Chapter Text
Harry squirmed in his seat. Professor Snape was giving them the details of a DADA practical assignment that would be worth a third of their grade for the year, but it just wasn’t holding his attention like it usually would. DADA was still Harry’s favourite class, despite Snape taking over as professor, and normally this kind of assignment would be right up his alley.
But today he couldn’t concentrate.
He was itchy, all over, but scratching did nothing to relieve the torment. He felt flushed too, almost feverish, and he wondered if he was coming down with something. He’d felt fine this morning; not even a sniffle. But something… something was odd. Off.
He squirmed again.
“Harry,” Hermione hissed, out of the corner of her mouth. “Pay attention.”
“Sorry,” he whispered back, just a little too loudly. Several students turned to look at him, and he could feel their stares boring into him. Most turned away again almost immediately – but a couple… lingered. Alphas, Harry thought, his face flushing hotter, breath catching in his throat. He wanted to shout at them to stop – stop looking at him, stop undressing him with their eyes, but his mouth was dry. He wanted – he wanted –
“Harry,” Hermione said, again.
“I know,” he said, clutching at the desk with white-knuckled fingers. “S-Sorry, I –”
Her hand was on his, suddenly, and the skin-to-skin contact made him gasp. He jerked backwards, almost tipping his chair over, and stared in surprise at his hand. It felt like she’d branded him. He looked up to find Hermione staring at him with wide-blown eyes, reaching out towards him again in slow motion, as if she couldn't quite control herself.
He scrambled to his feet and backed away, heart suddenly hammering in his chest.
“Hermione?” Ron said.
There was an annoyed voice from the front of the classroom telling him to ‘sit down, Mr Potter, unless you want detention for the next month!’, but he couldn’t make sense of the words. There was a roaring in his ears, and, horribly, he could feel himself starting to harden.
In DADA. In class, in front of his friends – in front of all his classmates, and oh sweet Merlin, even Malfoy was looking at him now, and he couldn’t look away from those grey eyes, and he was getting a bloody erection –
Panicked, he tried to spin away, only to come face-to-face with Terry Boot. Terry’s pupils were blown wide just like Hermione’s, and as Harry stood, dazed, gaze wandering back to Malfoy despite the clear and present danger in front of him, he touched a fingertip to Harry’s lips.
The breath left Harry’s lungs like he’d been sucker-punched, and he gasped, that simple, tiny touch searing him, tearing him open, and still he couldn't look away from Malfoy's burning eyes long enough to –
“Get away from him!” Hermione screeched, and shoved Harry behind her as she attacked.
Harry stumbled backwards, and suddenly there were arms around his waist, hands wandering into definite no-touching areas, lips on his throat, and he’d only just registered that it was Ernie Macmillan – prefect Ernie Macmillan, always so upright and proper and respectable and straight, with his long-standing Beta girlfriend of three years – when someone else tore him away.
There were several infuriated shouts as he was hustled out of the room. Snape locked and barred the door behind them, and he jumped at the sound of thumps. Loud, hard, the door shaking – as if the students (Alphas, he reminded himself; there was no point sugar-coating it) were actually trying to physically batter it down.
Alarmed, he tried to struggle out of Snape’s grip. “Don’t – please –”
“Stupid boy,” Snape snarled, jerking him closer. “I’m not going to rape you.”
“Wh-what?” Harry’s brain spun, horrified at the implication. But, then – even more horrifying, he realised he was still turned on. There was an strange, uncomfortable wetness slipping down his thighs, and his erection hadn’t flagged at all, despite the fear and confusion of the last few minutes. His face burned in embarrassment, and he tried to pull away again. “Let go!”
“I’m taking you to the infirmary,” Snape snapped at him. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop fighting me and come with me quickly.”
“Infirmary,” Harry echoed, his body going limp with relief. Snape was practically manhandling him up the hallway, but he felt oddly safe. “What’s happening to me?”
Snape made a noise of disgust. “I don’t know why I continue to be surprised by your blatant and frankly dangerous ignorance, Potter. You are in heat, you stupid boy, and had I not been there to intervene, the Alphas in that room would have torn each other apart to claim you. Much longer, and even the Betas would have been roused by your scent. You almost caused a heat-frenzy, Mr Potter.”
“I don’t – I don’t –” Harry swallowed, trying to understand through the fog in his mind. Something in him instinctively recognised Snape as safe, but the heat wasn’t diminishing. If anything, it felt like it was getting worse. Like – like he might spontaneously combust if – if – if what? He needed – something. Needed touch, and Harry suddenly knew that Snape was the last person he needed to be touching him. Anyone would be better than him; better than the skin-warm hands that did nothing to soothe the itch burning him up from the inside –
“Stop fighting me, Potter!”
“Let me go!”
Madam Pomfrey started to her feet as Snape shoved Harry through the door to the infirmary, making him stumble and catch his hip on a side table. He yelled in pain. “Professor Snape!” she cried, shocked. “What are you –”
“The boy’s an Omega,” Snape interrupted, short and succinct. “He’s in heat. I need your quarantine room, now.”
Her eyes widened. Harry stared back at her, beginning to squirm again as the itch grew impossibly worse.
“Now, Poppy!”
“O-of course,” she stuttered, turning and fumbling with the keys on her belt as she hurried in the direction of her office. “This way, quickly now! How long has he been in heat?” Snape forced Harry forward, following in her wake, and as they drew closer, her brisk, matronly steps faltered. She shivered. “Never mind. Less than – less than half an hour, clearly. Oh dear.”
She unlocked a door Harry had never noticed before, her hands trembling slightly. Snape shoved him inside, and for the second time that morning, a door was slammed in Harry’s face. Only this time he was alone, and he was burning up.
~*~
He tried the door first. It was locked.
Whimpering, Harry sank to his knees. He was so hard it was starting to hurt, and his trousers were soaked. He slid his hand tentatively down the back of his trousers, trying to understand where it was all coming from, and moaned out loud when he accidentally brushed his hole. His arousal abruptly ramped up even further, until he could hardly think. “Oh Merlin, oh Merlin,” he babbled, pressing his forehead to the cool stone floor. It didn’t help. He needed to be touched – to be touched by –
No. No. Hermione was his best friend. Ernie was his friend, too, not to mention straight. And Boot – he didn’t even know Terry. Not well enough to want to –
He pressed the heel of his hand against the base of his cock, willing it to go away. It didn’t work. He whimpered again, looking around in an attempt to take in his surroundings. His vision was blurred, even with his glasses, but he could see it was a small room, with a rather inviting large double bed. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be curled up in it.
He couldn’t bring himself to stand, so he had to crawl. But he made it, and he stripped off his robes and his trousers, leaving only his shirt as he slipped between the clean, soft sheets. It was bliss against his over-heated, over-sensitive skin, and he closed his eyes, burrowing his forehead into the cool pillows.
It didn’t work for long.
He could feel the heat, the lust and desperate arousal rising again, and it was all-consuming. Despite himself, Harry wrapped a hand carefully around his throbbing erection. A few strokes and he was gone, coming onto the already-damp sheets, biting into the pillow to swallow his shouts.
And even then, it wasn’t enough.
He wanted - he wanted to be filled.
It frightened him. He knew the basic mechanics of it, but he’d never even touched himself like that while masturbating. He was straight. And that meant he was supposed to fantasise about penetrating. Right? Not – not being penetrated.
Except… he never really had. Fantasised about either.
He couldn’t help it, tears welling up in his eyes. If he’d had time to work this out for himself... if he'd been free to explore and learn about his sexuality like most boys his age, instead of living in fear for his life and worrying every day about how a sixteen-year-old was supposed to defeat the most powerful Dark wizard in modern history...
But when he had masturbated, it had always been to generic, faceless people. Just touching, holding. Kissing, sometimes. Maybe, if by some miracle he’d survived the war, he might have wanted to experiment with more. Explore, learn about his own desires. Maybe even with another person. Another… boy. But not now. Not yet. Not forced like this, like he might die unless –
He wanted to be held down. He wanted to be pressed into the mattress. He wanted someone to jerk his hips up and bite him, to push inside him and fuck him, hard and fast and none of this made any sense. “Please,” he whispered, his voice thick with tears. “Please, oh Merlin, please help me, someone –”
“Harry?”
Hermione.
He jerked in fright, yanking his fingers out of his arse and scrambling to sit up, pulling the covers tighter around himself as he looked around for her. No, no, no –
And then his body overruled his mind, and he moaned, more slick drenching the sheets beneath him. He didn’t even really want her; she didn't have the right parts, for one, never mind that she was his best friend. Why was his body doing this to him?
“It’s okay,” Hermione said, her eyes wide and pained. “Harry, please, it’s okay!”
She was in some kind of – Harry struggled to understand – viewing chamber? Her hand was pressed up against the transparent wall, reaching out to him, but Harry was relieved to see that her eyes, at least, were completely normal again.
Ron was by her side. Madam Pomfrey, Snape, Dumbledore and McGonagall were standing behind them. All staring at him, watching him, with the exception of Snape, who was lurking right at the back with his head turned away.
Harry moaned again, this time in embarrassment and utter, abject misery. How long had they been standing there? Long enough to see…? He buried his face in his hands, remembered exactly why his fingers were wet, and flinched back, scrubbing his face on his arm violently. “Fuck!” he said.
No one scolded him for his language.
“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said, his voice infinitely gentle. “Do you understand what’s happening to you?”
“I’m in heat,” Harry said automatically, echoing Snape’s words, and then shook his head, his breath hitching. “No, sir, I don’t –”
“It’s all right,” Dumbledore said, soothingly. “You are in shock, and understandably so. I will make this as quick and simple as I possibly can. I know you are in pain. But first, I need to know – and I understand this is a very sensitive subject for a young man of your age, but I need you to answer honestly, Harry. Do you understand?”
Harry nodded slowly.
“Good. That’s good.” The words made something in Harry relax, and he sighed a little. “I need to know your sexual orientation,” Dumbledore said. “It’s very important.”
Harry stared at him, tensing up all over again. He glanced at Ron and Hermione, panic rising and clawing at his throat. No. No. He wasn’t ready for this. He’d only just figured it out for himself – he couldn’t face the idea of telling his best friends.
It wasn’t that he was ashamed of being gay. It was something that was completely out of his control, just like being the Boy Who Lived, or being a Parseltongue, or being a Beta. He’d accepted his dynamic when he turned sixteen; refused to think less of himself for not having a knot, unlike Ron (who had had what amounted to a complete mental breakdown, until he realised Hermione was an Alpha, and then he went oddly reticent about the whole thing).
But – well, Harry had learned the hard way that not everyone saw things the same way he did.
The Dursleys hated homosexuals. Hated them, perhaps, worse than wizards, which was really saying something. When one of Dudley’s friends had ‘come out’ the summer between fourth and fifth year, Vernon had cut off all contact with the family and forbidden them to even mention the boy’s name. Harry hadn’t cared much (Dudley’s friends were bullies and brutes, and he had never cared for any of them), but it had given Dudley a complex, and he’d teased Harry ruthlessly for the rest of the summer about his dreams of his ‘boyfriend’ Cedric.
Of course, the Dursleys were poor examples of Muggles; of human beings, even. But that kind of blind, prejudiced hatred was the same hatred that infected the wizarding world. Purebloods obsessed with bloodlines and breeding, the destructive hatred they had for Muggleborns and half-bloods… somehow Harry couldn't see homosexuality going down well with that lot, either.
Not that Ron was a snotty pureblood Slytherin git, and Hermione certainly wasn’t the Dursleys. But... prejudice and hatred ran deep, and it wasn't always visible on the surface.
He couldn't care less what anyone else thought of him. But he could not abide the thought of being hated by Ron and Hermione.
“Harry,” Dumbledore prompted, a little more sharply. “It is very important that you tell me the truth, and quickly.”
Harry flinched, looking down at his hands, twisting in the bed-sheets. “I. Gay. I think,” he whispered hoarsely, and Dumbledore sighed and asked him patiently to speak up. “Gay,” he said, louder, and couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
Dumbledore shared a glance with McGonagall. She nodded and slipped out of the room.
“All right, my boy, you’re doing very well. I know that was hard for you.”
The gentle tone touched that same place inside Harry, relaxing him enough to be able to look up at his friends. Hermione appeared, strangely enough, relieved at his answer, and her hand had found and gripped Ron’s tightly. When he met Ron’s gaze, however, it was bewildered and just a little pitying, and Harry turned away quickly, his face burning.
“I don’t understand,” he said, thickly. “Why am I – is this a curse?”
Snape barked out a bitter laugh. “You could say that.”
Dumbledore made a sharp, quelling gesture, and Snape’s mouth snapped shut. “It is not a curse, Harry. It is a gift. There are so few Omegas, fewer every generation. You are, in fact, one of only five that I have known personally in all my hundred and fifty-one years, and the only one I have heard of coming into heat at all in the last twenty years.”
Harry frowned. “What is that? What’s a – an Omega?”
Madam Pomfrey drew in a sharp breath. There was a loaded silence. The adults in the viewing chamber exchanged significant looks. Hermione’s hand rose to cover her mouth.
Madam Pomfrey spoke first. “It is, very simply put, one of the three gender roles, Harry,” she explained, very gently. “Alpha, Beta, and Omega. The majority of wizarding folk are, as you know, Betas, but –”
“Whoa!” Harry said, panicking. “Wait, wait – three? I thought – I thought there were just Alphas and Betas. I’m – I’m a Beta. Right?”
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said.
“No. But –” Harry shook his head helplessly, looking between his friends, his teachers. They all looked so serious. “I don’t – this is a joke, right? I’m a Beta, I don’t have a knot. I’ve accepted that.”
“You are in heat, Potter,” Snape snapped. He was still staring at the back wall, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to actually look at Harry. Oddly enough, though, it wasn’t upsetting. In fact, Harry kind of appreciated it. Everyone else was staring at him a little hungrily (Hermione and, scarily enough, Madam Pomfrey), or with far too much fascination (Dumbledore), or, perhaps worst of all, with pity (Ron). At least Snape gave him the illusion of a tiny sliver of privacy. “Betas don’t go into heat, you idiot boy. You’re an Omega.”
And just like that, he was back to hating the man. “There’s no such thing,” he snapped right back.
“Actually,” Hermione winced, “there is, Harry.”
He pressed his hands into his eyes. It was that or scream. “Why,” he said, through gritted teeth, “have I never heard of them, then?”
“Uh,” Ron began, hesitantly. “You’ve really never –? I mean, Dean and Seamus, they’re always going on about Omegas like the Alpha jerks they are, whispering fantasies to each other after lights out... You’ve really never heard them – or, I mean, any Alpha – not to mention the books –”
“Books?” Harry echoed, removing his hands to look at his friend. Ron’s face was beet red.
“Yeah. Uh. Romances, I guess?” Ron coloured. “Not that I – just, Mum’s always reading them –”
“Why the fuck would I be reading wizarding romances, Ron?” Harry yelled. “Aside from the fact that I’m actually not a girl, I live with Muggles all summer, and when I’m here I’m kind of busy with school and homework and Quidditch and – oh yeah, trying to stop Voldemort from killing me and taking over the whole fucking wizarding world!”
Ron swallowed, hard. “Yeah. Sorry, mate,” he said, uneasily. “I guess I thought you knew. It’s not as if I was keeping it from you. It’s just – Omegas are fantasies; no one really expects to meet one.”
“Oh, that’s just – fantastic. Brilliant.” So much for being twisted up about his sexuality, Harry thought; turns out he should have been worrying about his lack of knot all along. “Why am I always the exception?”
Madam Pomfrey looked sympathetic. “I know this is a shock, Mr Potter, but it’s really not a bad thing. It’s rather wonderful, really.”
Harry glared at her. “It doesn’t feel wonderful,” he said, mulishly. “I’m – I ache, and –” He shifted uncomfortably, closing his eyes in despair at the squelching noise. “Am I supposed to be –”
“It’s the heat, Harry,” Dumbledore said, gently. “There are hormones flooding your body right now, making you –”
“Really, really horny?” Harry said tightly, and took a small satisfaction in the way that suddenly none of them could meet his eyes.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Ah. Precisely. It is also what makes you so desirable, Harry, to Alphas in particular. In fact, the only thing protecting you from every Alpha in this school right now – even those you are not attracted to – are the magical protections on this quarantine room.”
“You mean –” Harry's body went cold with horror. “Even you –”
“I hope I have more control over myself than to attack a student, my boy,” Dumbledore said, gravely. “However, as your heat progresses, I could not vouch for all of my professors, and certainly not your fellow students, who are far more vulnerable to your scent.”
“My scent?” Harry curled into himself miserably. He was rapidly losing control of himself again. The sudden shock of an audience had killed some of his initial, rampant arousal, but it was creeping over him again now; insidious and burning, lighting his skin on fire.
“The scent of an Omega in heat, Harry.” Dumbledore seemed to sense he was losing him. “We can discuss the particulars when you are yourself again. But for now, I need you to understand that this is all completely normal. A gift the Wild Magic gave us, long ago, to allow same-sex pairings to procreate.”
“S-same-sex?” Harry echoed, flushing.
“Yes,” Dumbledore said. “It is not unheard of for an Omega to be attracted to the opposite sex, but it is rare. What few Omegas there are generally bond with someone of their own gender. But Harry, you must listen to me. Omegas are highly sought after and prized, and there are unfortunately very few laws to protect you. Once an Alpha has claimed you, no one can break that claim; not you, not I, not the Ministry. You will literally and legally belong to that person for the rest of your life.”
Harry closed his eyes. He wanted to be disgusted. Revolted. He knew that, even a mere hour ago, the thought of being owned would have sickened him to his stomach. Now, all he could feel was the emptiness inside him, the slickness covering his thighs, the burning desire to be filled, to be forced into submission. To be bitten.
“I need –”
“I know,” Dumbledore said. He sounded strangely wistful. “I know you do, my boy. But you must understand, in the state you are in, you cannot give true consent to being claimed. You might think you want to, in the heat of the moment – excuse the pun – but you are just sixteen, Harry. So… I can offer you a choice. You have already formed a preliminary bond with someone. Your mate.”
Harry straightened, his eyes flying open, fear and – something else, something darker and hotter and right, flushing through his veins. “What?”
Dumbledore smiled sadly. “It is one of the gifts of Omegas. Your body is physiologically designed to be able to go into heat at the age of sixteen, but you will not, not until you have formed a preliminary bond with someone. There have been cases of Omegas living as Betas for decades, only discovering their true nature much later in life when they finally form that bond their body has been waiting for.”
Harry nodded. “So – so I’m in heat because I've bonded to someone?”
“It would seem so,” Dumbledore agreed. “But Harry, an Alpha-Omega bond is not mutual. Your mate will want you, while you are in heat, will want to claim you and impregnate you, but when it is over, there is no guarantee of faithfulness. The law does not recognise an Alpha-Omega bond as marriage, and so your mate may wed outside your bond. You will be forced to remain faithful, for the rest of your life, but your mate may do as he pleases.” His blue eyes were gentle, sad. “Do you understand, my dear boy?”
Harry felt sick. It was his worst nightmare; belonging to someone who didn’t love him. He’d had fifteen years of it with the Dursleys, and the idea of the rest of his life – dear Merlin, no. No.
He could feel his chin beginning to tremble, and he pressed his fingers into his eyes again, trying to force back the tears. He felt raw; naked and exposed. He wanted them to stop looking at him.
“But – but, sir, that’s not fair,” Hermione said, her voice strained. “That’s slavery, they can’t do that. I thought Omegas were precious, cared for! But if he can’t say no, and his mate doesn’t even have to be faithful? It’s wrong. Sir, it’s wrong, you have to –”
“It’s not wrong if it’s his mate,” Ron interrupted, flatly.
Harry glanced up in time to see Hermione turn on him, her best scowl in place, mouth opening in outrage.
“It’s not wrong,” Ron told her, stubbornly, and Harry was reluctantly impressed because every instinct his friend had, had to be screaming at him to back down. Which meant Ron thought this was important; important enough to risk his Alpha’s displeasure. “If any other Alpha forced a claim on him, then yeah, Professor Dumbledore’s right, it would be... bad. But not his mate. It won’t be a mutual bond, by law, but don’t you get it?” He looked at Harry suddenly. “You’re an Omega, mate. Alphas go nuts over you. Bonkers. Didn’t you see them in DADA? And that was just the beginning of your heat. It’s supposed to be –” he looked embarrassed, but there was a definite hint of jealousy in his voice, “the best sex ever. Not to mention your ability to carry children. For a gay pureblood, that’s like the Holy Grail. They’ll be lining up to try for a claim. And your mate – the one your body’s formed a pre-bond with – you think that’s just chance? There’s a reason it triggers your heat. You’re compatible with him, in every way. He might not be forced to be faithful, or to love you, but he’ll want to.”
Snape flinched, hard, and turned further away.
Harry looked between them all, bewildered. “But – I don’t –”
“He’s right, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Professor Dumbledore was simply outlining the worst case scenario. And it is a risk, an enormous risk, considering the legal implications, but if I were lucky enough to bond with an Omega, I would not give them up for the world. I would cherish, love and protect them with everything in me. I have no doubt your mate will feel the same.”
Harry looked at Dumbledore. “Then why...?”
Dumbledore sighed. “Because you are very young, Harry, and an Omega’s first heat is the most difficult. The unexpected nature of it, and the inability to give true consent, has led to much abuse over the years. As you yourself experienced today, Omegas are incredibly desirable to Alphas. Even Betas derive a great deal of sexual satisfaction from dominating an Omega, which just goes to show how very unique and special you are, Harry. And how very open and vulnerable to abuse. For a long time, Omegas were favoured pets of the ruling pureblood families, and a true bond was very rarely consummated. Other, richer, or more powerful Alphas would pay, to be the first claim.”
“So,” Harry said, slowly, “what if I don’t want to bond?”
Dumbledore looked relieved. “Then you don’t have to. Not during this heat. However, you do need an Alpha. Your heat will last for several days, and your need will only grow stronger.” Harry nodded; he could feel the truth of that in his bones. “I can offer you only this: Professor McGonagall is in the process of inviting any male Alphas who are interested and of age to congregate in the infirmary outside. One of them may be – will very likely be – your mate. You will know as soon as you touch him. Should you choose not to allow your bond with him to be consummated during this heat, you may choose any of the others to join you for the duration, and I will place spells upon them restricting their ability to bite you. Madam Pomfrey will of course provide you with contraceptive potions. It will be frustrating, but at least you will still be free at the end of your heat. Free to choose your Alpha, consensually and in your right mind.”
“I don’t –” Harry’s stomach sank. His skin was itching with the desire to be bitten, hard and painful, teeth digging into him, forcing him to submit. “What do you mean, bite?”
“It is how an Alpha places their claim, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey explained. “Your true mate, of course, would consummate your bond by doing so. However, if it was any other Alpha, they would destroy your preliminary bond. Subsequent bites would form the beginning of their own bond with you; a far more difficult process, but still a significant risk. We will not allow that to happen, I assure you.”
Harry stared at her, bewildered. A tiny kernel of hope was blossoming in his chest, driving away some of the haze of terror and confusion and lust. “But – no, but, that’s good, right? There’s a way out of this. I could destroy the bond, let someone else bite me, just once, and then I’d be free, right? I don’t have to let anyone claim me –”
The lines on Dumbledore’s face deepened, and he looked very sad. “Oh, my dear boy. I am truly sorry, but no. The law gives you a mere two heats to mate before the Ministry is within its rights to force you to choose a claim. An old law, of course, created by the ruling Alphas of the time to further their control over the precious commodity Omegas were. But the Ministry justifies its continued enforcement for your protection, and the good of the community, to prevent heat-frenzies.”
Hermione made a strangled noise. Harry just dropped his head, resigned.
“I know it doesn't sound good, mate, but it doesn’t have to be bad,” Ron said, very earnestly. Trying in his own way, Harry thought, to comfort him. “I swear, you’re like a sex god now. You’ll have everything you want, everything you need. Everyone will want you, but you’ll be safe, protected and cared for by your Alpha –”
“And what about my freedom?” Harry said flatly, interrupting the flow of words. “Will I have that?”
Hermione gave a low sob. “This isn’t fair,” she insisted. “There must be something – a loophole in the law we can exploit. What if – what if his true mate died – would he still be forced to –”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said, gently.
Snape made a muffled noise and whirled out of the room, slamming the door. Everyone stared at it for a moment.
It was just too much, Harry thought. “I don’t understand,” he said. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on the conversation; he felt restless, off-balance, his mind stuffed full of cotton wool. It was his life hanging in the balance, but in a few minutes he knew he wouldn’t be able to care at all, and that terrified him. “Please, please tell me what to – I don’t – I can’t – I don’t know what to do –”
“Harry,” Hermione said, firmly. His eyes snapped to hers, and he swallowed down the panic and the tears spilling down his cheeks. “That’s right,” she said. Her voice was calm and soothing, and he could feel himself beginning to breathe again. “We’re sorry, Harry. You’re right. This isn’t the time. Right now you just have to make a very simple choice: either you spend this heat with another Alpha, or you take a risk on your mate. I assume, if you decide to mate, that you can still take the contraceptives –?” Madam Pomfrey nodded. Hermione frowned a little, turning to Dumbledore. “Actually, is there any reason you couldn’t put the spells on his true mate? Then they could spend this heat together without consummating the bond immediately –”
Dumbledore shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Miss Granger. Even a preliminary Alpha-Omega bond is very powerful. It would prevent such interference.”
Harry closed his eyes in despair. He was aching; every cell in his body wanted to be touched and – yes, claimed, and frankly he didn’t give a damn who it was anymore. An Alpha. Any Alpha, even one of the female variety would do right now, and he supposed that just proved Dumbledore’s point. But he was past caring. “I need them to touch me,” he said. “Please. I’ll – I’ll decide then.”
Dumbledore nodded. “Very well. Poppy, if you would be so kind as to fetch your potions, and send Severus back in. I will need him to take the potions in to Mr Potter, and to set up the wards. Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, I am afraid I must ask you to go back to your dormitory. I will make sure you are kept informed, of course, but this will be difficult enough for Mr Potter. Off you go, now.”
Hermione nodded, smiled at Harry in an encouraging (if rather watery) way, and led Ron out of the room. Harry watched them go, and then curled up into a ball and let the tears come.
~*~
By the time Snape had set up the wards, and Harry had finished off the three different, equally vile potions, he was desperate. His trousers were damp and uncomfortably sticky when he pulled them back on, and he squirmed, itchy and turned on in equal measure.
McGonagall escorted the first student in.
It was Terry Boot, and Harry stared at him, remembering that brief, burning touch to his lips. Terry’s pupils blew wide as soon as he stepped through the door, and he moaned softly. McGonagall closed it behind him hastily, a rather wild look in her eyes, and Harry grimaced. Apparently he was affecting the Betas now, too.
“You’re so beautiful,” Terry whispered. “I’ll make it so good, sweetheart –”
Harry steeled himself and stepped up to the wards, putting his hand through the small gap. Terry had his mouth on him instantly, and it sent Harry to his knees, gasping, his every nerve alight. “Ah – Merlin, oh – please –”
Terry’s eyes were completely black, and he sucked Harry’s fingers into his mouth, the burning heat of it almost painful.
Harry whimpered, trying to pull away. “No – no, I –”
Terry lifted his head, and Harry was caught, ensnared in his gaze. Alpha, his veins sang, his whole body shivering in need. Why not? he thought desperately. He should just – just submit. It would be good. He needed – but, no. No, it was wrong. It was wrong, and he used his last scrap of sanity to force himself to his feet again and trip the wards.
Snape and McGonagall hurried in immediately, and Snape wasn’t gentle as he pulled Terry off and shoved him off on McGonagall. “Potter,” he said.
Harry opened his eyes. He had tipped forward to rest his forehead against the wards, and he was startled to find Snape crouching on the other side, looking up at him.
“Idiot boy,” he said, with a good deal more fondness than Harry thought entirely appropriate for a professor who hated his guts. “The slip-through in the wards is for the Alphas. Not you. You need every advantage you can get, even if – even if it will never be really fair.”
“You’re an Omega, too,” Harry said, and then blinked in surprise.
Snape pinched his nose. “Yes, Potter,” he said, in a tone of long-suffering. “I am an Omega too.”
“Who’s your – I mean, your true mate – did you –?”
Snape stood abruptly. “No. And it’s none of your business.”
Harry swallowed. “But – but the law. And your heats – how do you –?”
“I use a suppressant.” Snape’s voice was flat, brooking no further questions, and he moved to the door.
Harry threw himself against the wards, shoving his hand through the gap in desperation. A way out. There was a way out! “Professor! Wait, professor, wait! Please. I don’t want to feel like this – I don’t want my first time to be this –”
Snape sighed, shoulders slumping. It looked painfully like defeat. “I wish I could help you, Potter. Truly. You’ve barely scratched the surface of what it means to be an Omega in this world, and I would do anything to spare you that suffering. But my suppressant only works before the heat. It cannot stop what has already begun.”
Harry sobbed a little.
“Pull your hand back in,” Snape said, gently. He put a hand on the doorknob, but didn't turn it. “I cannot tell you what to do, but I would ask that you bear in mind that Dumbledore and I both had traumatic experiences, and as such, any advice we give you is biased. We are not the norm, as much as any Alpha-Omega bond can be considered 'normal'. You should know that, while I had my true Alpha, while we were together... it was the only time in this life I have ever been truly happy.”
“He died?” Harry said, his throat closing.
“She.”
“Oh.”
“Pull your hand back in, Potter. And stand firm. Not every Omega's story must end in tragedy.”
~*~
He made the other boys put their hands through the gap in the wards after that, and Snape was right, it wasn’t quite so difficult to say no when the discomfort of wrong, this is so wrong deep in his gut overruled the need. He was overwhelmingly grateful for that. Without the protections the professors had put in place, it would have been practically impossible to listen to the only guide he had in this fucked up 'heat'.
But it was getting harder and harder to resist the desperate need to submit, now, even when every inch of him cried out against it. He just wanted – wanted so badly to drop to his knees and beg for his Alpha’s cock.
Any Alpha's cock.
Strangely enough, it was the thought of Snape that kept him strong, kept him sane through the rush of desire and lust burning him up from the inside. His trousers were soaked, clinging to him in a way that Harry found more than a little distracting. He was actually considering removing them entirely. Being naked couldn’t possibly make the Alphas want him more; each boy was progressively more frantic in their attempts to claim him.
It made him uncomfortable and upset, even as his trousers dripped onto the floor and he fought the urge to beg for their unwanted attention.
And then Malfoy walked through the door.
“No!” Harry said immediately, reaching to trip the wards.
“Stop,” Malfoy said, his voice calm even though his pupils had dilated as soon as he'd entered the room. Harry froze, hand outstretched, his whole body vibrating. “I saw you looking at me in DADA, Potter. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You want me.”
Harry’s mouth opened in outraged disbelief. “I do not –”
“Take down the wards, Potter.”
“I won’t,” Harry said. “I hate you.”
“I know.” Malfoy’s lips twisted. Harry’s eyes fixed on them, and he licked his own involuntarily, mouth suddenly dry. “We’ve always hated each other, right from the start. Perhaps that’s why this was inevitable. I am the one person you can trust never to fawn over you, never worship the ground you walk on, always tell you the truth.”
“The – the truth?” Harry said, haltingly.
“That I’m going to claim you. Bite you into submission, and then fuck you until you can’t stand. And then knot you, and pump my seed so far into you you’ll be carrying my child by morning.”
That cleared some of the dazed lust. “You’re sixteen, Malfoy,” he snapped, annoyed. More annoyed that he could feel his cock pulsing at the words, smooth and enticing, than at the idea Malfoy might actually believe what he was saying. “You don’t want a kid.”
Malfoy paused, shook his head. His eyes cleared slightly, and he frowned. “You’re right. I’m surprised any of the others could even think in here, much less walk out on their own two feet. Your pheromones are overpowering. You really want it, don’t you?" His pupils dilated again, and the look he gave Harry then was one of pure hunger. "You’d let me get you up the duff, if it was what I wanted. Wouldn’t you? Tell me.”
Harry gritted his teeth, refusing to reply. Not because he didn’t want to give the git the satisfaction, but because he was afraid Malfoy was actually right, and he wouldn’t be able to resist saying so.
But Malfoy’s mouth stretched into a smug smile that told Harry he knew anyway. “Fortunately, we don’t have to worry about that. I’ll make sure you have a well-stocked supply of contraceptive potions until we decide it’s time to conceive.” He looked thoughtful. “Preferably not for at least a decade or two, but I know that as an Omega you may feel your biological clock ticking earlier than that. I’m prepared to compromise.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not a girl, you fucking bastard.”
“No, you’re an Omega,” Malfoy said slowly, as if he was stupid. “And I don’t appreciate your tone or your language, Potter. You'll call me Draco from now on.”
“What? No!”
“You will call me Draco,” Malfoy said, stepping closer. His voice was oddly compelling, and Harry couldn't look away from his eyes, the stormy grey reaching into him and hooking him, holding him in place. He tensed. “And you will put your hand through the wards so I can touch you.”
Harry found himself obeying without conscious thought.
Malfoy smiled, and took his hand. The moment they touched, Harry sucked in a harsh breath, his eyes fluttering closed as every hair on his body stood on end. He shivered helplessly, and felt the hand around his tremble in response. His entire body was thrumming, the desire to submit pounding through him in waves. And it felt right. For the first time since his heat began, the touch felt right. “Tell them to take down the wards, Potter.”
Harry didn’t even hesitate. He was lost; completely and utterly. He pressed the two keys embedded in the wards that would summon the professors. It only took a moment; Dumbledore hurried in through the door, with Snape and McGonagall close on his heels.
Dumbledore looked between Harry and Malfoy, his expression wary.
“Has he hurt you, Potter?” McGonagall demanded, bristling.
Harry blinked at her. “He’s my Alpha.”
Dumbledore sighed. “Which means he no longer has the faculty to understand the difference between consensual sex and rape.”
The harsh word jolted Harry out of his daze. He met the professor’s bright blue eyes, surprised. “I’m okay, sir. I feel better already, and we haven’t even –” He blushed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "I think he's my mate."
Malfoy threaded their fingers together and squeezed gently. “You are mine, Harry,” he said, calmly. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
“Oh, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his voice achingly sad. “My dear, dear boy. I’m so very sorry."
"Sorry?" Harry echoed, confused. Malfoy stiffened. “Why are you sorry?”
Then he remembered that Dumbledore had tried to convince him not to bond with his true mate, and he almost laughed. There was no way anyone could feel this and refuse their Alpha. The very idea was – ridiculous. Ludicrous.
And the idea of letting anyone else touch him during this heat... that was even more ludicrous.
He wondered what had happened to Dumbledore, that he could believe that it was even possible to want someone other than his true mate. But then, Dumbledore was an Alpha. He would never be able to understand the awful, churning sickness that had filled Harry's stomach every time an Alpha not his own touched him. Letting one of them take him... Even the thought of it made cold sweat break out all over his body, and as he met Snape's eyes, he knew he'd made the right decision.
“It’s good, sir,” he tried to explain. “Ron was right. It’s good. It's right. He’s my Alpha.”
“No,” Dumbledore said. “I'm sorry, Harry, but you know the delicate position we are in. We are on the cusp of war. If you bond with Mr Malfoy, I fear you will not be safe. The wizarding world will not be safe. I cannot allow you to do this.”
Harry panicked. “No. No,” he said. Malfoy tried to hold onto his hand, but it was shaking too badly, terror closing his throat and stinging his eyes. He drew his hand back inside the wards, pressing it to the invisible barrier futilely.
Malfoy snarled and shoved his own hand through the gap, grabbing hold of Harry’s shirt and yanking him up against the wards. Harry trembled helplessly as Malfoy scrabbled under his shirt, splaying his hand possessively over Harry's bare stomach. “He’s mine,” Malfoy said, staring at Dumbledore challengingly, even as his hand began inching downwards, sliding beneath the waistband of Harry’s trousers.
“Yes,” Harry whispered, widening his stance automatically, opening himself up for his Alpha to touch.
“No,” Dumbledore said firmly, and flicked his wand. Malfoy was torn away from him, flying to slam up against the wall near the door, pinned there like a butterfly to the drawing board.
The loss of contact with his mate was like a physical blow. “No!” Harry screamed, and he could hear Malfoy shouting his name in a crazed fury. He shoved his hand through the gap, reaching involuntarily for his mate even as he looked desperately to Dumbledore, pleading for mercy. “Sir, please, he’s mine – he’s my mate – I chose – you told me to choose and I did, I chose him, you can’t take him away from me, you can’t, I’ll die, I’ll die, professor, can’t you see that – please, please don't give me to anyone else –”
He could feel the tears streaming down his face, but Dumbledore was implacable. “I’m truly sorry, my boy,” he said firmly, “but if Mr Malfoy is your mate, and you still want him after the war, there will be time then, for you to consummate your bond. But for now, there are two dozen other nice young men out there who would be more than happy to assist you through this heat –”
“NO!” Harry screamed, and the wards shattered.
Dumbledore and McGonagall were slammed back several paces. Harry’s scent burst out from behind the wards, and their faces paled, nostrils flaring. Hunger dawned in their eyes, so wrong, drowning out reason and sanity and everything else but lust, and Harry reversed directions, suddenly terrified.
But then Snape was in front of him, wand out and trained on them, steady and unrelenting, and they backed up reluctantly.
Malfoy was already moving. Harry watched from the safety of his arms as the door shut and locked behind the three adults. There was a low growling against Harry’s throat. It sent shivers of pleasure down his spine, and he pushed closer, rubbing his tears away on Malfoy’s robes. They smelled like Alpha, like his Alpha, and he moaned quietly. “Please.”
“Yes,” Malfoy said. He ripped Harry’s shirt off, baring his skin to the cool air. His nipples pebbled, and Malfoy bent to take one in his mouth. Harry shouted, trying to twist away and push into it at the same time, the warmth and sucking pressure almost unbearably good. Malfoy slung an arm around his shoulders and held him close with a hand on the small of his back as he kicked Harry’s feet out from under him, guiding him gently to the ground. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said, and bit down savagely around his nipple.
Harry screamed again, thrashing against him, his arse clenching and releasing rhythmically as he struggled to find purchase, friction, anything to soothe the desperate, burning itch. “Please, please, please,” he begged.
“I know what you need,” Malfoy said, and fitted his teeth around Harry’s pulse point. The bite was almost tender, this time, but hard enough to break the skin, and Harry felt himself go limp in his Alpha’s arms. Suddenly all he could think about, all he wanted, was his Alpha's pleasure. To be used as a vessel for his Alpha's needs, his desires. Nothing else mattered.
“Good,” Malfoy praised him. “Such a good boy. Turn over for me, Harry.”
Harry hummed with pleasure at the words, turning obediently. It was more difficult than it should have been, but that was mostly because Malfoy refused to let go of him, pressing kisses and tender bites over every piece of skin he could reach: chest, collarbones, underarms, shoulders.
“You taste so good,” Malfoy moaned, desperate now. He scrabbled at Harry’s trousers, pulling them down to his knees before giving up, plunging three fingers into Harry’s wet, slick hole without any warning or preparation.
Harry gasped, trying to squirm away, trapped by the trousers caught around his knees.
“No, no,” Malfoy said, reaching up and biting down again over Harry’s carotid. Harry relaxed in spite of the pain, feeling Malfoy’s fingers slide in and out, twisting, scissoring, stretching him out. “That’s right, baby. You can take it. You were made for this. See how wet you are; you're practically gushing for me, begging me to fill you.”
And he was right. It felt good – oh Merlin so good – those long, slender fingers touching and probing inside him, wet and hot and relieving some of that tormenting itch. But it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough. “Please,” Harry pleaded. “I need –”
“You need my cock,” Malfoy said. Any other time, any other situation, and that posh pureblood voice would have been oozing smug satisfaction. But it seemed he couldn’t deny nature any more than Harry could; his words were unsteady, almost needy. “You need my knot. Don’t you, Potter? Say it.”
Harry moaned, pushing his arse back onto Malfoy’s fingers. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, please, please –”
Malfoy spread his cheeks, and Harry tried to part his legs, only to curse when he couldn’t move them more than a fraction of an inch. Damned trousers. He whined, squirming.
“Shh,” Malfoy said, fumbling for his wand and casting a spell that banished the rest of their clothing.
Harry sighed and tilted his hips up in relief, but Malfoy bracketed him in with his thighs, lying down on top of him and sliding his cock into Harry like he owned him. Like he belonged there, two puzzle pieces fit perfectly together, and Harry bit down on his fist as he came, eyes shut tightly against the overwhelming pleasure of it. Held down, his Alpha’s body on him, in him, pressing him down, surrounding and filling him utterly.
“Yes,” he said, brokenly. “Yes, please, fuck me –” It was, he was sure, the dirtiest thing that had ever come out of his mouth, but he was far too gone to care. And it made Malfoy hiss and pull his hips back, slamming in again, so deep that Harry cried out, scrabbling at the floor with his fingers.
“That’s it,” Malfoy whispered, the words brushing Harry’s ear as he eased into a couple of gentle thrusts. “That’s it, baby, such a good boy for me –”
“Malfoy, Malfoy –” Harry said, desperately, trying to push back, to force his Alpha into a rhythm.
Malfoy bit his shoulder punishingly. “Draco, I said. You’re mine now. You will obey me.”
“Please,” Harry moaned. “Draco, please –”
Malfoy slammed into him, again and again, fucking him now, hard and desperate. “Come for me,” he gasped, into Harry’s shoulder. “I want you to come again. I want to feel you coming on my cock, without a single touch.”
“I can’t –”
“You will,” Draco said, and it was as if the command had a direct link to Harry’s body, jerking his cock to attention, drawing him tight as a bowstring as he fought off his second orgasm in less than ten minutes. It was going to hurt; there was no way it wouldn’t.
“Oh Merlin, Draco, please, please, I’m begging you –”
“You’re going to come,” Draco said, panting.
And he did.