Snape's gaze raking across his arse, focused on his hole, and he feltheat, suddenly crowding at his nerves, devouring him from the inside.

"What a pretty little hole you have," Snape said.

Harry bit his lips. His cock twitched, well on its way to an erection.

Did he—did he like that?

Snape praising him?

Praising his hole?

Oh God, what did that mean if he did?

"I see nothing that would be cause for worry so far," Snape said. "Now, what about your cock, Potter?"

Hearing Snape say 'cock' did not help with his erection. His cock was fully hard now, pressed up against the desk.

"My—?" Harry said, half-strangled.

"Your penis. Does it appear normal to you?"

"My cock is going to change?" Harry said, confused and alarmed by the idea.

"It shouldn't. I need to inspect it make sure your genitals are functional. The Omega transformation can sometimes go awry. We wouldn't want that, would he?"

"N-no," Harry agreed.

He'd braced himself, barely breathing, every nerve in his body waiting for—

For that firm hand, and those slender fingers, and the heat of that palm against his cock.

Snape grabbed him with no hesitation whatsoever, as if they'd done this before. As if taking hold of Harry's cock was an everyday occurrence. He wrapped his fingers around the base of Harry's length and stroked up. Harry strained, hips twitching along as he gasped.

"This isn't for your pleasure, Potter," Snape said. "I merely need to assess the state of your cock."

"Guh," Harry said, and then found more words. "But—but yesterday you—you—"

"Yesterday I provided relief for your aching scent gland, which included an orgasm and its accompanying cocktail of endorphins. It was a therapeutic action. This—" Snape said, giving another tug to Harry's cock, "is a clinical exam."

"Exam," Harry groaned, pleasure swamping his senses.

"But then again, I suppose I can't expect much from you. Omegas are notoriously needy, so of course you'd turn out like this. Always wanting more."

"More," Harry agreed, bucking into Snape's hand. "More, oooh!"

Snape shifted his grip and stroked faster. His fingers were wet with Harry's own slick, smoothing out every pump.

"Your cock is below average, Potter. Well, I would say it's perfectly in line for what's expected of a male Omega, but it is smaller than the norm for a wizard of your age."

Harry replied with a groan. He didn't think his cock was small. He'd measured it one night, spurred by curiosity, and when fully erect it stood at about five inches long. That felt reasonable.

"A cute little cocklet," Snape said, with an edge of mockery in his tone. "Shall we get it to spurt?"

Harry's cock answered for him, throbbing into Snape's hand. Snape chuckled and gave him a delicious squeeze that had Harry's toes curling.

"We shall check the quality of your semen, then," Snape went on. "How much do you usually produce, mmh? I am not expecting much of a load… and of course, it will be an infertile one."

"What?"

"Omegas are not meant to breed. They are meant to be bred."

Snape emphasized the word with a twist of his wrist.

"Those poor little balls," he said, cupping them in turn, "will never be able to impregnate a woman."

He seized Harry's cock again and wanked him off in long, twisting strokes, from base to tip. Harry panted, eyes closed, hips twitching forward into Snape's grip.

"Your cock is purely decorative now, Potter."

Snape swiped his thumb across Harry's cockhead.

"What matters is your hole. Your pretty little slick hole, ready to take an Alpha's cock…"

Harry keened and came, helplessly, messily. He spurted all over his professor's hand, his balls contracting in pulses of ecstasy, his cum coating Snape's slender fingers. Snape murmured something inaudible under his breath and pumped him through every shudder of the orgasm, until Harry had gone all limp, lying face-down on the desk as his heart sought to escape his chest.

"You've produced a small load, all things considered," Snape commented. "It could barely fill a teaspoon."

"Snape," Harry moaned, hips twitching minutely with the aftershocks.

Snape had removed his hand from his cock and now there was just the sense of his presence at Harry's back. It felt nice. Grounding, in a way.

"Everything appears to be in order," he said. "You can put your trousers back on."

Harry fumbled several times before he managed it. His limbs felt loose and not quite his own. There was something about the orgasms Snape gave him that was so very different from the ones he gave himself. They were stronger, deeper, and they left behind a lingering heaviness.

He took a look at Snape's hands, hoping to see the man's fingers covered with his cum, but Snape must have already cast a cleaning spell because there was nothing. The spell must have hit Harry, too. He was clean, except for his arse crack, where he could still feel some wetness.

"How long will my arse, uh, keep doing that?"

"It should stop within the next twelve hours. I recommend that you keep casting cleaning spells in the meantime."

"Okay."

Snape took a step closer. He towered over Harry, taller by at least two heads. Harry wondered if his height was the result of being an Omega, too. It had never bothered him—he liked being fast and lithe and small, even if it drew mockery from Malfoy and his friends, who harped on Harry for looking like a girl.

"How do you feel otherwise?" Snape said.

"Fine. Um…"

He hesitated, unsure of how much he could say.

"Should anything be out of the ordinary, you must report it to me," Snape said. "We want this transition to proceed as smoothly as possible, don't we?"

Harry ducked his head and stared at his shoes.

"Ifeelhornierthannormal."

"Speak up, Potter, and enunciate."

"I feel hornier. Than normal. A lot hornier."

His cheeks were burning. He kept his eyes on his shoes, hoping Snape wouldn't ask any further questions.

"Look at me."

Oh no, no, he couldn't—

"Potter," Snape said, and there was a steel core at the heart of his name, something that rang with unyielding strength. "Look at me."

It was an order.

Harry lifted his head and met Snape's gaze, those two chips of blackest obsidian. He used to think of those eyes as cold, empty tunnels. Now they were comforting in an odd way, and they stirred heat in the pit of his belly.

"Shame has no place in this. As your Alpha, I will be witness to many intimate moments of your life. I will provide for you, and I will protect you. There will be no secrets between us, and no boundaries except for the ones I will enforce, for both our sake. The bond between an Alpha and his Omega is a sacred thing."

"My Alpha," Harry said.

He sensed there was a world in those two words, one that was entirely unknown to him.

One that Snape would help him explore.

"Yes," Snape said, a gleam in his dark eyes. "You will be my Omega. This is the only choice we have."

"There's no other Alpha who could help me?"

"Alphas are less rare than Omegas, but we remain a scarce bunch. There are around twenty Alphas in Britain at the moment. None you know, and none able to guide you as well as I will. The only other Alpha you're familiar with is Albus."

Harry nodded. He couldn't imagine Dumbledore doing what Snape had just done for him, and the Headmaster wouldn't want to anyway. The mere sight of Harry was painful to him.

"So it has to be you. Even though we hate each other."

Snape's lips quirked in a faint smile.

"You will find that the bond between an Alpha and his Omega transcends all pre-established feelings. It doesn't matter what we think of the other presently. Our bond will be a far greater, stronger link."

"I don't understand."

"You will. In time."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had no idea what type of bond Snape was talking about. Was it like marriage? He didn't want to marry Snape! But he couldn't go through this thing alone. It was scary, having his own body behave in ways that baffled him. He needed someone who knew about Omegas.

"Anything else on your mind?" Snape prompted him.

"You smell good."

It was impossible to ignore. Harry had never paid attention to Snape's scent before, but now it curled around him, unfurling in waves. It filled his lungs, clear and strong and smokey. It was the scent of a campfire with something herbal underneath.

"My scent as an Alpha will be attractive to you," Snape said. "Do no try to fight it."

It hadn't occurred to Harry to fight this.

"What would happen if I did?"

Snape gave him a displeased glare.

"You would suffer a horrible agony, waste away, and die. You cannot go against your nature, Potter. You are a reckless, brash Gryffindor, and you are an Omega, fated to submit to an Alpha."

"To you," Harry said.

He didn't ask what that submission would eventually entail.

He had a feeling he knew already.

"Have I not taken care of you adequately so far?" Snape said, a light challenge in his voice.

"I guess," Harry said, unwilling to admit just how much he had enjoyed the two orgasms Snape had given him. "You could have warned me for the slick thing, though."

"If I were to warn you of every possible change your body will go through, you'll panic and be constantly on the alert. You might develop psycho-somatic symptoms. It's better to let it unfold organically. Many Omegas before you have undergone the same transformation, Potter. You will be fine."

Harry grumbled, though Snape was right. If he'd been told he would start to leak lubricant from his arse, he would have spent every minute hyper-aware of his backside, wondering when the catastrophe would occur.

"Some people know," he said, watching Snape's face. "You said our existence is a secret, but there are books about Alphas and Omegas. They're, uh, romance novels."

Snape's lips curled up.

"And how exactly did you hear about those?"

"Hermione told me about them."

"I imagine she did not do so unprompted," Snape said, a current of disapproval running through his tone. "Tell me, Potter, was I unclear when I said you should keep your mouth shut about this?"

"I didn't tell her I was an Omega! I just brought up the subject. She doesn't know. And she thinks Omegas are fictional, anyway."

He paused, worrying at his bottom lip.

"Who's writing those books? Do you know, sir? And isn't it dangerous for us? What if people realize it's not fiction after all?"

"They won't," Snape said dismissively. "No one is going to take romance novels seriously, Potter. The author has taken great care to accurately portray every aspect of Alphas and Omegas behavior, but most readers only care about the sex scenes. They wouldn't see the truth if it was staring them right in the face."

"You've… you've read them, then?"

"Indeed I have," Snape said, and now he looked amused. "Every single one."

"Could I borrow one of your copies?"

"Why, Mister Potter, are you asking your professor for wank material?"

Harry stammered out a series of half-formed syllables.

"No—I—uh—uh—"

Snape's smile grew with every sound out of his mouth.

"I'm only interested in the lore," Harry managed to say at last.

"How studious of you. Very well, I will lend you one of my books."

Snape opened one of the desk drawers, reached in, and retrieved a small leather-bound book. He tossed it to Harry, who caught it one-handed. The title spread in glossy bronze letters on the spine. Claimed by the Prince, by Seabert Syndercombe. The cover depicted a young man with dark hair bound in chains while a large hand coming from the shadows behind him was wrapped around his throat. It was a disturbingly sensual image, one that left no doubt as to what the claiming entailed.

A most titillating tale, proclaimed one reviewer at the back.

Best enjoyed under the covers at night, another one wrote.

"Thanks," Harry said, knowing he was blushing tomato-red.

"Enjoy it at your leisure. I will expect you to return it in its original condition. No unseemly stain on its pages, Potter."

"Oh no, I won't—I wouldn't—I mean, yes, sir."

He wasn't going to use the book to wank. Snape seemed to assume he would, but Harry had nothing but noble intentions when asking for the book. Really.

"Off you go, then," Snape said. "Come back tomorrow for another check-up."

"Um, what about our Occlumency lessons?"

"They're no longer necessary. We will soon be bonded and I will be able to shield your mind from the Dark Lord."

That was the best news Harry had heard in a while. Well, not the bonding part (whatever that meant), but the fact that he was done with Occlumency. Done, forever!

"Great," he said. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Potter."

And Harry left Snape's office with his new book clutched to his chest.