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Chapter Text

Hermione dragged her fingers through her curls, frustrated. She hadn’t been sleeping well. She had hoped she could find refuge in the library. It was nearly empty.

Candles floated in gentle pools, golden light flickering over her parchment and the worn wood of the table. Rain pattered against the stained-glass windows, and the hour was late enough that even Madam Pince had retreated to her back room, leaving the reading hall in a hush.

Hermione hunched over a tome on pre-Merlinian magical law, her quill twitching between her fingers. She didn’t notice the footsteps until Abraxas Malfoy dropped his bag on the desk, startling her.

He hadn’t meant to scare her. He hadn’t even meant to approach her, he’d only come for a book, but something stopped him. The moment he stepped into the Charms section, the scent hit him like a slow, curling fog, soft, newly bloomed, threaded with desire and want.

Omega.

His jaw clenched. He’d never thought anything like this would ever happen to him. An Omega presenting. Rarely happens anymore, but this scent confirmed it. It was sharp, old books, ink, storm wind, and something faintly floral that made his jaw itch.

It was her.

Granger.

The annoying little Gryffindor.

Hermione looked up instinctively, eyes flashing brown and sharp, narrowed in habitual mistrust.

“I didn’t take the last copy of Charms of the Continental Courts, if that’s what you’re here for,” she said, her eyes already rolling.

He didn’t answer. Instead his eyes dragged over her slowly, but not with his usual annoyance. There was something colder in it… assessment? His grey eyes fixed on her, calm but focused, as if analyzing her entire existence.

He sat down in the seat next to her and looked like he was ready to devour her.

“Can I help you?” She asked, her brows arched in annoyance and confusion.

His eyes still not leaving hers, “You’re different,” he said finally.

Hermione’s spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Your scent.”

She blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her words firm.

“No?” he asked quietly, leaning a little closer to her. “Interesting.”

Hermione leaned away from him too fast, nearly tipping her chair back.

“You’re a pureblood, yes?” He asked, still leaning impossibly close to her.

She narrowed her eyes, staring him down. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, I’m not part of it.”

“No game, merely curious. Are you always so defensive, Granger?”

She thought for a moment, if this wasn’t a game. Then why was Malfoy suddenly interested in her ancestry?

Deciding to humor him she answered, “Yes, I am. And as you know my father is distantly related to Hector Dagworth Granger and my mother was a Mongomery… Perhaps not a big deal here but in America, her name holds weight. Why are you asking Malfoy?”

“Then why do you live in Muggle London?” He asked, ignoring her question.

“I’m sure you know of the potions accident in 1980 that took my parents’ lives. I live with my aunt, but she’s a squib, so I live in Muggle London,” she answered defensively.

What the hell was he getting at? Was he trying to hurt her by bringing up her parents?

“Hmm,” He hummed quietly as if to himself.

Then his eyes find hers again as he takes a deep breath. “I’m going to take you, Granger. I’m going to bend you over and fuck you while you beg me to bite you. Claiming you, so everyone will know you’re mine,” His grey eyes darkened.

What. The. Fuck.

“I beg your pardon?!” Eyes wide at his confession.

He smirks, “You’ll be my wife Hermione.” He says checking his fingernails as he continues. “Lady Malfoy, has a nice ring to it huh?”

Before waiting for Hermione’s reply, he quietly collects his bag and walks away leaving her sitting there, hands trembling against the edge of the table, flushed, breathless, and completely in shock.

The storm outside cracked louder now but it was nothing compared to what had just shifted inside her. His words weren’t flirtatious, no, he said them as if they were a fact. And somehow, that was worse.

………………………………………………………………

The firelight in the Slytherin common room flickered low, casting small shadows across the marble and dark green velvet. Abraxas Malfoy lounged on the high-backed leather chair nearest to the fire, long legs stretched out, a crystal glass of something expensive balanced in his hand. Around him were the usual circle of Slytherin elites; Rosier, Nott, and Travers gathered. They spoke in low tones, but there was an undercurrent of amusement in the air, thick with entitlement and idle cruelty.

“I’m telling you,” Abraxas drawled, swirling the drink in his hand, “she doesn’t even know.”

“Doesn’t know what?” Rosier asked, leaning forward.

Abraxas smiled lazily. “That she’s an Omega.”

The group stilled.

“You’re serious?” Travers sat forward.

“Hermione Granger?”

“Mmm.” He took a sip. “Presented just now. Subtle, but I caught it instantly. Poor thing doesn’t have the faintest idea what she is yet.”

Nott gave a low whistle. “An Omega? They- they,” trying to find the words. “Bloody hell, there’s only one or two a century! Merlin, you lucky bastard.”

“I read once that knotting in an Omega is the closest you’ll feel to achieving Nirvana.”

“But it’s Granger.” Nott muttered.

“Yup, she has that stuck-up Gryffindor look,” Travers added, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth. “But I bet she’s tight, all untouched and trembling.”

The group snickered, low and lecherous.

“Salazar, to be able to shut her swotty mouth up. Just imagine what it’d look like with your cock rammed down her throat-”

“And she’ll be begging for it!”

“Enough,” Malfoy snapped, his voice cutting the air.

The others went still.

The silence was cut short as Rosier opened his mouth to speak, “But what if she chooses someone else? I mean, I heard Oliver Wood presented earlier this year and he’s a popular bloke amongst the Gryffindor ladies.”

“She’s mine,” Abraxas said simply. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”

A beat passed.

“Why didn’t you just bite and claim her now mate?” Nott asked.

“She’s presented but not fully, I couldn’t even sense her glands yet. But once she does, I’ll know and I’ll be there to bite her first.”

Then Rosier, again, ever too curious for his own good, raised a brow. “And what about Riddle?”

The others glanced around, as if the name itself might carry consequence.

Abraxas blinked once, slowly. “What about him?”

“Well,” Rosier said carefully, “he’s had his eyes on Granger for years. You know that.”

“He’s never spoken to her,” Nott muttered. “Never even looked at her directly. Strange, isn’t it?”

“It’s Tom,” Travers shrugged. “Strange is his currency.”

Abraxas chuckled. “Let him look. He’s not an Alpha. Won’t even present I reckon. Doesn’t matter how many dark little secrets he writes in his journal, he’s powerless in this.”

“So, you’re not worried?” Rosier asked.

“Worried?” Abraxas scoffed, tipping his glass back. “Riddle might be clever, but Hermione’s biology will answer to me, not some unpresented orphan who…”

The common room door swung open with a soft, deliberate hiss. Tom Riddle stepped inside.

The conversation dropped like a body.

He looked immaculate, as always, his dark robes precise, posture regal, eyes too still. The firelight didn’t quite reach him, and yet somehow, he seemed lit from within. Cold and careful.

Abraxas’s jaw tightened minutely.

Riddle glanced around the room once.

“I heard someone say Granger presented,” Travers blurted, earning a stern gaze from Malfoy.

Rosier shifted in his seat, suddenly unsure whether to grin or shrink.

Riddle didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

“Hmm,” was Riddle’s only reply before turning and leaving towards his dorm.

The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable.

It was a warning.

Chapter Text

The same lines kept playing in her head like a broken record, spinning again and again until she wanted to scream.

“I’m going to take you, Granger.”

“Bend you over and fuck you.” 

“Everyone will know you’re mine.”

Hermione stared at the ceiling, the canopy of her four-poster bed felt like it was closing in, suffocating her. Her books were all closed, her homework untouched, her quill sat idle beside her parchment. For once, even History of Magic had failed to quiet her mind.

Abraxas Malfoy had never spoken more than three words to her in six years. Usually, those words were something like “Move,” a muttered “Blood-Traitor,” or “Disgusting, aren’t they?” when she was reading a muggle newspaper her aunt sent her. And now, he was trying to claim her?

It made no sense.

There had been no buildup, no interaction, no flirtation, not even a passing smile that hinted at awareness. Just that moment in the library, with him leaning far too close, his voice full of obscene certainty. Like he knew something she didn’t and he’d already decided something for her.

She bit her lip hard, tension crackling beneath her skin. The worst part was, he hadn’t even seemed like he was joking.

“I’m going to take you, Granger.”

She shook her head, urging the memory to leave her brain.

“Bend you over and fuck you.” 

STOP! She begged herself.

“Everyone will know you’re mine.”

That’s it, Hermione sat up in bed, yanked her blanket off, and paced the room barefoot. Lavender and Parvati were already asleep. Good.

Maybe this was some kind of Slytherin prank. A dare. A game. Or worse. Some kind of social experiment. The bookish Gryffindor, perfect target. See how far she'll bend before she breaks."

Hermione’s stomach turned.

She didn’t have the luxury of anger or revenge. Not with Malfoy, his family was too powerful, even at school. And she knew better than to think justice would protect her from the wrath of old money and old blood.

No. What she needed was control.

She would observe, monitor, watch, and figure out what game Abraxas Malfoy was playing before he took another step closer to her.

Later that morning, she found Harry leaving the common room to attend charms class and pulled him aside.

“I need to ask you something, but it’s a bit… odd”

Harry watched her, with curiosity. “Go on.”

“If a Slytherin…say, someone who’s never really spoken to me before, suddenly starts acting…” She searched for the word. “Weirdly towards me. What do you think they’re up to?”

Harry frowned, already on high alert. “Weirdly? What do you mean?”

“Like, uhm,” she scratched her head, embarrassed on how to tell her best friend that a Slytherin bully had vouched to bend her over and fuck her, “like… like just, suddenly all of his attention is on me.

 “Who is it?” Harry asked, still trying to understand Hermione’s insinuation.

“Malfoy,” she replied cautiously. “But he just might be trying to get a rise out of me.”

Harry nodded, jaw tightening. “I’ll keep an eye out. If he so much as breathes near you, I’ll hex him.”

Hermione gave him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. I just want to know what he’s up to.”

“What did he say to you?”

Inside, a knot was forming in her gut. How was she supposed to tell him… that ?

“It doesn’t matter. Thanks, Harry.” She said, forcing another smile. 

“Come on ‘mione. Let’s go to class.”

The room buzzed faintly with the restless energy of the sixth years preparing for charms. Wands twitched, desks scraped, students murmured in low tones.

Tom Riddle sat near the back, posture perfect, quill in his hand, but he wasn’t watching the professor.

He was watching her.

Hermione Granger sat two rows ahead, brow furrowed in that way it always was when she was concentrating, lip tucked slightly between her teeth, fingers tapping lightly against her wand. She looked no different than usual, but something was different.

Something he couldn’t name.

He'd been watching her for years, silently, carefully, like a puzzle that refused to be solved. She was brilliant, dangerously so. More disciplined than most purebloods he’d met, yet raised as a Muggle. 

An enigma.

And now...

Now the air around her felt warped. Warmer. Like her magic was singing under her skin, calling something that hadn’t been there before.

He narrowed his eyes.

Across the room, Abraxas Malfoy lounged too comfortably in his seat, gaze flicking toward Hermione with calculated ease.

Tom’s fingers tightened around his quill.

There was something in Malfoy’s posture that irked him. He was comfortable, too comfortable, like he was entitled to her.

He didn’t like that.

Hermione shifted in her seat, tugging at the collar of her blouse as if the fabric irritated her. Her cheeks were flushed. Her breathing, just slightly too shallow.

No one else seemed to notice.

But Tom did.

Because he always did.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her like one might study a language they'd always known but suddenly heard spoken as if for the first time.

Why did it feel like every nerve in his body had started listening to her?

“Hey Harry, Hermione,” Her friend greeted, nodding her head as she spoke. She sat down a few desks away.

His jaw tightened at her name.

Hermione.

Her name lingered in his mind like a drug. There was always something different about her. Not just her brilliance or the sheer power that radiated from her, no, that may have got his attention, but it’s her cruelty and lust for punishment that piqued his interest, because beneath all that Gryffindor pride and bravery. She was just like him and he craved it.

He had plans for her. Plans that weren’t supposed to come to fruition until after they graduated, but with her sudden presentation and Abraxas trying to lay claim he’d have move those plans up. 

All she needs is his guidance.

And he would give it to her.

Tom leaned back in his chair, his hands in his lap and stared at the swirling ink in his inkwell.

The truth is simple. He didn’t need to present to be the dominant Alpha. He was already beyond that.

He was evolution perfected.

The hierarchy of the world was not written in scents or biology. It was carved through will, magic, and power.

And Hermione, brilliant, lovely, defiant little witch that she was, would see that, would accept it.

No.

Would choose it.

Tom’s lips curled, slow and cold.

There was much to do.

And very little time to wait.

……………………………………………………………

Hermione didn’t like this.

Something was wrong.

It wasn’t the class. She'd always liked Defense, especially under Professor Snape, who taught with a calm, clinical precision that appealed to her logical mind.

No, it was the way people were looking at her.

It had started subtly. A few days ago. First in the corridor, older boys giving her second glances, even the Ravenclaws, who normally barely noticed her unless she corrected them. Then a seventh-year Hufflepuff tripped over himself outside Charms and offered to carry her books, stammering like he had a crush.

But now?

Now it was everyone.

She caught the look again, a long stare from a Slytherin boy two desks over. When she met his eyes, he didn't look away.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Even her magic felt strange lately. Restless and coiled under her skin like it wanted something, but she didn't know what. Her breath came too quickly sometimes. Her heart beat too hard at the smallest thing.

She chalked it up to stress and anyway, maybe it’s the flu. She should go see Madam Pomfrey after classes.

But still, it didn’t explain why Abraxas Malfoy was suddenly standing beside her desk.

“Granger,” he said smoothly. “Partner up?”

She blanked. “What?”

“For today’s duel.”

She frowned, startled more by the civility than the offer itself. “You never partner with anyone other than your Slytherin friends.”

His mouth curved slightly. “Making an exception.”

She opened her mouth to decline but before she could speak, Harry dropped into the seat beside her, looking faintly out of breath.

“She’s with me,” he said quickly.

Abraxas's expression chilled just slightly.

“She asked me earlier,” Harry added, shrugging casually but watching Abraxas with narrowed eyes.

The two boys stared at each other for a heartbeat too long.

Finally, Abraxas gave a small, sharp smile. “Good luck with the match Granger,” he said, as he turned and walked off.

Hermione faced Harry, “Thank you!” She said, relieved.

“You alright?” He asked, grabbing her arm lightly and pulling her into step with him as they walked to the crowd surrounding the dueling platform.

“Yes. Everyone is just acting so weird and I don’t understand why. I mean, not just Abraxas, although I keep running into him outside of class. I think he might be following me Harry, I feel like I’m being watched all the time.” She confessed, her eyes meeting Abraxas and seeing he was already staring at her.

What is his problem?

The echo of spells crackling through the class gathered her attention back to the lesson. The first pairs of students took their turn dueling on the raised platform. 

Professor Snape watched from the shadows, arms crossed, black eyes glinting with disdain at every misstep.

Hermione stood beside Harry, her wand in her hand, ready for their names to be called. Her skin felt clammy. She didn’t know why her hands trembled, just that something inside her felt wrong, and hot.

“Next pair, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter” Snape called, voice dry.

Hermione stepped forward with Harry and walked to the opposite sides of the platform.

But before either could raise a wand, the heavy doors to the classroom opened with a sharp click.

Professor McGonagall stepped inside, her expression tight.

“Miss Granger,” she said, voice clipped but not unkind, “you’re to come with me. Now.”

Hermione frowned. “But-”

Snape spoke without looking up. “Go, Miss Granger. Potter, stand down.”

Harry cast her a worried glance, but stepped back.

The whispers already started as Hermione followed McGonagall in silence through the corridors. Her footsteps echoed more loudly than they should have. The deeper they descended toward the hospital wing, the tighter her chest became.

“Professor,” she finally asked, “am I in trouble?”

McGonagall didn’t answer right away.

“No,” she said after a beat. “But we believe you’ve recently… come into a new phase of life. It’s best we confirm.”

Hermione’s brows knit. “New phase of life? What do you-?”

They entered the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey stood waiting, her expression oddly grave.

McGonagall gently rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not sick, Hermione. But you may be something extremely rare. And it needs to be verified, quickly, before it manifests in a more… volatile way.”

Hermione’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

Pomfrey motioned her toward a curtained bed. “Please sit, dear. This won’t take long.”

Uneasy, Hermione obeyed.

Pomfrey pulled a box from a drawer. In it were several small vials, each stoppered tightly and marked with barely legible writing, they looked ancient. She set them on the silver next to her.

“We’re going to do a scent trial,” she explained gently. “It’ll help identify what your body is distributing… even if your mind hasn’t caught up yet.”

“I don’t- my scent?”

“Yes, dear,” Pomfrey said, voice low. “Your scent glands are located on the crook of your neck and your wrists. May I?”

Hermione sat frozen, but eventually nodded, still unsure of what she was agreeing to.

Pomfrey worked gently, brushing her hair aside, gently touching her neck.

Hermione grimaced as Madam Pomfrey continued to press along her neck and wrist, now feeling sore.

“Hmm.”

Then the Medi-witch uncorked the first vial and held it near Hermione’s face.

Hermione flinched.

It smelled... overwhelming. Sharp and wrong, like something meant for someone else.

She gagged.

Pomfrey nodded.

She opened the second vial.

This time, Hermione inhaled and her entire body tensed.

Heat flared through her chest and sank low in her belly. Her pupils dilated, and her breath caught. The scent was thick, heady, impossible to describe…dark? Warm? Addictive?

Her hands trembled.

Pomfrey capped the vial quickly and exchanged a look with McGonagall.

“That confirms it,” she said softly. “Hermione, you’ve presented as an Omega.”

Hermione stared at her.

“What?” she whispered.

McGonagall moved closer, softer now. “Oh dear, this will change things. You need to be monitored. Protected, we’ll go over the protocols.”

“No. I-” Hermione shook her head. “No. No, this doesn’t make sense. This isn’t right. It can’t be.”

Pomfrey’s voice was kind, but firm. “It is, dear. It is you. Your body simply waited longer than what is considered usual. But there’s no mistake.”

Hermione sat in stunned silence, feeling as though her world had turned sideways.

She sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The tray of scent vials had been removed. Madam Pomfrey had offered tea, but Hermione hadn’t touched it.

Professor McGonagall sat in the chair beside her, unusually quiet.

“I know this is… a shock,” the older witch began, carefully.

Hermione’s voice was flat. “I’m not some... docile creature. I’m not going to roll over because of an apparent gland in my neck.”

“No,” McGonagall agreed gently. “You are still yourself. You always will be. But this… this is part of who you are now, Miss Granger. And there are things you’ll need to understand about how the world will respond to you.”

Hermione’s fists clenched.

McGonagall hesitated, then continued. “Omegas are rare. Extremely rare. You’re the first this century at Hogwarts. That alone will cause ripples.”

“I didn’t ask to cause ripples.”

“No one asks for their designation dear.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, her throat was tight.

McGonagall folded her hands in her lap. “There are instinctual responses. From others, from Alphas, specifically. You may already have noticed shifts in behavior.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed. “Yes, boys I’ve never spoken to are suddenly acting like they’re entitled to me…”

“That will escalate,” McGonagall said frankly. “Some may not even realize why they’re drawn to you. Some will. You’ll need to be vigilant.”

Hermione stared at the wall. “So I’m a walking target now?”

“No. You’re a witch with more talent and brilliance than I’ve seen in decades,” McGonagall said, and her voice shook slightly. “But you are now a rare kind of witch and that makes you... vulnerable.”

Hermione’s mouth curled bitterly. “You mean valuable.”

McGonagall didn’t deny it.

Hermione stood up, pacing to the window. “So what? I’m just supposed to let some Alpha have me and be grateful?”

“You don’t have to choose anyone,” McGonagall said carefully. “But the truth is, unbonded Omegas attract... attention. Obsession, sometimes. Especially from powerful Alphas, and more so from the ones who don’t follow rules.”

Hermione’s voice cracked. “I had plans. I was going to work in magical law. Fight for creature rights. Change things. Now what? I get stalked in corridors and auctioned off?”

McGonagall stood, moving to her side. “You still have choices Miss Granger, but the world won’t see you the same way anymore, and I am sorry for that. Truly.”

Hermione’s breath hitched. “I didn’t want this.”

“I know.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, swallowing the burning ache in her throat. 

“Well, this certainly explains Malfoy.” She muttered.

McGonagall hesitated. “Has he been bothering you?”

Hermione scoffed bitterly. “That’s one word for it.”

“We’ll arrange for escorts then.”

“I can handle Malfoy.”

There was a pause.

Then Hermione said, more to herself than anyone, “This is going to ruin everything, isn’t it?”

McGonagall didn’t answer.

Because they both knew the truth.

……………………………………………………

She’d left her bag.

Of course.

So preoccupied with following McGonagall.

Class had just gotten out as she was dismissed. She didn’t want anyone to catch her, least of all Malfoy, who’d been eyeing her like a wolf all class.

She rushed up the stairs and rounded the corner, nearly running straight into Riddle.

He held her satchel loosely in one hand, his dark eyes unreadable. “You forgot this.”

Hermione froze, while her heart did something unhelpful.

She took the bag quickly, avoiding contact. “Thanks,” she muttered, already trying to turn around.

His hand came out, light but firm, touching her arm to stop her. She stilled.

“I know what you are.”

Her eyes narrowed. “And?”

“You need to stay away from them,” he said quietly. “Especially Malfoy.”

Hermione let out a dry laugh. “Do you think I don’t know what he’s trying to do?”

“It doesn’t matter if you know,” Tom said. “Eventually, it won’t make a difference.”

Her brows drew together. “I’m not going to let anyone control me.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “You don’t understand how this works.”

“Then enlighten me.”

A flicker of something moved in his expression, approval? Amusement? He stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough that it felt like the truth being whispered.

“Omegas are drawn to Alphas and not always willingly. Your body will respond before your mind has a chance to say no.”

Hermione's jaw tightened. “That’s not consent.”

“No,” he agreed. “But it doesn't matter. Instincts, and scent triggers can betray you.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “I can fight instinct.”

“You can try,” Tom said mildly. “But when your scent eventually calls to every Alpha in the castle, you’ll need one of them just to breathe. And they’ll come to claim you, whether you like it or not.”

She swallowed hard. “Is that a threat?”

His head tilted slightly. “A fact.”

Hermione’s voice was ice. “So what? I’m supposed to be grateful when someone ‘claims’ me? Fall to my knees like a good little Omega?”

“No,” Tom said, stepping even closer. “But if Malfoy uses his voice on you, if he gets close enough, and you’re unbonded and unprotected, you will submit. You won’t want to, but you’ll obey.”

Her throat tightened. “And I suppose you think you’d do better?”

He smiled faintly. “I haven’t presented.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re harmless.”

“No,” he said, and this time there was definite amusement in his voice. “But at least I’m honest.”

Hermione held his gaze. Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag.

“Stay away from Malfoy,” Tom said again, more quietly this time. “And don’t be so quick to dismiss what you’re feeling. Biology doesn’t care about your books, Granger.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Then I guess I’ll rewrite the rules.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

He let her go.

But the corner of his mouth curled, just slightly, as she disappeared into the corridor.

Chapter Text

It was everywhere.

The watching. 

The posturing. 

The change.

Hermione could feel it when she walked into class, the slight hush, the way conversations paused as she passed. The faintest tilt of heads, flare of nostrils, sharpened gazes.

She wasn’t paranoid.

They were noticing.

And it was getting worse.

Abraxas Malfoy had taken to walking unnervingly close to her between classes, as if he might reach out and touch her at any moment. He never said much, not when others were around. Just smiled in that lazy, superior way, like he was waiting for her to come to her senses.

She never will.

Ernie Macmillan, meanwhile, had taken to appearing at breakfast, after class, outside the library. He tried to act casual, polite. But Hermione knew desperation when she saw it.

It was the others that unsettled her more.

One of the older Slytherin boys, Montague, had approached her outside the greenhouse once. Nervous, oddly respectful. Asked about the Arithmancy assignment. She’d barely begun to answer before Abraxas had stepped out of the shadows like a snake, and murmured something too soft to hear.

Montague never came near her again. And Hermione hadn’t missed the way Abraxas smiled afterward.

Even Oliver Wood had started showing up more than usual. He wasn’t in many of her classes, but when he was, he’d find a way to sit close to her. He didn’t speak much, just watched her with something new in his eyes. Like he was measuring possibilities.

She hated it.

She hated all of it.

She’d worked for years to be respected for her mind, only for these boys to paw at her. It made her skin crawl.

………………………………………………………

Hermione sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, in-between Harry and Ginny. There was a book propped open beside her plate, Advanced Arithmantic Theory. It was a good book, dense, and a way to distract her.

But for once, she wasn't reading.

Her eyes flicked up as she caught it again… that look.

"It was coming from a sixth year Ravenclaw, Anthony Goldstein, at the next table, someone she shared a few classes with."He was handsome enough, even as he grinned at her. It wasn't malicious, but it certainly wasn’t academic curiosity either. When she didn’t return it, he looked away with an awkward cough, but not before sending her a wink.

That made the third today.

First, MacMillian had appeared out of nowhere in the corridor to offer her help carrying books. Then, some seventh year Hufflepuff she did not know the name of had stopped her outside Ancient Runes to compliment her robes of all things. Now this.

It wasn’t just polite conversation anymore. It was… attention, from Alphas.

She shifted in her seat, suddenly hyper-aware of herself. She wasn’t used to being watched, not like this. Noticed for something that had nothing to do with her marks or House points.

She hated it.

Across the hall, she felt a second pair of eyes on her.

She looked and her stomach sank.

Abraxas Malfoy was watching her like a hawk. Seated with the Slytherins, flanked by his usual companions, he wasn’t speaking or eating. He was staring, the muscles in his jaw ticking, one hand clenched around the stem of his goblet.

There was something possessive in his expression when his eyes met hers.

Hermione looked away first.

Malfoy had never so much as spoken to her before the library incident, and now he acted as if her name had always belonged in his mouth.

She turned her attention back to her book, trying to anchor herself, but her thoughts refused to settle. A dozen questions tangled behind her eyes.

Why now?

Why her?

She knew her presentation would change things, but it shouldn’t have changed everything.

Silverware clanged harshly, bringing everyone’s attention to the Ravenclaw table. Hermione stiffened immediately at the sound of Ernie Macmillan’s voice, loud and sharp.

“I told you to back off, Goldstein! She doesn’t need your attention. She’s already spoken with me!”

Anthony Goldstein stood, arms crossed, chin raised defiantly. “Spoken with you? That wasn’t a conversation, Ernie.”

“She talked to me after Herbology-”

“She said ‘excuse me,’ mate.”

Hermione flinched as Ernie’s hand slammed on the table.

Heads turned. Spoons paused midair. Even a few Slytherins set down their goblets.

“She deserves an Alpha with background, with family behind him!” Ernie spat.

Anthony narrowed his eyes. “She deserves someone who sees her as something other than a token!”

A few first-years gasped.

At the staff table, Professor McGonagall had risen. “Boys!”

But it was too late.

Ernie shoved the Ravenclaw hard. “You think she’d ever choose you? You’re nothing. A second-rate line!”

Anthony caught his balance and retaliated, knocking Ernie back against the Hufflepuff table. Food clattered. A pumpkin juice pitcher overturned.

The hall erupted in chaos.

Hermione stood quickly, eyes wide, mouth dry. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Do we do something?” Ginny asked, half-rising.

Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout rushed forward to separate the two.

But they had already retrieved their wands and started casting. Missing each other completely and instead hitting the pitchers, food, and even other students. Both boys red-faced and snarling, Alpha hormones were heavy in the air. Even students far from the fight flinched at the tension.

Snape swept down the steps with his wand drawn. “Enough!” he barked, voice cold and commanding. He casted immobolus on the two and they abruptly stopped, now  swerving in a daze.

Dumbledore rose at last, quiet but powerful. “To my office. Now. Both of you.”

Ernie and Anthony, both breathing hard, were levitated by their collars by Professors Flitwick and Snape and escorted out under the burning scrutiny of the entire Hall.

And then, silence.

Hermione stood there in the middle of it all, eyes on her plate, cheeks burning. Every gaze was on her. She could feel the realization rippling like wildfire through the student body.

Ginny touched her hand. “Hermione…”

“I didn’t want it to turn out like this,” Hermione said quietly, her voice a small tremble.

Harry looked at her carefully. “You mean…?”

“I’m an Omega,” she said simply.

Gasps. Whispers. Someone down the table cursed under their breath. Across the room, several students sat bolt upright, as if trying to see the rare Omega on display.

“I wanted to keep it private. But apparently… that choice isn’t mine anymore.”

The whispers were spreading like wildfire now. Like a fuse lit from both ends.

Hermione stood still, her breathing even, her posture straight, though inside, her stomach churned.

“That’s quite enough.”

Professor McGonagall’s voice, crisp and bitter as cracked ice, rang out over the hall. All heads turned toward her.

She strode forward from the staff table with a look that could turn dragons to stone.

“I trust you’ve all had your fun gawking,” she said tartly. “But let me be abundantly clear. This is not a spectacle. Miss Granger’s circumstances are no one’s business but her own.”

The four tables shifted uncomfortably, a few students casting guilty glances at Hermione.

“I expect you all to behave with decorum and dignity. If I hear a single whisper, if I see even one smirk in the corridors. You will answer to me.”

Silence. Complete and reverent.

With a brisk wave of her hand, “Now. The show is over. Everyone, return to your dinner.”

The clatter of spoons and shifting benches resumed slowly, awkwardly, like someone restarting a broken clock.

The tension in the Great Hall slowly dissipated, conversation resuming in quiet waves, but she felt none of it. Her mind was elsewhere, eyes drawn, as if by magnetic pull, to the Slytherin table.

“Bloody hell,” Seamus whispered from down the table, “Abraxas looks like he wants to kill someone.”

She turned her head slowly, subtly. Just enough.

Abraxas Malfoy was staring at her.

No smirk. No sneer. Just a flat, unreadable expression, his pale hair immaculate, his jaw clenched tightly. He didn't even bother hiding it, the possession in his stare, the silent fury at what had just transpired. At the scene that had unfolded without his involvement. As if the fight should have been his.

His friends flanked him, whispering furtively, throwing him side glances. But Abraxas kept his gaze on her, and she felt it burn against her skin like a brand.

Desperate to break the eye contact, Hermione's eyes darted away, only to land on Tom.

She wasn’t sure when he had turned to look at her, only that he already was.

His posture was casual, arms folded loosely, one brow arched slightly, lips tilted at the corners in a faint suggestion of amusement. But his eyes…

They were sharp.

Like he was cataloguing everything, storing it away. A glint of satisfaction flickered through his gaze, but it was too subtle to name.

And it was worse than Abraxas’s fury.

Because Tom wasn’t an Alpha and yet he looked like he had just won. Which meants, he was up to something.

Their eyes met and Hermione felt something shift in her chest, a flutter that had no place there. Her breath caught.

He nodded once at her.

Not a greeting.

A promise.

Hermione turned away quickly, her heart thudding too loud in her chest.

Harry nudged her elbow.

“C’mon, ‘mione,” he said softly. “Sit down.”

She did, robotically, eyes blank and cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Ginny reached for her hand under the table.

“We’ve got your back,” Ginny murmured.

“I thought… maybe you were. But it’s so rare -I figured I was wrong.”

“You weren’t,” she said, tightly.

Harry’s face crumpled in guilt. “I’m sorry. I should’ve - Ginny’s right, we’ve got your back, always.”

“Honestly, it’s kind of great, right? You get to just... relax now. Everyone takes care of you.” Ron piped in, giving her a crooked grin.

Hermione stared at him.

“What?” he asked, confused. “I mean, you don’t have to worry about exams or Ministry internships or anything. You’ll get married off to someone rich and never work again.”

Harry winced.

Hermione laughed once, bitterly.

“Right,” she snapped. “Because that’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be owned like a prize hippocampus while everyone else gets to make laws and change the world.”

Ron frowned. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m done.”

She stood, grabbed her bag, and stormed out of the hall, the doors slamming behind her.

She didn’t get far.

“Granger.”

She turned to see Tom Riddle walking towards her, hands in his pockets, watching her with unreadable calm.

Of course.

“Here to tell me how I should be grateful too?” she asked, voice brittle.

“No.” His tone was cool, measured. “I thought you might want honesty.”

She folded her arms. “That's new.”

“I heard what Weasley said.”

Hermione’s jaw tightened.

Tom took a slow step forward, voice softer now. “They don’t understand. You’re brilliant, ambitious, powerful. You were always meant for more than this.”

Her throat went tight. “You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.” He tilted his head. “You had a future planned. A path. And now everyone expects you to just... roll over. Change everything.”

She swallowed hard. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” he agreed, eyes dark and steady. “It’s not.”

A beat of silence passed.

She searched his face. “Why are you following me?”

He smiled, small and unsettling. “Because you intrigue me.”

Hermione blinked at his honesty.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” he added. “You’re the only one here who thinks past what’s expected. The only one who challenges anything.”

What did he mean by that? He’s been watching her? For a long time?

She should’ve been unnerved.

And she was.

But it also felt... like someone finally saw her.

No, this is a trick. It has to be.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, chin lifting in that defiant, know-it-all way that had sent more than one professor retreating.

“You say you’ve been watching me,” she said coldly, “but I know how to observe, too. You’re always lurking in the shadows. Always watching, never talking. People say things about you, Riddle. That you don’t feel anything. That you manipulate, scheme, pull strings for your own amusement. Why should I trust you?”

Tom’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened.

“Mm,” he mused. “Interesting. And what, exactly, makes me untrustworthy?”

She didn’t have an answer. At least none she could prove.

He took a measured step closer.

“I know a few things about you, too, Granger.” he said, voice velvet and dark.

Her brows twitched, just slightly.

“You blackmailed Rita Skeeter,” Tom said, soft as a spell. “Kept her in a jar for months like a bug in a child's collection.”

Hermione stiffened.

“You scarred Marietta Edgecombe,” he continued, watching her face. “A girl who made the mistake of trusting her authority figures, and you marked her for life.”

“That was a protective charm,” she said stiffly.

“Sure it was.” His smile was cold. “And Myrtle? Sweet, insufferable Myrtle? You convinced her to haunt Hornby just to exact petty revenge.”

Hermione’s breath caught.

“Tell me, Granger,” he said, almost kindly. “What have I done that’s so untrustworthy?”

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

The silence stretched like a blade between them.

He leaned in, voice low. “You play the role of the noble witch so well, but you’re just as ruthless as anyone. Maybe more.”

She flushed. “You’re twisting things.”

“No, I’m not,” he said calmly. “You're not innocent. You're just better at hiding your teeth.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re an arse.”

Tom’s smirk widened, “And you’re a hypocrite.”

They stood there, the air thick with something not quite anger, not quite attraction. Just pressure, like the brunt of a storm.

Then Hermione turned away with a huff, storming up the stairs.

………………………………………………………

Tom watched her go, hands still in his pockets, expression unreadable.

He hadn’t planned to say all that.

But Merlin help him, he enjoyed the way her mask cracked.

Chapter Text

The fire crackled low, casting lazy shadows across the cold stone walls of the Slytherin common room. Most of the house had gone to bed or were off preening over weekend plans.

Tom Riddle sat in the high-backed chair nearest the fire, a book open in his lap. He wasn’t reading. His attention was fixed elsewhere.

His competition, an absurd parade of testosterone.

Abraxas had declared himself early, naturally. Smug and predictable from the moment he’d caught her scent. Now he circled her with the air of ownership, convinced that Hermione Granger already belonged to him by bloodline and Malfoy name.

The others lacked even that level of subtlety.

Macmillan trailed behind her like a kicked dog. Goldstein had started grooming obsessively. Even Oliver Wood, awkward jock turned hopeful suitor, hovered in her orbit, stealing glances and space like a moth with no sense of direction.

Tom observed it all with detached amusement.

Idiots.

They caught the scent of her designation and mistook it for invitation.

Of all people, Riddle understood the power of instinct. He also knew how to master it and that was the difference and the danger.

His gaze shifted from the fire to the polished mirror on the far wall, where dusky amber reflected back the quiet tension of the room.

Hermione Granger.

That was the fascination, not her scent, but the resistance. She was shifting, and she was fighting it.

Riddle admired strength, and she possessed it in spades. Intelligence, too. Control, at least until recently. But the cracks were beginning to show.

He’d seen it in her eyes.

“You’re not innocent. You’re just better at hiding your teeth.”

She hadn’t denied it. Hadn’t even flinched.

Instead, she'd looked at him like no one ever had before, like someone who realized she’d finally been seen. And maybe she had.

The others wanted her because she was rare. Tom wanted her because she was sharp.

Because beneath all that moral armor lived the girl who once kept a journalist in a jar. Who’d cursed a classmate without hesitation. And who outmaneuvered the Ministry by thirteen.

No doubt lingered in his mind. Hermione would make a formidable Omega, once she stopped pretending nature could be outwitted.

He smiled faintly.

Let the others posture. Let Abraxas Malfoy play the part of the inevitable victor.

Tom would wait.

Wait for the moment she realized the only one in this castle who truly understood what she was, was him.

…………………………………………………………

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed in the dim candlelight, curtains drawn tight behind her. From across the room came the soft, even breathing of Lavender and Parvati, already deep in sleep.

But her sleep wouldn’t come. Not after that.

Riddle’s voice still echoed in her mind.

“You’re not innocent. You’re just better at hiding your teeth.”

Fingers curled into her palms, nails biting into skin.

He wasn’t wrong.

She had blackmailed Rita. Cursed Marietta. Urged Myrtle toward vengeance against Hornby, even after the Ministry tried to imprison the ghost to Hogwarts. And every time, she’d wrapped her actions in justification. Told herself it was for the greater good.

But hearing it from him, so calm, so certain, like he saw something no one else had. It left her feeling unraveled.

Hermione Granger, righteous Gryffindor, rule follower, prefect, top of every class, and yet…

She wasn’t sorry for it.

She was sorry someone had noticed.

Especially him.

Why had it stung so deeply? Why had those words wrapped around her like truth, rather than sliding off the way Slytherin arrogance usually did?

She drew her knees to her chest, pressed her forehead against them.

What terrified her more than being called out… was the realization that he’d understood her.

No judgment or hesitation.

Riddle had looked into her ugliest corners and smiled.

“You’re just as ruthless as anyone. Maybe more.”

Her stomach twisted.

Because there was power in being seen like that. Dangerous, magnetic power. And Riddle had offered it, not as a gift, but a dare.

What scared her most?

Part of her wanted to take it.

…………………………………………………………

Hermione clutched her book bag tighter as Ernie Macmillan kept his pace beside her. The alternate corridor hadn’t offered the solitude she hoped for after skipping lunch.

“I just think,” Ernie began, too casual to sound sincere, “a contract would be mutually beneficial. You get protection and support, and I… well, I get the honor of marrying the brightest witch Hogwarts has seen in decades.”

A frown creased Hermione’s brow. “I told you already. I’m not interested.”

“But you need someone,” Macmillan pressed, stepping in front to block the corridor. “Your glands are maturing, aren’t they? The Alphas have noticed. Everyone sees how different you look now... how we look at you.”

His gaze dipped, slow and lingering.

Disgust twisted Hermione’s stomach.

“I don’t need your help,” she bit out. “And if you ever look at me like that again-”

“Why not me?” Ernie snapped. “I’m a respectable pureblood. So are you. We'd be a solid match.”

“A boring match,” came a drawl from behind, smooth, and unmistakably arrogant. “And an unwelcome one, if your desperation is anything to go by.”

Macmillan froze.

Relief and annoyance mixed within Hermione as Abraxas Malfoy strolled forward from the shadows, his pale gaze sharp. 

“Didn’t know Hufflepuffs handed out marriage proposals like sweets,” Abraxas said with a sneer.

Red bloomed across Macmillan’s cheeks. “This isn’t your business.”

Abraxas stopped close, too close, flashing a smile full of teeth. “She’s already claimed, Macmillan. By me. You know what that means.”

“Keep dreaming,” Hermione muttered, voice flat.

The Slytherin ignored the retort. “It means that if you corner her again, I’ll make sure your father’s seat on the Wizengamot is reconsidered.”

Color drained from Ernie’s face.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” Malfoy said, voice edged in steel. “One owl to my father, and your family's standing evaporates.”

Humiliation finally drove Macmillan into retreat. The Hufflepuff yanked his robes straight and stormed off without another word.

Hermione exhaled sharply, glaring at the boy beside her. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It was absolutely necessary,” Abraxas replied, inspecting his cufflinks. “He was insufferable. I only tolerate one Alpha attempting to manage you.”

A scowl formed. “And I suppose you think that’s you?”

Abraxas offered a smirk. “Anyone else standing here?”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “We’re not together.”

“Not yet. But don’t act like Macmillan ever had a chance. Not after I scented you in the library.”

Choosing not to dignify that with a reply, Hermione shoved past him toward Transfiguration. The moment’s peace was brief.

Bootsteps echoed behind her.

“Granger.”

“Malfoy.”

Refusing to slow, Hermione pressed forward.

“Allow me to escort you,” Abraxas said smoothly.

“I’d rather slowly peel the skin off my hands.”

The sneer wavered for only a second. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re attracting too much attention nowadays. Safety is a concern.”

Before another rebuttal could form, Malfoy continued, “I also couldn’t help but notice, you were skipping lunch to avoid me. That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, I think you are.” Malfoy’s hand shot forward, closing around her wrist roughly.

Hermione was pulled back.

“You parade through the castle like you’re above it all. But we both know what you are now.”

Teeth clenched, Hermione stared him down. “Let. Me. Go.”

His eyes dropped to her lips, then lower as he spoke, “You’re an Omega. You’re designed to be claimed. Think you’re still better than the rest of us?” Malfoy leaned closer. “You’re not. You’re meant to be taken, filled, and owned.”

Stomach lurching, Hermione snarled, “You’re disgusting.”

Malfoy’s voice dropped. “You’ll change your tune. When you’re writhing on your bed in heat, soaked through your sheets, pleading for me to take you-”

“I said stop!” Hermione shoved against his chest, but both wrists were yanked forward. Malfoy inhaled deeply against her skin, dragging her scent into his lungs.

His gaze turned molten. “This isn’t up for debate. You’ll be mine, Hermione, my wife. The papers are just a formality. You’ll be begging for it. And when the time comes, I’ll be there.”

A flash of rage broke through her disgust. “You’re delusional.”

That low, wicked laugh again. “You say that now, but let’s see what you say when you’re slick and desperate, your legs trembling, crying for me.”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.

“You’re mine, Granger,” he hissed.

“LET HER GO!”

Harry’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

Hermione barely turned before Harry shoved himself between them, one arm slamming against Abraxas’s chest.

“She said leave her alone.”

Malfoy stumbled, caught his balance, then sneered. “Of course you’d show up Potter. White knight with a savior complex”

“She said no,” Harry repeated.

“This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does when you harass my best friend.”

Venom dripped from Malfoy’s voice. “You don’t care about her safety. You just want to fuck her yourself.”

Harry’s jaw tensed. “Say that again.”

“Oh, I see it.” Abraxas’s eyes glittered. “The way you watch her. Always clinging to the one person who pitied you. Bet you dream about her in your bed, under you, her tight cunt all yours. Well, she’s not for you.”

“She’s not for you!” Harry snapped. “She said no. What part don’t you understand?”

Abraxas ignored him entirely, focusing back on Hermione.

“You think you're too good for me?” Malfoy growled. “We both know the truth. You’ll come crawling. On your knees, dripping, begging for my knot. I bet your knickers are already soaked through-”

His hand moved for her again, but this time, Harry moved faster.

One violent shove sent Abraxas stumbling back.

“Touch her again,” Harry said through clenched teeth, “and I swear-”

“Please,” he scoffed, “I see right through you. You’ve wanted her since fourth year!” Abraxas shouted, adjusting his robes.

Harry's voice dropped to a growl. “I said, shut your mouth.”

“Oh, it’s written all over your face Potter. You’d fuck her against a wall if she let you.”

“Oi!”

Fred and George Weasley rounded the corner, both pulling out wands.

“Did we hear someone threatening our favorite Gryffindor?” Fred asked, voice low and lethal.

“Or was that just some inbred snake losing his mind?” George added with a grin.

“Get out of here, Malfoy,” Fred said. “Now.”

“Before we give you something even Prefect Granger can’t report us for,” George added coolly.

“Enough.”

The voice didn’t belong to any of them.

Professor Snape had appeared at the far end of the corridor, robes billowing like storm clouds as he approached. His eyes were like a black diamond, cutting straight into Malfoy.

“What exactly is going on here?”

“Nothing, sir,” Abraxas said quickly, face schooled to indifference.

Snape’s gaze flicked from him to Harry, to the twins, then to Hermione, who was blushing and shaking, either from embarrassment or anger, perhaps both.

He took one slow step forward. “I heard enough to know that this ‘nothing’ involves verbal threats, unwanted physical contact, and behavior unbecoming of a Hogwarts student.”

“Professor-”

“Do not interrupt me.” His voice was like ice cracking under pressure.

Snape’s gaze landed on Hermione. “Miss Granger. Are you alright?”

Her voice came strained. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said, turning slowly. “You will report to my office. Immediately.”

“But-”

“Now.”

The corridor fell quiet as Malfoy stalked away, casting a final look over his shoulder, one laced with rage.

Snape’s stare drifted to Harry. “And you, Potter. Try not to escalate future confrontations into brawls in the corridor.”

“He was threatening her.”

“I am aware. And you will still show restraint in how you intervene.” He turned back to Hermione, his tone softening minutely. “Miss Granger, if you need an escort to class… I suggest you request one from the staff.”

Hermione gave a tight nod. “Understood.”

With that, Snape swept away in the other direction, following Abraxas.

The silence he left behind was thick and stifling.

Fred exhaled. “Blimey, never thought I’d be relieved to see Snape.”

George muttered, “Still say we should’ve hexed Malfoy’s bits off.”

Hermione gave a weak laugh, but her insides still trembled… That had been too close.

She turned to Harry. “Thank you.”

Harry nodded once. “Always.”

Fred slung an arm around her shoulders. “Just say the word and we’ll make Malfoy’s life miserable. Daily pranks. Snake themed chaos. We’re very creative.”

“Fred-”

“Twin oath,” George said, grinning. “He’ll be shitting snakes til graduation.”

Hermione forced a small smile. But the warmth didn’t reach her chest.

Abraxas had shown his teeth today.

And Hermione knew he wasn’t finished.

……………………………………………………

Candlelight flickered low over the ceramic plates, casting a warm glow over the chatter and clinking silverware. Hermione sat between Ginny and Harry, absently pushing her roasted potatoes around her plate. Her appetite hadn’t quite returned since Abraxas’ assumptions. 

The rush of wings broke through her thoughts.

Dozens of owls swooped in through the high windows, diving between candles and rafters with practiced grace. Letters and parcels floated down, the air thick with feathers and murmured excitement.

Hermione barely glanced up until a barn owl landed directly in front of her with a pale blue envelope bearing her name.

Aunt Elspeth.

She untied the letter with steady fingers, offering the owl a sliver of chicken she hadn’t touched. It took flight again, leaving her with a fluttering weight in her hand.

The handwriting was messy, as if she wrote in a rush..

My dearest Hermione,

I do hope you’re well and keeping warm as autumn turns. I received your last letter, and I am doing perfectly fine dear, it is you I worry about.

I hesitate to write this, but I must. A representative from the Malfoy family contacted me this morning, directly, I might add. To inquire about your betrothal arrangements. They were vague, but I’ve lived long enough to recognize what wasn’t said.

I know, Hermione, about your presentation.

I am... troubled by this. You are barely of age, still finishing school, and yet they are circling like wolves. You must understand, I may not have the gift of magic but I know the Malfoy name carries wealth and power, and history . And not the sort I ever wanted near you.

Your status puts you in a difficult position. There is not a lot known about Omegas, and I fear these powerful families will begin to pressure you. You must not let anyone force your hand, but I will be frank with you, darling. You must consider securing a contract quickly.

I would prefer you to marry someone kind. Someone who values your mind. Someone you choose. But I also know what can happen to an unbonded Omega left to drift unclaimed. 

Please write back and tell me if you are safe. If you are being watched. If anyone has approached you without your consent. I am making arrangements in case I need to pull you out of Hogwarts.

I love you more than you know.

With all my heart, 

Aunt Elspeth

Hermione lowered the letter slowly, blood pounding in her ears.

Good Godric, even her aunt agreed with this barbaric patriarchal rhetoric.

Ginny nudged her elbow. "Everything alright?"

Folding the paper, Hermione tucked it into her robe pocket. Her face remained composed, but panic simmered beneath the surface.

"Fine," she murmured. "Just family things."

The heavy oak doors creaked open, drawing attention away from plates of roast chicken and mashed potatoes. Students looked up, expecting Filch or a latecomer.

Instead, Tom Riddle entered the hall.

Silence fell.

It wasn’t just the way Riddle walked, nor was it the sharp glint in his eye.

He was different.

A whisper of thunder in the air, lightning crawling under skin.

Someone at the Ravenclaw table gasped. 

"He’s- he presented," someone whispered, awed. "Riddle’s an Alpha."

Riddle scanned the room like he could already taste the change, then locked eyes with Hermione.

She froze, fork halfway to her lips. Their gazes met across the hall.

He smirked, a slow, curling of his lips.

Like the game had just begun.

Across the table, Lavender Brown groaned. "Of course he’s interested now. He just couldn’t smell her before, her scent is the only thing these boys want."

The Weasley twins turned toward her, eyebrows raised.

"Bit jealous there, Brown?" Fred asked.

"Don’t worry, love," George added. "We’re sure your scent’ll kick in one day."

Lavender scowled and stabbed a sausage.

Before Hermione could respond, Neville leaned across the table. "If he tries anything, I’ll stop him. You don’t have to deal with this alone."

Hermione sighed, shoulders tight. "I’m not interested in any of them. And it doesn’t matter if he’s presented or not."

"It does matter," Harry said quietly.

She turned sharply, “Excuse me?”

"My dad told me," Harry continued. "If you don’t have a contract before your first heat, it could get dangerous. Alphas can get... aggressive."

Color flared in Hermione's cheeks.

A low hum of murmurs stirred around them, eyes drifting her way, some curious, others pitying.

"It’s none of your business, Harry," she snapped. "None of this is."

She stood abruptly, storming out of the Great Hall, eyes burning, heart pounding.

Behind her, stares followed.

And near the doors, Riddle watched her go, that infuriating smirk never once leaving his face.

Hermione's boots echoed down the corridor as she walked quickly, trying to outpace the shame boiling in her chest.

Talking of her heat. Publicly.

She wanted to vanish.

"Wait! Hermione!"

She stopped at the stairwell and turned as Harry caught up, breathless.

"I didn’t mean to embarrass you," he said. "I just-"

"But you did," she said flatly.

He winced. "I'm sorry. But you need to know... My family knows the story about the last Omega. Late 19th century. She was a quiet Hufflepuff and two Alphas fought over her, one was her friend. He ended up dying."

Hermione's stomach sank.

"A professor stopped him just before he could bite her," Harry continued. "She nearly lost everything. You need a contract because, well… that means no one can legally challenge-"

"I’m not an object, Harry," Hermione snapped. "I won’t sign my life away just because people think I smell nice-"

"Charming, as always."

The voice was a silken dagger.

Tom Riddle emerged from behind them, arms folded.

Hermione stilled. Harry stepped in front of her.

Riddle raised an eyebrow, his eyes meeting hers. "He’s not wrong," he said smoothly. "You’re vulnerable. You should stop being so stubborn and listen."

"Back off," Harry said. "Leave her alone."

Riddle ignored him, eyes fixed on Hermione. "She’s not your responsibility, Potter. And you wouldn’t understand these dynamics."

"Harry," Hermione murmured, placing a hand on his arm. "It’s okay. Please."

“But-” Harry hesitated, still glaring at Riddle like he might explode into flames if he stared hard enough.

“Please.” She pressed.

He hesitated, but nodded and left.

As his footsteps faded, Riddle stepped closer.

"For a lion, I didn’t take you for a coward."

"Excuse me?"

"You run," he said calmly. "Any time someone challenges you. You pretend it’s dignity. But we both know it’s fear."

Hermione stepped closer. "I don’t entertain dumb arguments."

"Potter’s argument wasn’t wrong. You need visibility. Protection. Alphas can be dangerous."

"I can handle myself."

He inhaled slowly. Her scent hit him hard.

His pupils dilated. For just a blink, a flicker of crimson in his irises.

Then it was gone.

"You smell fucking delicious," he murmured.

Her breath hitched.

But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

"Well, well."

A new voice echoed.

Abraxas Malfoy approached, perfectly composed, robes pristine. "Didn’t mean to interrupt," he said, draping an arm over Hermione's shoulders. "But I thought I’d rescue my little Omega from the devil himself."

Tom’s gaze dropped to the contact.

"No interruption," Riddle said. "She was just leaving. Go on, Hermione."

She hesitated, searching his expression.

Abraxas gave a tug. "Come on, Granger. I have plans for us."

Hermione slipped from his grasp and walked away. 

Study. 

She needed to study. Something normal. She glanced back once, then continued up the stairs.

Riddle turned to Abraxas.

"I guess we know who she’ll answer to."

"She’ll come around," Malfoy replied. "Once the heat hits, instinct wins."

"And then what? Keep her locked away?"

"Only when my cock’s not buried in that tight cunt."

Tom’s eyes darkened cold.

"Pathetic," he said. "She’s not a prize. She’s brilliance incarnate. And you’d waste her."

"She’s mine."

"You’re not worthy of her. You’d clip her wings. I’d use them."

Abraxas stiffened but Yom brushed past, power coiling behind him.

The game had begun.

A crack of magic split the air.

Tom noticed it and sidestepped, deflecting the hex.

"Unhinged," he murmured, smirking. "Starting a duel over a girl?"

"She’s not just any girl. She’s a pureblood. My family is powerful."

"She’s not yours."

"She should be!"

"Ah, the mighty Malfoys," Tom sneered, conjuring a whip of flame.

"Would you even enter her aunt’s muggle flat above a laundromat?"

Abraxas's eyes flared.

"I would. I will. A lonely squib can be persuaded to sign anything."

A stunner missed Tom by inches.

"She’d be marrying down! Filthy halfblood!"

The smile vanished.

Tom’s wand slashed. "Pellis Corrode."

The curse struck.

Abraxas screamed as green acid ate through his robes.

Tom watched, face cold.

"You forget your place."

He lowered his wand to the boy’s throat. His brow arched, "The world belongs to me now."

"Expelliarmus!"

Tom’s wand flew.

Dumbledore stepped from the archway, his expression grave. McGonagall and Slughorn rushed to Abraxas. Trying to stop the burning.

Tom didn’t flinch.

He only smiled.

…………………………………………………………

The room held a heavy silence.

Tom sat with hands folded in his lap, posture impeccable, legs crossed at the ankle. Behind Dumbledore, the fire crackled. Beside him, Professor McGonagall stood rigid, arms crossed, her expression carved from stone.

Dumbledore finally spoke. "You assaulted a student with dark magic, Mr. Riddle."

"I defended myself," Tom replied without blinking.

"You maimed him."

"He insulted me. Repeatedly. And drew first blood."

"Words," McGonagall snapped, "do not justify an acid hex."

Tom tilted his head, cool and unrepentant. "Don’t they?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "You’re lucky Hogwarts has no formal rule outlawing it. Regardless of provocation, you are on probation. Your prefect badge is suspended. You will serve detention every night for the next month. And sixty points will be deducted from Slytherin."

A beat passed.

"Understood," Tom said smoothly.

"You will also issue an apology."

One brow lifted. "To the boy who tried to claim an unwilling Omega like property? The same one preparing to trap her in a contract the moment her heat begins?"

McGonagall flinched.

Dumbledore’s expression hardened, yet he said nothing to contradict him.

Tom's voice dipped, smooth and low. "Forgive me, Headmaster, but perhaps the greater offense isn’t my spell, but the environment that allowed such entitlement to thrive unchecked."

"You will watch your tone," McGonagall snapped.

Turning his gaze to her, Tom smiled. Slowly. "Of course, Professor."

Dumbledore gave a final nod. "Dismissed. But remember, Tom, one more step out of line..."

"Understood," he repeated. Rising with calm grace, he walked toward the door.

Just before leaving, he paused.

"Oh, and you may want to speak with Mrs. Wilkins. I suspect the Malfoys are already attempting to push a betrothal contract forward."

Dumbledore stiffened.

Tom smiled. "It would be a shame if Miss Granger were forced into something without informed consent. Wouldn’t it?"

And then he was gone.

Tom strolled down the corridor with the same quiet composure he'd displayed upon entering the office.

Passing students whispered. The news had already spread.

"Riddle hexed Malfoy."

"Burned him."

"Screaming."

"Over Granger?"

Good.

Let them talk. Let them see.

He’d lost a badge, some points and an hour a night.

But he had shown the Alphas what kind of threat he truly was.

Hermione Granger had been thrust into a brutal game of dominance and politics. And she was clever enough to recognize who the real contenders were.

The next approach wouldn’t be ignored. And when her heat arrived, when instincts blurred the sharp lines she clung to, he’d be ready.

Not to trap her.

But to earn her loyalty. To claim her mind before anyone else could reach her.

She wasn’t a prize to be displayed.

She was a weapon.

And she would be his.

Chapter Text

A soft sunset glow warmed the red and gold common room, where students lounged across couches and cushions, schoolbags and half-finished essays strewn haphazardly on the floor.

Hermione sat curled up in the corner, History of Magic open on her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes. Conversation buzzed low around her, softer than usual.

“…Riddle only got detention?” Seamus asked, incredulous, sprawled upside down in an armchair. “That’s it? After what he did to Malfoy?”

Dean snorted. “Detention and a suspended badge.” His eyes rolled, “Real terrifying.”

“And sixty points,” Ginny added, tucked against Dean’s side.

“Why didn’t Dumbledore do more?” Parvati asked, twisting the ends of her braid. “That curse melted through his robes and into his skin. I heard Madam Pomfrey worked on him for over an hour.”

Lavender leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Because it was over Hermione, apparently there’s old laws protecting Alphas when an Omega is around.” she said in a sing-song lilt. “Two wickedly attractive men fighting over her, so primal. I bet she loved it.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

Parvati giggled behind her hand. “If we were Omegas, we’d probably be flattered too.”

“I think it’s barbaric,” Hermione snapped, slamming her book shut. “Grown men acting like animals. It’s not romantic, it’s humiliating.”

Fred, sprawled on the floor with a half eaten apple in his hand, offered casually, “Malfoy’s still in the infirmary, by the way. They’re regrowing the skin on his chest.”

“No scarring though,” George added from the arm of the couch. “Pity, could’ve used a reminder.”

“Silver lining though, No more Alphas to come sniffing around,” Fred continued. “Seems as though Tom has scared them all off”

Hermione bristled.

Harry looked up from his Transfiguration notes. “Now we just have to make sure you stay away from him.”

“Please. I have no desire to be anywhere near him.” Hermione scoffed. 

Harry hesitated, his gaze cautious. “I’m sure you don’t, but Riddle? He might, and he’s dangerous. Dumbledore hasn’t proven it, but he’s certain Riddle opened the Chamber in second year.”

“Oh, come off it,” Seamus groaned. “It was Hagrid. He had a thing for monsters. Kept a bloody acromantula in the castle.”

“That thing nearly killed us,” Neville muttered. “I like Hagrid, but that was… reckless.”

“I agree with Harry,” Hermione said, rising to her feet. Her voice was sharper than intended. “Riddle is dangerous. And I believe Hagrid was innocent.”

She shoved her textbook into her satchel with more force than necessary.

“I’m going to the library. Some of us would like to finish our essays before midnight.”

Harry stood. “I’ll come with-”

“No, you won’t,” she cut in, swinging the strap over her shoulder. “I’ve never needed a babysitter, and I don’t need one now.”

Somewhat a lie, he was there for her with Abraxas, but he’s in the infirmary. So it shouldn’t matter now.

She paused, brow arched. “Besides, do you even know where the library is ?”

That earned a few chuckles. Even Harry cracked a sheepish smile.

As Hermione pushed through the portrait hole, she heard whispers behind her.

“Are you really going to let her go alone?” Parvati asked.

A beat.

“…I guess,” Harry muttered.

The portrait swung shut behind her with a final, muffled thud.

………………………………………………………

The library was still, and cloaked in shadow. The last candle on the desk flickered low, casting gold light across her parchment.

Only the soft scratch of her quill broke the silence, until even that stilled.

“Tempus,” she whispered.

Past curfew.

Hermione began packing her things, casting a shelving charm and her books drifted back to their homes. She’d just rolled her essay when she paused. Something shifted. Not a sound, but a change, a presence.

“You should’ve listened to your friend.”

A voice that was drenched in velvet, came from behind her.

Tom Riddle stepped from the shadows between shelves, grace clinging to every motion.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re out past curfew.” Her chin tilted, “And you don’t have a badge anymore, remember?”

He smirked, amused. “Such a sweet, foolish girl.”

Her hand went for her wand. “Stay away,” she warned.

But he was faster. With a flick of his fingers, her wand soared past him, landing behind a row of shelves with a soft clatter.

Before she could react, he was there, close- too close. She backed away until her spine met cold wood. Her breathing quickened. There was nowhere to run.

“You shouldn’t have come here alone,” he murmured, voice a low caress. His eyes lowered, “Your heart’s racing.” They gleamed with quiet delight.

“Tell me, Granger. Are you afraid of me?”

His breath ghosted across her skin as he leaned in, nose grazing the curve of her neck. She stilled.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“Inhaling you,” he said easily. “You really can’t smell me, can you?”

He took another slow breath, lashes fluttering like he was savoring wine.

“You should be able to. By now, you shouldn’t be able to resist.”

“Well, it’s not,” she snapped, jaw tight. “I don’t smell you. Or any of them. Maybe you’re just wrong.”

His eyes opened, dark and still.

“I’m not. Though perhaps you’re unique. I wouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been different,” he inhaled again, his voice dipped into a sultry timbre. “special… And that makes you even more tempting.”

Her back hit the wall again, but this time she didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Then his tongue dragged across the skin of her shoulder, slow, deliberate, warm.

She recoiled instantly, breath catching in her throat.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed.

“Marking you.”

Her blood ran cold.

“So they’ll all know,” he whispered, “exactly who you belong to.”

“I don’t belong to anyone ,” Hermione snapped. “Least of all you .”

Tom tilted his head, the ghost of a smirk curling on his lips. “It’s adorable that you believe that. But once your heat comes…”

“No,” she said sharply.

“...you’ll need me. Desperately. It’s nature, Hermione. You won’t be able to breathe without it. You’ll cry for it.”

“You’re lying!” she cried, her voice rising with fury and panic. “It’s not true! Professor McGonagall told me I could manage it on my own. She said I don’t have to bind myself to anyone. I don’t have to give in!”

Tom’s expression shifted, his amusement fading.

“She’s blinding you,” he said, tone like coiled steel. “Telling you what you want to hear, not what you need to know. She’s never been an Omega. She doesn’t understand. None of them do.”

Hermione stared at him, pulse thundering.

“I see what you’re doing,” she whispered. “Manipulation. Psychological warfare right? I’ve read about this. You want me helpless.”

“I don’t have to want you helpless,” he replied silkily, brushing a hand over her wrist, where her pulse thundered. “You already are.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but the words tangled behind her teeth.

“Keep lying to yourself,” he murmured. “But when your body betrays you, you’ll remember this.”

Her voice was barely a breath. “Why me?”

He studied her, eyes glinting.

“Because you're brilliant. Because you're unyielding. Because you don’t give in. And because…”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“…you’re the one thing I haven’t figured out yet.”

Hermione’s breath trembled in her throat. He was too close. His voice, his very presence, it wrapped around her like smoke, impossible to hold, harder to escape.

“You think I’m something to be solved,” she said, voice barely steady. “Like a riddle in a book.”

Tom’s eyes flicked to her lips. “Oh no, Granger. You’re far more interesting than that.”

He lifted a hand slowly, deliberately giving her the chance to stop him. She didn’t move. Couldn’t. His fingers brushed the side of her jaw, grazing lightly down her throat until they paused over her pulse.

It pounded.

His smile deepened.

“I can feel it,” he whispered. “Right here. You hate me… But you’re still reacting.”

Hermione swallowed hard, resisting the urge to close her eyes under the weight of his gaze.

“I’m not scared of you,” she lied.

“I never said you were.” His thumb traced the hollow of her throat. “There’s a difference between fear… and fascination.”

His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers weaving into the roots of her hair. Not pulling. Just holding. Possessive.

“Do you want to know what I think?” he asked.

“No.”

“I think you’re curious,” he murmured. “Terrified of what that curiosity means. You could’ve hexed me the moment I touched you. Screamed. Ran off.. but you didn’t.”

She glared up at him. “Because I’m not weak.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re strong. Which makes this even more enthralling.”

His nose skimmed hers, lips so close they nearly brushed. The air between them pulsed with something hot and magnetic. A heartbeat, a breath, and they would touch.

“I could kiss you right now,” he said, voice low and thick with intent. “And you’d let me.”

Her heart jumped, whether from shock or the truth of it, she couldn’t tell.

“I wouldn’t,” she whispered.

His hand at her neck tightened just enough to hold her still. His other hand lifted to her waist, fingers resting lightly against her robes.

“You would. ”

She should slap him.

She should shove him off and hex him into next week.

But instead, her body betrayed her, heat coiling in her gut, her breath quickening, her spine arching the tiniest fraction under his touch. 

“You want to,” he said, gaze heavy lidded now. “You want to know what it would feel like.”

“I don’t,” she said weakly, lying again.

“You’re burning for it,” he said, voice now no more than smoke against her lips. “Even if you don’t know it yet.”

And then…

He didn’t kiss her.

He just breathed her in, hovering maddeningly close, his thumb dragging slowly across the corner of her mouth like he was memorizing the shape of restraint. The moment hung suspended.

Hermione’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Her jaw trembled with the effort not to lean in, not to give him the satisfaction.

He smiled, his dimples on full display.

Tom stepped back.

Just like that, the pressure broke, the heat thinned, and she could breathe again.

He walked away without another word, his footsteps silent between the shelves.

Hermione sagged against the wall, breath shuddering out of her. Her knees felt weak and her mind buzzed with heat and humiliation and something far more dangerous.

She told herself it was disgust.

But her body?

Her body wasn’t so sure.

Hermione slammed the bathroom door behind her and locked it with a shaking hand.

Her reflection in the mirror was a stranger, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, lips parted like she’d just run a mile. She looked wrecked. Not just physically, but emotionally. And even worse, she looked… aroused.

“No,” she whispered to herself, reaching for the sink as her knees buckled slightly. “Absolutely not.”

She’d stood firm. She hadn’t let him win.

But she’d wanted to. For a split second… no, longer than that. She hadn’t wanted him to stop.

Her stomach twisted.

What was wrong with her?

She splashed her face with cold water. Again and again. Trying to drown the feel of his hands on her. His voice curling like silk against her ear, thumb brushing her mouth like a promise.

She should report him. Right now. She should be marching to McGonagall’s office and laying out every terrifying, sick, and intimate detail.

But she couldn’t.

Because somewhere, buried beneath her fury, was shame.

Not shame for what he did. But shame at how her body responded.

That slick of winding heat that had pooled in her belly, that wild spike in her pulse when he leaned in, when he touched her throat, her waist. That moment where she almost, almost , tilted her chin up instead of away.

She grabbed her toothbrush, viciously scrubbing at her teeth like she could somehow erase the memory of his breath on her skin.

It didn’t work.

Back in her bed, curtains pulled tight, she cast every charm she could think of for silence. Still, her fingers shook. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, her entire body aching with something unspoken. Some awful need she refused to acknowledge.

She buried her face in her pillow and screamed.

How could she be disgusted and turned on at the same time? How could she want to set him on fire… and also imagine what it would have felt like if he had kissed her?

Hermione threw the covers off and screamed. 

After five solid minutes she started muttering arithmancy tables under her breath, conjugating French irregular verbs, anything to distract her from the lingering heat in her skin.

It wasn’t working.

She curled up hugging her knees, eyes burning. She was losing her grip.

And the worst part?

She knew he wanted this. Knew he was counting on it.

Tom Riddle didn’t need to hex her to ruin her. He was unraveling her from the inside out, with patience, with power, with the quiet, calculating violence of seduction.

“I hate you,” she whispered to no one.

But even in her mind, his voice answered.

“I could kiss you right now… and you’d let me”

And Merlin he was right.

…………………………………………………

Shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars of preserved creatures, dark tomes with cracked spines, and glinting silver instruments whose purposes were best left unasked. A faint smell of crushed herbs lingered in the air. The blackboard at the front of the room had faint traces of past curses scrawled across it. 

And at the center of it all stood Professor Snape, still as a statue, hands firmly behind his back. 

“Today we begin Patronus intensification,” Snape drawled, sweeping into the room like smoke. “Turn to page 394.”

Hermione flipped her textbook open. But she was still distracted.

Tom Riddle’s voice still echoed in her head like an unwelcome chant.

“I think you’re curious.”

“You want to know what it would feel like.”

She hated how it made her feel, like her body was a battlefield, one she hadn’t agreed to fight on.

Is that what heat would really be like?

Professor McGonagall had tried to explain the biology without ever truly confronting the brutality of it. She’d used clinical phrases, “heightened sensitivity, bonding instincts, pheromonal drive.” But nothing about desperation. Nothing about crying for someone.

Yet… Riddle had described it with such certainty. Like he’d seen it before.

And she was starting to believe it.

He was manipulative, cold, and dangerous. That calculating glint in his eyes hadn’t been imagined, he was drawing lines around her, fencing her in with predictions, so when they came true, it would feel like fate. Like inevitability.

But what if he wasn’t lying?

What if McGonagall, for all her good intentions, had softened the truth?

What if the instincts were stronger than she'd prepared for?

Hermione let out a sharp breath, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. She wasn’t supposed to feel this small… So unsure.

And she hated… hated , that the only person who seemed to understand the weight of her new reality was Tom bloody Riddle.

A violent chill slid down her spine. No. She wouldn’t let him do this. She wasn’t a tool and she most certainly wasn’t prey.

But as she stared at her textbook, one truth settled deep in her chest like an unwelcome seed.

She didn’t know what would happen when her heat came.

And worse, she didn’t know if she’d be strong enough to face it alone.

Students spilled out of the DADA classroom, buzzing about Patronus' and Snape’s impossible expectations.

Hermione walked quickly, clutching her bag. Harry was beside her, talking about something… Quidditch? Maybe Ron’s failed spell work, but she wasn’t listening. Her mind was still in the dark stacks of the library. Still pressed against the wall. Still echoing with his voice.

“You want to know what it would feel like.”

Her grip on the bag tightened until her knuckles ached. She just needed distance. Distance, control and answers.

“I’ll meet you in the Great Hall,” she said abruptly, cutting Harry off without looking at him.

He blinked. “Hermione- wait, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

She wasn’t.

Before he could say more, she turned down the corridor and disappeared into the stairwell.

Hermione didn’t go to the Great Hall. Instead, the fourth-floor lavatory welcomed her retreat. She slipped inside, locked the farthest stall, and sank onto the closed lid with a thud.

Hands still trembling, she pressed her palms flat to her thighs, breathing slowly through her nose. Focus. Focus on Snape’s assignment, think about what her corporeal Patronus will look like. Focus on anything but the phantom memory of fingers grazing the hollow of her throat.

This couldn’t continue. Control has to be reclaimed, defined on her terms, before someone else shaped it for her.

Before Tom did.

You’re not prey, she reminded herself.

But even in the silence, the words rang hollow.

Because somewhere in her gut, in that place she didn’t want to name, she knew the truth.

She wasn’t ready.

And Tom Riddle already knew it.

Chapter Text

Hermione stood stiffly in front of McGonagall’s office, fists clenched at her sides. She didn’t knock, just barged in.

McGonagall looked up in surprise.

“Professor,” Hermione said, voice low. “I need the truth.” She clenched her fists even tighter before continuing, “No more sugar-coating. No more gentle reassurances.

Her professor’s brows arched.

“You told me I could handle this on my own. You said it wouldn’t change my life if I didn’t want it to. But that’s not true, is it?” Hermione stepped closer. “I want the truth. The real version. Not the one meant to comfort me.”

McGonagall sighed and set her quill down. “Sit down, Miss Granger.”

Hermione did, perching on the edge of the worn leather chair, heart pounding.

McGonagall folded her hands on the desk. “The truth, then. Yes, you will need to mate and bond. Eventually, without it, the symptoms of your heat will worsen, and if an Alpha  doesn’t bind with you before then, the symptoms could kill you. This will not go away, Miss Granger. I’m very sorry.”

Hermione swallowed hard.

“You’re saying I’ll have no choice.”

“I’m saying that the longer you fight it, the harder it becomes. Your body is trying to protect itself. Omegas are biologically wired to seek stability and strength. It’s why your scent draws Alphas, because they’re biologically wired to protect. The pull isn’t one-sided, it’s mutual.”

“But I don’t feel that pull. I don’t smell them. And I most certainly do not want to ‘accost’ any of them. So why?”

Hermione’s voice was tight. “Why do I have to let myself be… claimed?”

McGonagall’s jaw twitched. “It doesn’t have to feel like that. You can find an Alpha who sees you as a partner, not a possession. You have a choice. That’s the difference, Miss Granger. Choice. And I urge you to make that choice before your heat arrives.”

There was no comfort in her tone, only tired honesty. Hermione appreciated it, even as it tore a fresh wound in her chest.

“Are there no books on this subject? I couldn’t find any in the library.”

“I’m sorry Miss Granger, but no books exist. None that I’m aware of. You’re the first Omega in my lifetime. You’re one of three in the last two centuries alone.”

“How are the Alphas so sure? They all seem to know what’s happening to me even when I don’t.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for you.”

Hermione frowned in disappointment. 

As she stood from the chair her professor spoke up, “Professor Snape told me of the altercation you and your friends had with Mr. Malfoy.” 

Hermione covered her face in humiliation. Of course the professors all speak to each other. How many of them know that these boys want to… Oh merlin. 

“I will speak to the headmaster about placing wards around your dormitory. And I will pull them from shared classes when necessary. There are protocols, forgotten ones, but I will see they’re put in place.”

“Thank you, professor.”

…………………………………………………………

Tall, arched windows line one side of the room, draped in heavy blue and gold curtains that sway even when there’s no breeze. The soft afternoon sunlight filtered in through the stained glass, casting shifting patterns across the aged flagstone floor. Not a whole lot of students in her Ancient Runes class, though she doesn’t understand why, they really should give it a chance. But that does mean that she gets a desk to herself.

Hermione arrived far too early, but she needed peace, quiet, and space from everyone. Just to feel normal again.

She brought out parchment, a quill, and wrote Viktor Krum’s name at the top.

He’s an Alpha. Strong. Kind. Quiet. Respectful. He’d liked her for her mind, hadn’t he? 

Maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d-

She sighed, moving on.

-Roger Davies? Too boastful.

-Michael Corner? Not attracted to him.

-Cedric would’ve been perfect. If he weren’t together with Cho. And there was no way she would ever wreck that relationship. She wasn’t that type of person, and those two were perfect for each other.

She paused.

Oliver Wood had hovered near her lately, he too must be an Alpha. And she did have a crush on him once upon a time ago, but he was too obsessed with the pitch. She didn't want to be tied to all that, she wouldn't get the freedom she wanted with him.

She scoffed to herself.

Freedom. That was the problem, wasn’t it?

If she bonded, even contractually, would she still be Hermione Granger? The girl with a future in magical law? In politics? Education?

She tapped her quill once, then underlined Viktor’s name again.

Maybe he’d at least reply.

As she stared at the short list of names, a weight settled in her chest.

This wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a ball date or a summer letter.

This was her life.

Her choice.

And for now, she’d choose to wait.

She rolled up her parchment and had just stashed it away in her bag just as students started to trickle in.

Quills were being set out, scrolls unrolled, and Professor Babbling had entered, now scribbling a complex rune cluster on the blackboard.

Hermione sat, as always, near the front, her books arranged neatly, quill poised, eyes scanning the first line of the assigned translation.

Then the seat beside her shifted. She didn’t need to look up.

Riddle.

She kept reading as he slid in beside her like he had been doing it every day since term began. She could feel his presence, the warmth of him, the faint scent that still didn’t register to her nose but curled something instinctual in her belly all the same.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

The door creaked.

Hermione looked up as did half the classroom.

Abraxas Malfoy stood in the doorway.

He was back. Healed, his skin flawless again, as if he hadn’t spent the past week regrowing it in the infirmary, his chin lifted at that proud Malfoy angle. But his eyes, his icy grey eyes fixed directly on Riddle and gave away what his composure couldn’t hide.

Something darker than hatred.

Riddle, as if sensing it, didn’t turn to look. He merely leaned back in his seat, perfectly relaxed, tapping his quill on the desk in rhythmic indifference.

Hermione glanced at Malfoy’s usual seat, two rows back, where his inner circle always sat.

Except… not today.

Rosier had taken the desk across the aisle, and Nott and Lestrange had filled the row beside him, pointedly avoiding the seats directly around Malfoy. No one looked at him. No one even acknowledged him.

So that was it, then. The hierarchy had shifted.

Riddle hadn’t just bested Abraxas in a duel. He had dethroned him.

Hermione felt a flutter of something between disbelief and… pity? No, something colder than pity. She’d been on the receiving end of Malfoy’s arrogance too many times to feel true sympathy.

But it was still sobering.

If one duel could dismantle a legacy, what else could Riddle’s power reshape?

She adjusted her scroll and glanced at Riddle, who was writing lazily on the edge of his parchment, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. He knew what had happened. He orchestrated it. And now he sat beside her like he already belonged there.

Hermione forced her gaze back to the front. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her squirm.

Not today.

Professor Babbling began the lesson with her usual enthusiasm, detailing the ancient Norse interpretations of binding runes and their use in magical contracts. The topic hit too close to home, but Hermione kept her eyes forward, determined not to give anything away.

Then, from the corner of her vision, she caught movement.

Riddle had nudged his parchment halfway toward her.

Scrawled in his elegant, slanted handwriting,

Interesting subject, isn’t it? Binding agreements. What a well-placed rune could bind an individual to or wh o it could bind one to.

Narrowing her eyes, she scribbled beneath it,

Are you suggesting I bind myself to someone?

He replied immediately, as if anticipating her response.

Only a fool would wait for nature to take its course when she could control the outcome.

Hermione gritted her teeth. Quill hovered over the parchment before she wrote.

Control isn’t the same as consent.

Tom's quill tapped once. Then twice. Then he began writing again.

Ah, but the world rarely asks for consent. You're clever enough to know that already.

She didn’t respond. Not with words.

Instead, she carefully pushed his parchment back toward him and returned to copying the runic sequence on the board. Her body was stiff with tension, but her face remained impassive.

From behind her, she could feel Abraxas’ glare like a hex pressing into her spine.

Let them both look, she thought. Let them both stew.

But even as she pressed her quill to parchment, she could feel Riddle watching her. Not with the greedy hunger of like the other Alphas, but like he was dissecting her thoughts, searching for cracks. Trying to unravel her.

Then his voice, soft, and just loud enough for her to hear, cut through the silence between their desks.

“You know,” he murmured, “you’re the only one in this castle who still believes she has a choice.”

She didn’t look at him. But her pulse thundered in her ears.

After class, Hermione lingered in her seat until the rest of the students began filing out. Riddle, of course, remained seated, utterly calm, as if he’d known she would confront him.

Once the last of the stragglers disappeared, and she turned to him.

“I want to make something clear,” she said, voice low and steady. “I’m not doing whatever,” she pointed to him then herself back and forth, “this is.”

Riddle’s head tilted slightly, his mouth curling at the edges. “I think we both know you already are, Granger. The question is when will you realize it?”

She leaned closer, her wand just brushing the inside of her sleeve. “Don’t patronize me. You think you know everything, alpha dynamics, magical politics, even me. But you don’t.”

“I know you’re scared,” he said softly. “And not just of me,”

Rolling her eyes, she scoffed.

“You’re scared of what it means to want control and not have it.”

Her jaw clenched. “You’re projecting.”

He gave a low, amused hum. “I’m offering you the truth no one else will.”

“You’re offering me a leash.”

At that, Riddle’s eyes glinted with something darker, sharper. “No, Hermione. I’m offering you the power to choose your leash before someone else chooses it for you.”

She stared at him for a long moment. She hated how convincing he sounded. How calm. How he always seemed to know the shape of her fears before she could even name them. And yet, she refused to show him how deeply he was getting under her skin. Rising from the seat, she walked away.

“Enjoy the illusion while it lasts,” he muttered, before she crossed the threshold.

She didn’t get far.

Abraxas Malfoy was leaning casually against the far wall, clearly waiting for her. His robes were pressed, hair immaculate, as though he hadn’t been unconscious and screaming in the infirmary a week ago.

“Granger,” he said, voice low, silk over steel. “I see he’s already trying to sink his claws in.”

“Apparently, not that it's any of your business.” 

He pushed off the wall and caught up to her in two strides, matching her pace. “It is, actually. I’ve made my intentions clear.”

“As have I.” She looked at him sharply. “I’m not interested.”

“That’s your fear talking,” he said with a smirk. “But you’ll see, when the heat comes.”

She spun on him so fast she could’ve given herself whiplash.

“If one more person tells me what I’ll feel during a process none of you have ever gone through, I will hex you so hard you’ll be speaking mermish for the rest of the year.”

Malfoy blinked, amusedly.

“And if you truly believe intimidating other Alphas is the way to win my favor, then you’re even more clueless than I thought.” She said, now walking away.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Abraxas called after her. “It’s not about favor, Granger. It’s about what’s owed to me. You’re a pureblood Omega. You belong in a proper lineage.”

Hermione didn’t slow. “Then look elsewhere.”

………………………………………………………

The fire had long since dwindled to soft embers, casting a warm orange glow against the stone walls of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory. Everyone else was asleep.

Hermione sat at her desk, quill in hand, parchment before her. 

Dear Viktor,

I hope this letter finds you well. I realize this may come as a surprise, but I find myself in an unusual situation, one that may require… a bond. You were always kind to me. Respectful. I remember that.

Pausing to dip her quill longer in the inkwell. Her hand shook slightly, but she continued anyway.

I was wondering if… if you'd ever considered the possibility of perhaps biting … bonding with me?

Her fingers trembled slightly around the quill.

Good Godric, what is she doing? Asking Viktor to mate with her? Bond with her? Marry her? And what… They’re just going to end up one happy family?

A flush climbed her neck. She took a deep breath. The collar of her pajamas suddenly felt too tight. She loosened it with one hand and frowned. The air felt thick. Her skin flushed hot and cold in strange, rolling waves.

Why?

Maybe the fire was too high? But it was barely more than embers.

She tried continuing.

If you'd ever considered bonding with someone like me. A friend.

Her throat was dry. She reached for the glass of water on her nightstand and sipped, but it didn’t help. Her skin tingled, especially around her neck and wrists, like a current was running beneath it.

Hermione stilled. It was too warm. Her magic buzzed faintly. She let out a soft breath and reached for the parchment again.

I understand this is not a light request, and I make it only because I trust you and I trust your kindness.

She grabbed at her neck trying to will it away. It wasn’t painful. Not exactly. But it was certainly distracting, like something inside her had been knocked out of alignment. Shaking her head, she placed the quill down, trying to gather her thoughts. Her heartbeat was too fast. Her mouth was dry again.

This was probably just stress. That was all. Exams, the attention, Riddle

Riddle?

Her chest tightened strangely at the thought of him. That stupid smirk. The things he’d said. The way he’d looked at her like he knew.

No. No. No.

This wasn’t happening.

She leaned back in the chair, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead. Her skin burned. A drop of sweat slid down her spine.

Hermione’s thoughts scattered. She could feel her magic, usually calm and tucked in tightly beneath her skin, start to shimmer and pulse erratically, unstable.

Her neck was sore and throbbing, 

She blinked down at the parchment, now smudged where her hand had rested.

I’m writing not just as a friend… But as an Omega who is running out of time.

Reaching up and clutching the collar of her robe, she dragged it open as another wave hit. This one made her hips shift in the chair. Her body felt hypersensitive. Her chest, tight. Her neck. Her wrists. 

She thought back to Madam Pomfrey saying her glands weren’t mature yet, and MacMillian telling her they were coming in. Is this what was happening?

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she closed her eyes, and breathed through it.

Get through the night. Just get through the night. It won’t last long… right?

Swallowing hard, she stared at the half-written letter. She was running out of time. Soon, she’d have to choose someone.

Or someone would choose her.

Her breath came in shallow gasps as she tried to think. Tried to control herself, to contain herself. Trying to stand, she fell, her hand grasping on her bedframe.

A low whimper slipped out before she could stop it.

The curtains of Lavender’s bed swung open with a dramatic swish. Padma’s followed seconds later.

“Hermione?” Lavender’s voice was groggy but sharp. “What the hell? Are you okay?”

Hermione tried to speak, but her jaw clenched as her neck and wrists started pulsating harder. Her head tipped forward and she dug her nails into the wood, trying to anchor herself.

“I think-I think I’m having a panic attack.”

Padma dropped to her knees beside her, wide-eyed. “She’s burning up.”

“Oh Merlin,” Lavender breathed.

Hermione flinched, eyes flying open. Her voice cracked with something that sounded like both fury and fear. “What do I do?”

Her voice broke on the last word, tears welling unbidden in her eyes.

Lavender pulled Hermione’s hair back from her clammy face, surprisingly gentle. “You should’ve gone to Pomfrey. Or McGonagall. Or anyone.”

“I don’t know what is happening to me,” Hermione whispered, trembling violently now.

Padma wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, voice quieter, steadier. “I think you’re going into heat.”

“But I-” Hermione swallowed a sob. “No-I just need to calm down. I can stop this.”

Lavender shook her head, eyes kind for once. “You can’t. It’s already started, Hermione. The only thing you can do now is get somewhere safe.”

Padma looked at her. “Do you want us to get Madam Pomfrey?”

Hermione nodded helplessly, curling further in on herself. “Please. I can’t- I don’t want anyone else to see me like this.”

Lavender rose immediately. “I’ll go. 

As Lavender slipped from the room, Padma gently rubbed Hermione’s back in small circles. “You’re going to be okay,” she said softly. “This may be terrifying now. But it won’t always be.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. She clung to that rhythm like a lifeline.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this. She was supposed to overcome it. But she wouldn't break. She refused.

Because she was Hermione Granger. And if she was going to survive this, she would do it on her own terms, even if her body had other plans.

The door to the dormitory slammed open.

Hermione flinched, huddling deeper into the blankets Padma had wrapped around her. The fire in her veins had only grown hotter, crawling over her skin like a thousand invisible hands.

“Out of the way! Let us through!”

Lavender’s voice was breathless as she returned, practically dragging Madam Pomfrey behind her. Professor McGonagall was close behind, her face pale and drawn, jaw tight with controlled panic.

Madam Pomfrey took one look at Hermione and knelt, wand already out, muttering diagnostic charms under her breath. Her expression shifted from clinical concern to immediate urgency.

“Oh dear,” she whispered. “Your fever is spiking.”

Hermione couldn’t even respond, her throat felt swollen, her senses too loud. Her skin screamed, every sound scraping like nails against her nerves.

“Please, what am I going through? Is it- is it my heat?” She asked, tears spilling.

“Professor,” Lavender gasped. “The portrait hole, they’re all out here. They must have followed us in. Alphas have crowded around. Harry, Ron, and Dean are trying to stop them, but they’re shoving.”

“What about the Gryffindor alphas?!” Padma shrieked.

McGonagall’s nostrils flared. “We’re sealing this door. Now.”

She moved to the door, drawing complex, glowing runes into the air with her wand. The magic laced itself into the walls, humming with protective energy.

“They will not touch her,” she said.

Pomfrey pressed a cool cloth to Hermione’s neck. “Luckily this doesn’t seem like a heat, it appears your glands have matured. Your scent is even stronger now. Your panicking must have elevated it, telling nearby alphas you were in trouble.” 

“I-I didn’t know,” Hermione whispered hoarsely, her cheeks wet now, her dignity slipping further with every second. “What am I to do now?” 

McGonagall knelt beside her, softer now. “Miss Granger, this isn’t about choice anymore- it’s about safety. You must understand, alphas will have a harder time resisting your scent now.”

Hermione shut her eyes, humiliated beyond words.

“How long?” she asked in a whisper. “How long will this… last?”

Pomfrey hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly.

A loud bang echoed from the common room below. A growl deep and furious followed.

Pomfrey’s head snapped up. “They’re getting aggressive.”

“Must be the Gryffindor alphas,” McGonagall commented.

“But another professor is rounding them all up, right?” Lavender asked cautiously, still staring at Hermione with worry.

Hermione was starting to look at Lavender and Padma in a new light.

“Yes, Miss Brown, the professors are handling it.”

Hermione’s whole body throbbed like it was no longer hers. She clutched the blanket tight, for once thankful for her roommates.

…………………………………………………………

Abraxas Malfoy was leaning against the wooden mantel of the fireplace when it hit him.

One second, he was half-listening to Avery talk about a dueling technique, and the next- his whole body locked up, his pulse roared. 

The air thickened.

Hermione.

Fingers curled around the wood, knuckles bone-white. Her glands had finally matured. It was like her essence had permeated the walls, calling to him, summoning him. She was in trouble.

Then a low sound beside him, so subtle only an Alpha would hear.

Riddle.

The other boy had frozen mid-page in whatever book he’d been reading, his head snapping up like a predator mid-hunt. His nostrils flared slightly. His pupils black and wide, dilated.

Abraxas moved first.

“She’s mine,” he snapped, already striding toward the exit.

Tom stood slowly, calmly. “Still clinging to that delusion, Malfoy?”

“You wouldn’t dare go near her now. Not after what happened. You’ve already landed yourself on thin ice.”

Tom’s eyes gleamed. “And yet… you’re the one who’ll be stopped at the door.”

Abraxas snarled, but before he could draw his wand, a voice called down the stairwell to their common room, one of their housemates shouting about how McGonagall had sealed her in Gryffindor Tower.

Tom laughed, cold and smooth. “Too slow again, Abraxas.”

“Mark my words, Riddle- you stay away from her.”

Tom brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve. “You don’t command me. You never have.”

Then he looked up towards the entrance, “She’ll need someone who understands what she is. Someone who won’t shame her or lock her in a tower,” his smile turned feral, “She’ll need me.”

“Not if I bite her first. Now, I’ll be able to and everyone will know who she belongs to. I see your game Riddle, try and win her over with honesty? Earn her trust then reveal your sheep clothing once it’s too late?” Abraxas sneered, lip curling as he stepped closer, the heat of dominance radiating off of him. “Pathetic.” He spat.

Tom didn’t flinch.

He stared at Abraxas with that eerie stillness that made even the bravest students wary. Riddle’s voice, when it came, was low and sharp as a blade, “And yet I’m still the one standing in your way.”

A pause. Tom’s head tilted slightly, “Strange, isn’t it? For someone so beneath you… I seem to make you very nervous.”

Abraxas’s jaw gritted.

Tom stepped forward, deliberately, encroaching just enough, he continued. “You call me pathetic while scheming to bite an unwilling girl, forcing a claim because you know she’ll never choose you,” he whispered, voice like a coiled serpent. “You’ve always taken shortcuts. Power from your father. Protection from your name. And now you’re scrambling because it’s become something you can’t control.”

“Watch your mouth, half-blood, you think because you presented late and threw one curse at me that you’re suddenly a god?”

Tom didn’t blink, “I don’t need to be a god, Malfoy. Just better than you. Which, I assure you, I am.”

Abraxas snarled, magic beginning to crackle around him.

Tom smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes.

Abraxas lunged. “You self-important half-blooded bastard!”

Riddle dodged him easily, “Funny, how you keep calling me lesser. But she still doesn’t want you.”

Tom flicked his wand in the blink of an eye.

“Levioso, Depulso.”

Abraxas floated then slammed down onto the hard stone. The other Slytherins leapt up, some drawing wands, some too stunned to move. Another curse flared from Tom's fingers, nonverbal, fast, vicious.

Abraxas dodged it, barely. He fired back, snarling.

Then suddenly.

“Expulso!”

The light of the spell came from the entrance.

It was from Snape, who had just stormed into the room, his face stern, a disheveled Montague behind him, one who had tried and failed to scale Gryffindor Tower when Hermione's scent had first spiked.

Snape’s wand was drawn.

Tom and Abraxas were both flung apart like dolls.

Tom slammed against the mantel, while Abraxas skidded across the stone floor.

The rest of the room froze.

Snape’s voice sliced through the silence like a blade, “Have you both lost your minds?”

No one answered.

“Malfoy. Riddle. Sit down.”

Abraxas hesitated. Tom didn’t. He straightened his collar and sat in the nearest chair like nothing had happened.

“I don’t recall asking for a dominance display in my house,” Snape hissed, stalking into the center of the room. “And certainly not over a student who isn’t even present.”

A beat.

Malfoy spoke up. “She- Granger, her glands came in. Her scent-”

“I know what happened,” Snape snapped, cutting him off. “And I know you’ve disgraced yourselves, yet again, dueling over her like feral beasts.”

His gaze continued to switch between Tom and Abraxas. “This ends now. You will not bring the politics of bonding, contracts, or mating into this common room again. Dumbledore has already said he would expel both of you if either of you slipped up again. Seeing as he is not here, I think we can all put this behind us. However, you will show restraint. Or I will remove you myself.”

Tom sat motionless, lips twitching into a thin smile.

Abraxas’ jaw clenched, but he nodded.

Snape gave them all one last, scathing look before turning on his heel.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Abraxas glared at him, breathing hard. “This isn’t over.”

“No,” Tom murmured, eyes fixed on the fire. “Not even close.”

Chapter Text

Hermione awoke, curled on her sheets in her dormitory, bed drenched in sweat.

Madam Pomfrey and professor McGonagall immediately moved to the foot of the bed.

“How are you feeling, dear?” Madam Pomfrey whispered.

Hermione looked to her roommates to find they were sleeping.

Thank Merlin, she felt guilty, they had stayed up with her until she finally passed out.

“I feel fine,” She answered honestly, then sighed before continuing, “I don’t want to do this, be bonded, have a mate,” Hermione said quietly, trying to push herself upright. “I want to finish school. I want to sit for my NEWTs and go into the Ministry and make change. Not be someone's… Omega.”

McGonagall’s eyes softened with something that almost looked like grief. “Miss Granger… Hermione… I admire your ambition more than you know. But this is no longer just about what you want. It’s about what your body will allow.”

Hermione stared at her, hurt swirling behind her eyes.

McGonagall continued gently, “You can choose who you’ll mate with. You can make terms, contracts. But eventually… your heat will arrive, and that will be infinitely more dangerous for not only yourself, but the other students who may try to stand in an Alpha’s way.”

Hermione clenched the blankets. “I was going to write to Viktor Krum…”

Pomfrey glanced at her, interested. “He's a respectable Alpha.”

“I thought if I chose someone kind, someone far away, I could still be free. But-” She bit her lip hard. “Now I fear I may have waited too long.”

“You were afraid,” McGonagall said quietly. “And rightfully so. But Hermione, not all Alphas will want to cage you. Some… will want to stand beside you.”

Hermione didn’t answer. Her thoughts were a storm, fear and something darker lingering in her mind.

Tom.

“What happens now?” She asked, trying to distract her mind.

“You’ll need escorts to and from class,” McGonagall said.

Hermione frowned at the thought of a shadow.

“Could it be my friends? Instead of the professors? I just- it’s embarrassing enough what’s happening to me, I don’t want to have a professor escorting me as well.”

“Of course, Miss Granger, but should you have a need for any of us, just say the word.”

“Thank you, professor.”

…………………………………………………………

Harry, along with the twins, had been escorting her to all the classes they shared. Sometimes Ginny, sometimes Lavender and Padma, but it seemed to be working. The alphas were certainly looking at her differently now, anyone could see it in their eyes. 

She paused at the doorway of the Charms class, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag, and Ginny’s hand that she was holding. The usual chatter of before class carried on, but the atmosphere felt wrong, thicker and charged.

The moment she stepped inside, it hit her.

Heads turned.

Not subtly, not politely, not with the detached curiosity she had come to expect since her designation became known.

This was different.

A hush rippled down the desks as she passed. Goldstein stood openly and inhaled as she walked by, eyes fluttering like he’d just caught the scent of something forbidden.

Seamus elbowed Ernie Macmillan hard, but Ernie didn’t flinch. His gaze was locked on her like he was tracking prey.

Hermione’s stomach turned.

She’d spent the last week trying to convince herself that things would calm down. That people would adjust. That she could still walk through the castle without feeling like a fattened goose for slaughter.

But, unfortunately. something had changed.

They weren’t just watching her anymore. They were feeling her. Smelling her.  Reacting to her.

She felt it now, a warmth on the sides of her neck, a strange tingling under her skin. She hadn’t gone into heat yet, but it was like standing on the edge of a cliff and knowing gravity was just waiting.

Hermione reached her desk and sat down next to Harry without a word. She felt eyes on her from every direction, prickling against her neck, her shoulders…her thighs.

Ginny sat in front of her next to Dean. Turning to her as she asked, “You, okay?”

“No,” Hermione said bluntly, retrieving her assignment that was due, “They’re all looking at me like I’m… meat.”

Harry glanced around, frowning.

“I mean it,” Hermione hissed under her breath. “Before, it was stares, whispers, and a bit of entitlement. But now-”

She stopped but didn’t want to say it. It echoed in her head anyway.

Hunger.

Alphas looked at her now like she was something ripe. Like all they needed was a single moment of vulnerability, and they’d take her.

She forced herself to look up and meet their eyes.

Goldstein and Macmillan, who always loitered by the library. Even Oliver Wood, three tables away, paused mid-sentence, his gaze fixed and jaw clenched.

Their expressions were tight, intense, glassy-eyed and predatory.

Hermione swallowed hard.

She was only glad Gryffindors didn’t share Charms with Slytherin. She wasn’t sure what would have happened if she had to deal with Riddle or Malfoy. She’d done her best to avoid them for the last week.

“Granger.”

She didn’t look up, “Not interested.”

Goldstein gave a low whistle. “She hasn’t even said good morning and already she’s mouthy.”

Macmillan scoffed. “She still thinks she’s better than us.”

Hermione looked at Macmillian, eyes hard. “You lot have never spoken to me before. What? My pheromones suddenly make me interesting?”

Oliver smirked politely, “They make you irresistible.”

“Maybe she’s always been irresistible,” Parvati Patil cut in coolly from her seat nearby, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “You’re just too thick to notice unless you can smell it.”

Lavender leaned across her desk with a scowl. “Back off, Wood. You weren’t even in her orbit before this week.”

Goldstein laughed. “And now you’re all jealous she’s finally getting attention?”

“From you?” Ginny scoffed from the back of the room. “Please.”

Macmillan ignored the girls entirely, still focused on Hermione. “You’re going to need someone, Granger. Might as well pick one of us. Sooner rather than later.”

“I’d rather hex myself sterile,” Hermione snapped.

“Is that a challenge?” Goldstein drawled, sliding lower in his seat. “Because I like a bit of fight in a woman.”

“Back off,” Harry growled, standing so quickly his chair scraped across the floor.

Macmillan turned toward him with a slow smirk. “Careful, Potter. Don’t start pretending you’ve got a say just because she lets you sit next to her.”

“I don’t need permission to defend my friend,” Harry said, fists clenched.

The air staled. Dean and Seamus shared a look.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something scathing, but Professor Flitwick appeared with a sharp flick of his wand, a loud bang reverberating through the classroom as the door slammed shut behind him.

“Gentleman, that’s enough!” he barked, reaching his usual stack of books, radiating authority like a man ten times his size. His wand glowed at his side. “Alphas, out. All of you.”

The boys froze.

“Professor?” Macmillian dared to ask.

Flitwick’s wand sparked. “Do not play games with me. Every Alpha in this room, out. You’ve lost the right to pretend you’re here to learn.”

“But Professor-” Goldstein began.

“Do not even try, Mr. Goldstein,” Flitwick said sharply. “All Alphas, out. You will report to Professor Snape. I’m certain he’ll find your behavior fascinating.”

Hermione sat rigid, breathing shallow.

The Alphas got up, slowly. Oliver kept his eyes on her the whole time. The others, Goldstein and Macmillan, looked angry.

Before Goldstein stepped out, he murmured under his breath, “You’ll need one of us eventually, Granger.”

Hermione didn’t answer. 

The door slammed again once the last of them left.

Flitwick looked toward her, his features softening. “Miss Granger, are you alright? I apologize for not being here sooner.”

Harry sat back down beside her, eyes still narrowed in the direction of the door.

She nodded stiffly. “I’m fine. Thank you, Professor.”

He sighed, readying the chalkboard.

“So, this is what McGonagall meant,” she whispered. “It's getting worse.” Her hands were trembling, just slightly, under the table. Because for the first time, she wasn’t sure if they would keep their distance. If they could.

And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the clock was ticking and she had no idea who would come for her when it ran out.

“Let me know if you need me to break anyone’s nose,” Harry muttered, distracting her from  her thoughts.

“Get in line,” Lavender added from across the aisle.

Hermione allowed herself a small smile.

The wolves might be circling. But at least she wasn’t alone.

…………………………………………………………

The door slammed open without courtesy, as if the castle itself had had enough of their posturing.

Macmillan, Goldstein, and Oliver Wood, shuffled into Snape’s office, trying and failing to hide their frustration. Their steps were heavy with anger.

Snape sat behind his desk, fingers steepled, the flames from the low-burning hearth throwing stark shadows across his pale, unimpressed face.

They were still reeking of adrenaline and lust and frustration.

He watched them, his dark eyes sharp beneath his brow, unreadable and cold.

“Sit,” he said coldly.

They obeyed.

“Would anyone,” Snape drawled, “like to explain why Professor Flitwick had to expel you from the class?”

No one spoke.

Snape’s eyes flicked to Macmillan first. “Mr. Macmillan?”

“She walked in, sir. We didn’t do anything-”

“It’s not like she isn’t asking for it, she keeps sending out these signals and-,” Goldstein muttered under his breath. 

Snape was on his feet before he finished the sentence. “Miss Granger is not the one on trial here, Goldstein.” His voice sounded dangerous. 

Oliver’s hands were clenched into fists on his thighs, jaw tight. “Sir, you don’t understand what it’s like. She’s- she’s matured. It’s hard to think when she walks into the room.”

Snape’s lip curled. “Then learn. I don’t care how your instincts howl,” he snapped. “control is expected and if you cannot manage it, then you’ll be removed from classes entirely.”

Goldstein looked up sharply. “That’s not fair!”

“Neither is cornering a seventeen-year-old girl.”

Silence.

Finally, it was Macmillan, bold as ever, if not exactly smart who stepped forward. Then he squared his shoulders. “How do you do it, sir?”

Snape arched one dark brow.

“Do what?”

“Not… respond,” Macmillan added quickly. “To her. To Granger. You’re an alpha. So… how do you ignore her scent?”

Snape’s face didn’t change. But the tension in the room thickened instantly.

Oliver and Anthony perked up, eagerly awaiting a response.

Snape stepped around the desk slowly, robes whispering over the stone floor like silk over a blade.

“I have had decades to master the animal inside me. You’ve had months. That’s the difference.”

Macmillan swallowed. “But doesn’t it drive you mad? When she just walks by you? Doesn’t it make your instincts...”

“I care not for barely legal aged students of mine.”

Goldstein scoffed quietly. “Easy to say when you’re old and past your prime-”

Snape’s wand was at his throat in an instant.

“Do not test me,” he said in a deathly whisper. 

Goldstein paled.

Snape lowered his wand and stepped back.

“If you want a trick,” he continued, “there is none. There’s no potion to make you less pathetic. You want control? Then earn it.”

Oliver frowned. “So, we’re just supposed to suffer?”

Snape gave a dark snarl. “No, Mr. Wood. You’re supposed to learn. The difference between being powerful and being ruled by power is discipline.”

He flicked his wand, and a slip of parchment appeared midair.

“This is going to Headmaster Dumbledore. I am recommending mandatory staggered class schedules until Miss Granger’s safety can be guaranteed.”

He turned his gaze specifically on Oliver Wood, narrowing his eyes.

“You, Mr. Wood, are the greatest liability. You share a common room with Miss Granger, a tower, a house. You will keep no less than thirty feet between yourself and her at all times unless summoned by a professor. You will not speak to her unless spoken to. You will not look at her for longer than three seconds.”

Oliver’s jaw flexed. “Sir, that's unfair!”

Goldstein snorted under his breath. “You act like she’s a saint.”

Snape’s wand snapped up in the blink of an eye, a silent flick sending a burst of pressure that knocked the air from Goldstein’s lungs. He staggered, caught himself, and shut up.

“You’re all nothing but children,” Snape hissed. “Dangerous, arrogant little children that have the entitlement of a hippogriff.

No one breathed.

“You will respect her,” he continued. “Not only because she’s an Omega, but because she is smarter than all of you combined and ten times more disciplined. And if you don’t, I will personally ensure you are sent home and neutered by your own families.”

The silence was deafening.

Snape returned to his desk.

His gaze cut through them one by one.

“Until you understand that, Miss Granger will never, and should never, trust any of you. Now, get started on the assignment I have on the board.”

They filed out of his office and to the class, readying themselves at the potions table in shameful silence, except for Oliver, who paused at the door and turned back, lips parted like he might say something.

Snape’s eyes met his.

“Not a word,” he said softly. “You’re lucky I don’t pull you from your team for this.”

Oliver clenched his jaw and disappeared out the door.

Snape turned in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose.

A gust of cold came in with Albus Dumbledore, his mismatched purple robes swirling behind him. He didn’t speak at first, just gently closed the door with a flick of his wand.

Snape straightened, tension still etched into the lines of his face.

Dumbledore moved closer, “I spoke with Phineas Black,” he said finally, voice as tired, “He was the last Headmaster to oversee the emergence of the previous Omega.”

Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “And?”

Dumbledore’s expression was grave.

“According to Phineas, the girl was also seventeen when her glands matured. She lasted three weeks. The Alphas nearly tore each other apart. Two professors were injured, one alpha even killed another. She was pulled from Hogwarts right after that. Her family married her off to some minor French noble Alpha within the month.”

Snape exhaled slowly through his nose. “So, nothing?”

“No protections, no warding spells. Phineas did mention runes on the doorways helped keep Alphas out… temporarily. But once her glands came in…

Snape crossed his arms, leaning back against his desk. “What about potions?”

“Nothing that would suppress an Omega’s scent safely, I’m afraid. Most cause permanent damage to magical cores or fertility.”

Snape was quiet for a long moment, before saying flatly, “Then we need to lock her away.”

Dumbledore looked at him, brows drawing together. “Severus-”

“She’s barely managing as it is,” Snape said darkly. “Two of the Alphas are already aggressive, not to mention Macmillan and Goldstein are now unstable.

“Minerva would never allow this.”

“This is for her own good. Miss Granger is intelligent and rational. But soon that won’t matter. Her magic will spike, her scent will spread and she will be vulnerable.”

Dumbledore still looked at Snape grimly. 

Do you have a suggestion?” Snape asked, somewhat sarcastically.

Dumbledore hesitated. “Minerva mentioned she had used runes to seal Miss Granger in her dormitory with great success. I suggest we continue to do so. Along with her escorts, it would be better than locking her in a tower.

“And when her… heat comes?”

Dumbledore remained silent.

……………………………………..

Hermione stepped out of class early, her satchel slung tightly over her shoulder. Supposedly on her way to the infirmary, but in reality she needed to get to the owlery and send Viktor her letter before it was too late. Fred offered to escort her, but she wasn’t actually going to the infirmary. And seeing as most students are in class, she should have no problems. Fred wouldn’t have cared where they went frankly, but she didn’t want him to ask questions about the letter. It was no one’s business.

Crossing the main courtyard, her skin started to feel strange again. Too sensitive, but she hadn’t quite shaken the discomfort of her glands yet, they were always pulsating and she was now somehow too aware of everything.

She barely reached the owlery steps when she stopped short.

Tom Riddle was there. Waiting.

“Seriously?” she snapped.

He didn’t move from where he leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, a cool gaze fixed solely on her.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“And it seems you’ve been stalking me.”

His smile sharpened with a harsh edge. “Many things I am but a ‘stalker’ is not one of them. I merely waited, patiently.”

Yeah sure, then how did he know she was heading there? Hermione clutched her books tighter. “What do you want?”

“To talk. You’re lucid now. No excuses. No traumatic body changes clouding your judgment. Just you and me.”

Leaning back to steady herself, her heart ticked faster. “Fine. Say your piece. Then leave me alone.”

He stepped forward, slow and measured. “I warned you this would happen.”

“Spare me. I already had this lecture from McGonagall,” she scowled.

“Ah,” he stepped even closer.

Hermione stiffened but didn’t move, Merlin, what is that smell?

“So they’ve finally stopped sugarcoating it.”

It’s Tom… He smells like… Good Godric he smells intoxicating .

 “Th- They told me what I needed to hear. Unlike you, who seems to enjoy manipulating people in vulnerable moments.”

Tom smiled, but there was no mockery in it this time. Just something sharper. “You think I manipulated you? I warned you. And I was right.”

She looked away but couldn’t deny it. She doesn't even know why she tried. Maybe because that's what haunted her most. He was right, about everything.

“It doesn’t mean I want anything to do with you,” she snapped.

“No,” he murmured, stepping even closer. “But you will . Because you’re not looking for someone to worship you, Hermione. You’re looking for someone who understands what you are. What you could be. ”

Her eyes flashed. “And you think that’s you?”

“I know it’s me.”

He smells so good. She stepped back, breath shaky. “I’d rather take my chances with Viktor Krum.”

Tom went still.

The air changed.

For a moment, it was as if something old and primal surged just behind his eyes. His arms dropped to his sides, fingers twitching once, restrained.

“What?” he asked, too calm.

Hermione raised her chin. “You heard me. He’s a presented Alpha. We’ve kept in touch. And unlike you, I trust him.”

Tom took a slow step toward her. “You're asking Viktor Krum to bond with you?”

“If he agrees, yes.”

Tom’s expression shattered into something darker, barely restrained fury wrapped in a handsome body. His voice dropped, low and venomous. “You’d sell yourself off to some foreign trophy who parades around in dragon hide and can’t spell ‘rune’ without assistance, just to spite me?”

Hermione’s stomach twisted. That hit a nerve.

Then he smiled again, scary, and cold. “You realize he’ll keep you in some far-off estate, give you a garden and a library and maybe let you dabble in research, if you behave.”

Hermione’s fingers twitched at her side. “That’s not what Viktor is like.”

“Of course not,” Tom snapped, no longer bothering to hide it. “He’s the ideal Alpha. Safe. Dull. Predictable.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Maybe that’s what I want.”

“No,” Tom bit out, stepping dangerously close. “You want freedom . And I’m the only one offering it.”

“You’re offering control. You just want more power, and you just want to wield it through me.”

“I’m offering you equality ,” he hissed. “You think Viktor would let you keep your name? Your ambitions? He’d tame you. I’d unleash you.”

Her throat dried.

“You don’t know what I’d choose.”

“I know you’re lying to yourself,” he said, gaze burning. “You’re afraid of what I am. Of what you are.”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. Because for one terrifying second, he was right… again.

Tom stared at her, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling like a tide he barely held back. Then, after a long beat, he exhaled, visibly pushing the fury down.

“Hermione, don’t be surprised if Viktor isn’t fast enough to stop me.”

The letter suddenly felt heavy in her pocket. She’d rewritten it three times, and still the words made her sick. She hated herself for writing it. Asking Viktor if he would consider bonding with her. If he’d take her, not as a girlfriend, or as a friend, but as a solution. An Alpha who might offer her freedom in exchange for a name on parchment. And yet here was Tom, offering it already, but why can’t she trust him? He hasn’t lied to her, in fact he’s the only one that has been honest with her from the beginning.

Either way, she has to send the letter. Needs to.

Hermione straightened her shoulders. “Move, Riddle.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he took a single step closer, the firelight from a nearby sconce catching on the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“What’s in your pocket, Hermione?” he asked, voice too calm.

She said nothing. Her fingers curled into fists.

He smiled, “Already writing to your little pen pal? Hoping he’ll ride in on a broomstick and rescue you?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He was far too close. His presence crowded her, the air thick with his scent.

He reached for her pocket.

Hermione slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare -”

“Don’t I dare?” he repeated, softly. Then leaned in, voice dropping to a hiss. “I warned you about seeking weak Alphas. About wasting your future on men who want to own you. Krum wouldn’t even understand you, he barely knows you.”

“And you do?” she snapped. “You think sniffing me from across the Great Hall gives you insight into my soul?”

That smirk returned, but there was no humor in it.

“You’re clever. Brilliant, even. But you’re scared. And now you’re running to the first Alpha you think might let you keep your books and your pride.”

“I’m not yours , Tom.”

“Not yet,” he whispered.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

Tom’s jaw flexed, control slipping. “You are not sending that letter.”

“You don’t get to decide that!”

“I do,” he said, and for the first time, it wasn’t smug. It was fierce. Raw. “Because the second you send it, you tie yourself to someone who won’t understand you. Someone who will expect obedience. And I-” he paused, chest rising, “-I wouldn’t just take you,” he said. “I’d use everything you are. I’d set the world on fire with you.”

Hermione flinched. Because it sounded like a promise. And she didn’t know if it thrilled or terrified her.

Tom’s voice dropped again, quiet as a secret, “he’ll cage you, Hermione. I’ll let you burn.”

They stared at each other, breath held in the silence. Slowly, Tom reached into her pocket and withdrew the folded letter.

He held it between them, a challenge. Then, in a flash, the letter burst into flames, vanishing into ash between his fingers. Hermione cried out in shock..

Tom’s wand was still in his sleeve.

“You bastard-”

But he was already stepping back, calm again, his rage tucked away like a knife in his coat.

“Trust me, I just saved you,” he said, and walked away.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall rang with weekend chatter, a low hum of clinking cutlery and laughter rising toward the bewitched ceiling. Rain clouds drifted above the enchanted rafters, though the air smelled of fried potatoes, bacon, and pumpkin juice.

Hermione slid into her usual place beside Harry and Ginny, tugging a thick book from her satchel before her plate had even filled itself.

Ginny groaned. “Honestly, Hermione. It’s breakfast, not the library.”

“Some of us revise to stay ahead,” Hermione said primly, flipping the book open.

“Some of us enjoy not drowning in parchment,” Ron muttered around a mouthful of eggs.

Harry smirked into his toast. “Don’t fight it, Ron. She’s unstoppable.”

Neville leaned across the table. “At least lessons have been calmer. Macmillan and Goldstein have barely been in class all week. Probably licking their wounds after Snape tore into them.”

That earned a ripple of laughter. Ginny added with relish, “Can’t say I miss them. Less posturing, less arguing over who gets to sit near you.”

Hermione’s cheeks warmed. “It has been… quieter,” she admitted, though the thought tasted bitter. Too quiet, it could never be this easy. Something must be wrong.

Before Harry could reply, the air shifted, first a flutter, then a roar. The entire ceiling filled with wings as owls wheeled in formation. Gasps broke from every table when several peeled away and plummeted in a single cluster, straight onto Hermione’s plate.

Letters buried her breakfast in seconds. Envelopes stacked upon envelopes, stamped with wax seals in every shade, emerald, scarlet, gold. Heavy parchment thudded onto the table as more owls swooped low, dropping packages directly into her lap.

Ron gawked. “What in Merlin’s name-”

Ginny’s eyes flicked over the pile, voice tightening. “Uh Hermione, I think those are-”

Hermione’s stomach lurched. No longer listening to Ginny she snatched the top letter, her aunt’s handwriting unmistakable, and cracked the seal with trembling hands.

My dearest Hermione,

You must prepare yourself. This morning has been nothing short of a nightmare. Before the clock struck eight, no fewer than three owls had battered at my windows, and by nine, the post had doubled, then tripled. Proposals. Contracts. Offers of wealth, of estates, of titles. Strangers, men twice your age, all clamoring for you.

The truth has spread. Somehow, word of your designation escaped the walls of Hogwarts, and now it seems wizarding Britain is buzzing with it. I’ve tried to send polite refusals, but the letters multiply faster than I can burn them. A few even came from families I had hoped never to hear from again, the kind of men who do not take ‘no’ for an answer.

I cannot lie to you. I plan to remove you from school, to spirit you back here with me where the world cannot touch you. You are all I have left, and I will not see you used, cornered, or treated like a commodity on the marriage market. I know you value your education, but what good is education if you are shackled by the weight of other people’s greed?

Please, Hermione. Write soon. Tell me you are safe. Tell me that Dumbledore is watching over you. You are clever, far cleverer than I ever was, but even the cleverest falter under this kind of pressure. Do not underestimate the lengths to which powerful families will go.

I love you with all my heart, 

Aunt Elspeth

The words blurred. Hermione’s throat tightened. Everyone knows.

Another owl dropped a letter directly into her lap. The wax bore a Bulgarian crest. She broke it open with numb fingers.

Hermione,

Forgive me if this letter seems abrupt, but I do not believe in hiding my thoughts. I have heard the news, as many have, and while others will write to you with flattery or schemes, I will write with truth.

I have admired you for years, not only your brilliance, which outshines any charm, but also your loyalty, your courage, the way you stood beside your friends without fear when others would have run. At the Tournament, you taught me that there is strength in kindness as much as in power. That lesson has never left me.

I know what it means, this rare status of yours. I will not pretend it changes nothing, because it does. It changes everything. But I also know it does not change who you are. You deserve freedom, respect, and choice. If you would consider me, I would like to offer you marriage. My family would honor you, and I would guard your independence fiercely.

If you do not wish this, I will not press. I am not a man who hounds where I am unwelcome. 

Please write back to me, when you are ready.

Always, Viktor Krum

The parchment slipped from her hands. Ginny caught it, eyes widening as she scanned the page. “Krum wants to marry you?”

Before Hermione could reply, more envelopes cascaded across the table, emblazoned with the crests of The Daily Prophet , Witch Weekly , even The Quibbler . Ravenclaws twisted in their seats to watch. Slytherins across the hall smirked behind goblets of pumpkin juice. Whispers rolled through the chamber like storm surf.

Neville reached across the table, voice quiet. “That’s… a lot of attention.”

Harry shifted closer, shielding her from the stares. “Don’t panic. We’ll figure this out.”

Hermione’s breath came too fast, letters burning in her lap like brands. Omega. Omega. Omega.

“I can’t do this.” The bench scraped loudly as she shoved back her seat. Heads turned. Eyes followed. She fled the table, parchment spilling in her wake, the whispers swelling louder with every step.

“Hermione, wait!” Harry was already on his feet, pushing past startled Gryffindors.

She didn’t look back.

Hermione’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, parchment crumpling in her fists. The chill of the stone walls seeped through her robe sleeves, but heat still burned across her face. Letters. Offers. Proposals. There were dozens of them. The whole world knows.

“Hermione- wait!”

Harry’s voice carried, followed by the slap of his trainers against the floor. A moment later, his hand caught her elbow, firm and steady. She stiffened, but he didn’t let go. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I don’t want to talk-”

“You don’t have to talk. Just- just stop running.” His grip loosened, but his thumb brushed across her sleeve in a way that made her suddenly aware of how close he stood. His green eyes searched her face, pained and earnest.

Hermione looked away. “I’m ashamed, Harry. Humiliated. This isn’t me. I don’t want to-” Her throat closed on the words. “How did the world find out? Who betrayed me?”

He shook his head, frustration flashing in his expression. “I don’t know. But it wouldn’t have been the Alphas here. Why would they want more competition? They’d have kept it quiet if they could.”

The letters in her arms felt heavier. Viktor’s tidy block handwriting came back to her in a wave. My family would honor you, and I would guard your independence fiercely. That was what she had told herself she wanted, someone who would let her remain free, who would respect her mind. Yet doubt knotted in her stomach.

And then another voice slipped into her memory. Smooth, dark, cutting… Coward. Whenever things become difficult, you run.

Her lips parted on a shaky breath. Tom Riddle’s smirk, the scent of him at the owlery, the way his words burrowed under her skin, it lingered like a phantom. She hated herself for remembering. Hated that she had noticed how good he had smelled.

“Hermione?” Harry’s hand slid down her arm, gentle but insistent. “Let me walk you back to the girls’ dormitory. You can have space there, be alone if you want. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

His touch remained, and she nodded absently, too tangled in her own thoughts to protest.

They had barely taken two steps before another voice cut through the corridor.

“Leaving so soon, Granger?”

Tom Riddle walked casually from the archway ahead, a folded piece of parchment in hand as though he had been waiting for her. His dark eyes gleamed with interest, sharp as glass.

Hermione froze, her fist tightening.

Harry moved instinctively in front of her. “Back off, Riddle.”

Tom’s smirk widened. “I was only going to offer some advice. Though I suppose it’s wasted on you, Potter. You wouldn’t understand the stakes here.”

Harry planted himself squarely in front of Hermione, shoulders taut. “She doesn’t need your advice. She’s had enough for one day.”

Tom unfolded the parchment in his hand, gaze sliding deliberately over Hermione before fixing on Harry again. “You think this is about comfort? You’re a child playing at protector. Do you even realize what’s coming?”

Hermione’s pulse stumbled. “What do you mean?”

Dark amusement flickered across Tom’s face. “Every powerful family in Britain now knows you’re an Omega. Some will knock politely with contracts. Others won’t bother asking at all.” He tilted his head, the smirk sharpened into something predatory. “And your aunt, your dear, squib aunt, she’s an obvious target. One hex in that little Muggle flat of hers, and you’d be forced into any marriage they chose.”

Harry’s voice cut through, edged with fury. “Leave her alone. You’ve done enough. You think threatening her family makes you clever?”

Tom didn’t even glance at him. “Not a threat, Potter. A fact.”

Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat felt tight. “Why are you telling me this? To frighten me?”

A shrug rolled off Tom’s shoulders, deceptively casual. “To prepare you. Ignorance won’t save you. And stubbornness-” his gaze lingered on her face, uncomfortably intense, “-is going to get someone you love hurt.”

Harry shifted, angling closer to her, hand brushing her arm again. “You don’t have to listen to this. Come on. Let’s go.”

Hermione wanted to move, but her feet refused. The weight of Tom’s words pinned her in place, the reminder of danger stretching beyond Hogwarts’ walls. Her nails were biting into her palm.

Tom’s voice dropped, rich and steady. “You can keep pretending it’s under control. But sooner or later, Granger, pretending won’t be enough. I’ve told you this.”

The corridor fell silent, broken only by the muffled sounds of the Great Hall echoing from behind them.

Tom’s eyes gleamed, catching the weak torchlight like polished obsidian. “You want honesty? Here it is. Once your heat comes, you won’t be able to resist. Not me, not Malfoy, not any Alpha who catches your scent. The bond between Alpha and Omega isn’t a schoolyard crush, it’s biology, it’s command. We speak, and you obey.”

Hermione’s stomach turned.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them until Harry bristled. “Scents draw you in. The voice compels. It isn’t magic, it isn’t choice, it’s instinct.”

Harry shoved an arm out, barring Tom’s path. “Enough. She doesn’t need this, and she doesn’t need you.”

Tom ignored him. His gaze never left Hermione’s. “Tell yourself you’ll fight it. Tell yourself you’re stronger. But when the moment comes, biology will tear your resolve to pieces. And you’ll hate yourself for submitting.”

The words struck like a blow. Hermione forced herself to hold his stare, even as her chest tightened. “That’s not true. I won’t be some possession. I won’t.”

His smirk deepened, not cruel, but unbearably certain. “You can scream ‘no’ a thousand times, Granger, but your body will say otherwise.”

Hermione’s heart hammered. Anger flared hot under the shame. “You’re trying to manipulate me. That’s all this is.”

“Manipulation?” Tom tilted his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “No. I don’t waste time with lies. You want lies, keep listening to Potter. You want survival, listen to me.”

Harry growled, fists clenching at his sides. “She doesn’t need survival lessons from a snake with delusions of grandeur.”

For the first time, Tom looked at Harry, measured, and deadly. “You don’t belong in this conversation, Potter. These are dynamics you’ll never understand.”

Hermione’s breath caught. The words felt heavy, almost weighted with something deeper than mere arrogance. Her pulse was racing, torn between fury and a shiver she hated to admit.

“You think you’ve got me cornered, don’t you? You think I’m some fragile thing waiting to break. But you’re wrong, Riddle.”

Tom’s smirk faltered, just slightly.

She stepped around Harry’s protective arm, eyes blazing. “If biology ruled everything, there’d be no need for books, no need for laws, no need for choice. Yet here we are… me , standing in front of you, telling you I don’t bend. You don’t scare me.”

A faint flush crept across Tom’s cheekbones, quickly masked by his usual coolness. “Bravery or foolishness, Granger. The line is razor-thin.”

“Then I’ll keep walking it.” Her voice was steady now, every syllable sharp as a curse. “Because I’d rather fall off that line than spend a single second chained to someone who thinks my only value lies in submission.”

For a heartbeat, silence held. Tom’s dark gaze locked with hers, and something flickered there, amusement, irritation, and hunger, all tangled together. Harry watched, tense as a bowstring, ready to break.

Finally, Tom leaned back, a shadow of his smile returning. “You play the hypocrite well, Granger. Brave words for someone already drowning.” His eyes flicked down to her lips. “You’ll see soon enough how thin your defiance runs.”

He turned smoothly, and disappeared down the corridor, leaving a coil of tension in his wake.

Harry exhaled sharply, still wound tight. “Don’t listen to him. He wants to get inside your head.”

But Hermione’s thoughts had already spiraled, anger clashing with a sting of unwanted truth. And yet, beneath it all, the faintest curl of satisfaction, she had stood her ground, and Tom Riddle hadn’t expected that.

…………………………………………………………………

Hermione’s steps echoed along the long, spiraling corridor to the Headmaster’s office, each one heavier than the last. The summons had arrived moments after she’d shaken Tom Riddle’s words from her ears. McGonagall’s clipped voice, ‘ The Headmaster will see you now.’

she forced herself forward. But the echo of Riddle’s voice followed. You don’t scare me. Her own defiance rang back in her skull, brittle and bold. It should have satisfied her. Yet part of her couldn’t ignore the look in his eyes when she’d said it. Surprised, as though she had broken his script. For once, Tom Riddle hadn’t been prepared.

Her chest tightened. Was that victory… or recklessness?

And damn him, why had he been right about one thing? The thought of her aunt alone in that Muggle flat gnawed at her insides. Would someone truly go that far as to force her into a contract by threatening Aunt Elspeth? She wanted to believe it was unthinkable, but the morning’s avalanche of letters said otherwise.

Viktor’s neat handwriting crinkled into her mind. Marriage should have been an answer. He would respect her, he had said, protect her, cherish her brilliance. It should have felt safe. Instead, uncertainty twisted her stomach. Because when she’d read his words, she hadn’t felt the same spark of danger she had in the corridor.

Heat rose to her cheeks. She hated herself for even thinking of Riddle that way, for remembering the sharp curl of his smirk, the weight of his presence, the faint memory of his scent, not only at the owlery. But now, it was everywhere.

Coward. Whenever something becomes difficult, you run.

She ascended the last step. She wasn’t running now. Whatever Dumbledore wanted, she would face it head-on. 

The gargoyle gleamed in the light. Hermione drew a long, steadying breath and said the password.

Warm light flooded the room from hundreds of softly glowing orbs, bouncing off brass instruments that ticked and whirred in restless harmony. Shelves lined with ancient tomes pressed close on every side, the air thick with the scent of stale parchment, candle wax, and lemon drops.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, spectacles balanced low on his nose, fingers steepled. His usual twinkle was absent.

“Miss Granger,” he said gently, “please sit.”

She lowered herself into the chair opposite him.

“I won’t waste words,” he continued. “You have received letters. Your aunt has as well. Families have approached her, some with alarming persistence. She is understandably concerned.”

Hermione’s throat tightened. “She wants to pull me out of Hogwarts.”

“She does,” Dumbledore agreed, voice heavy. “And I cannot fault her instinct. Yet I persuaded her, for now, that you would remain safer within these walls than outside them. The castle holds protections no manor house could provide.”

Dumbledore exhaled, leaning back. “I spoke with one of my predecessors, Phineas Nigellus Black. He was Headmaster during the last time an Omega was known in Britain. Sadly, that young woman was withdrawn from Hogwarts by her parents before protections could be put in place. She was wed to a man of their choosing. Her story ended not in tragedy but in obscurity. Yet it was a cautionary tale. No potions exist, no charms strong enough, beyond blood wards, to mask what you are. The scent… the pull… cannot be hidden.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “So what do you suggest?”

His blue eyes, suddenly very old, rested on her. “That you allow us to keep you apart. Warded chambers, sealed corridors, a wing of the castle reserved for your safety. Until your… cycle comes.”

The words struck like a slap. Hermione shot upright, fists clenching around the letters. “Locked away? Like some damsel in distress? I won’t do it.”

Dumbledore’s gaze softened, but did not waver. “It may not be what you want, Miss Granger. But it may be the only way to keep both you and those around you safe.”

Her breath hitched, fury sparking beneath her humiliation. “Safe from whom? From my classmates? I no longer share classes with Goldstein nor McMillan, I have escorts. 

Dumbledore’s expression tightened. For the first time, his voice lost its gentle lilt. “Perhaps from Mr. Riddle.”

The name left hanging in the air made Hermione’s stomach twist. Dumbledore’s eyes, usually warm, seemed carved from ice.

“Professor,” she managed, “what does Tom Riddle have to do with this?”

Dumbledore leaned forward, elbows resting on the polished desk. The brass instruments behind him hummed and clicked, filling the silence he left deliberately long. “There are students with ambition, Miss Granger, and then there are students who look upon the world and see only tools to shape to their design. Riddle is of the latter kind. His mind is… extraordinary. But it is not softened by kindness. It is sharpened, like a blade, and blades do not ask permission before cutting.”

Hermione shifted in her chair, unease creeping down her spine.

“You believe he would, what? Force me?”

“I believe,” Dumbledore said carefully, “that he is fascinated. Obsessed, perhaps. And obsession, when coupled with power, is a dangerous combination. What troubles me most is that you are rare, rarity breeds hunger. And I fear he does not see you as a young witch deserving of her own path, but as a tool.”

The words pressed against her like weights.

Hermione gripped the arms of her chair. “You don’t know him like I do.”

The instant the words left her lips, heat flared in her cheeks. I don’t know him either, she realized. Not truly. But the memory of Tom’s eyes in the corridor, the way his voice slithered beneath her skin, clashed against Dumbledore’s warning.

The Headmaster’s gaze sharpened. “No, you don’t know him at all. And I would ask you not to try.”

The brass contraptions whirred louder, as if echoing the tension in the room.

Hermione forced herself to meet his eyes. “You think I should just hide? Surrender my life before it’s even begun?”

“I think,” Dumbledore said, sorrow softening his tone again, “that you should live. And survival, Miss Granger, sometimes requires sacrifice.”

Hermione rose halfway from her chair, hands gripping the carved arms. “You think hiding me away is the answer? Pretending this isn’t happening? That isn’t protection, it’s surrender.”

Dumbledore’s eyes stayed steady, the blue sharp as ice.

“At least Riddle doesn’t lie to me,” she pressed, voice shaking but determined. “He tells me the truth. He hasn’t hidden behind soft words or sugarcoating. Not once.”

The Headmaster’s brows drew together, sorrow deepening the lines of his face. “That is precisely what worries me.”

She frowned. “Because he tells the truth?”

“Because he chooses which truths to tell.”

The whirring brass instruments filled the silence between them, a chorus of ticking, pulsing sound.

Dumbledore’s voice dropped. “In your second year, the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Students petrified. And Myrtle Warren was murdered. I have long believed Tom Riddle was responsible for both tragedies.”

The words crashed over Hermione like icy water. “Responsible?”

“Yes. The timing, the accounts, the whispers, they all lead to him.”

Hermione’s mouth went dry. “Then why isn’t he in Azkaban? Why hasn’t he been expelled?”

A pause.

Finally, he admitted, “Because I have no evidence. Suspicion, yes. Patterns, yes. But nothing I can place in the Wizengamot’s hands. But I do know he is capable of terrible things.”

Hermione shook her head, frustration sparking hot. “Then it’s just your word against his.”

“That should be enough,” Dumbledore said quietly.

Her laugh came brittle. “It isn’t.”

The Headmaster’s expression softened again, though a grim weight lingered. “Miss Granger, if Tom-”

Hermione rose from her chair, anger clashing with fear, cutting off her Professor, “You think I should trust you over my own judgment?”

“Your judgment,” Dumbledore said quietly, “is already compromised. You are under his gaze. That makes you vulnerable.”

Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest, but she refused to look away.

The Headmaster leaned forward, voice steady but heavy with warning. “If Tom Riddle binds himself to you, he will not cherish you. He will wield you. Whatever brilliance you carry, whatever strength burns in you, he will turn it into a weapon for his own design.”

The room pressed in around her, the scent of wax and dust suddenly suffocating. A hundred thoughts collided at once.

“Once he bites, your choices will not be your own.”

The words struck harder than she wanted to admit. She turned her face away, unwilling to let him see the fear flickering through her resolve.

………………………………………………………………

The Forbidden Forest stretched dark and endless beyond the grounds. Peace at last, rare and precious. But beneath the calm hummed a restless current, awareness thrumming through her veins.

Footsteps broke the stillness. Hermione turned, chest tightening.

“Hermione?”

The familiar voice startled her. “Oliver?” Not who she expected…

Wood smiled, boyish and nervous, the wind ruffling his curls. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright.” Her spine straightened, cautious. “What are you doing up here?”

“Erm…” He took a step forward, hesitated, then laughed awkwardly. “Looking for you. Sounds stalkerish, I know, but I just… wanted to talk.”

Curiosity tugged at her expression. “About what?”

His gaze settled, and the nervous grin slipped. Something heavier replaced it. “About you. About how I’ve felt for a while.” Another step closed the gap between them.

Her heart stuttered.

“I liked you before all this,” Oliver confessed, voice low. “Before the presentation. Before the chaos. I used to see you in the library, your head buried in some tome thicker than my broomstick and I thought, ‘That girl could hex circles around the whole Quidditch team.’” A quiet laugh followed. “And I liked that.”

Shock stole her words. “You… did?”

A nod. “Still do. I know things are complicated now, with Alphas circling like hawks, but I wanted you to hear it from me.” He inched closer, then stilled, nostrils flaring.

Hermione blanked.

The change came quickly, posture stiffening, pupils blown wide. “You’re in pre-heat,” he murmured, voice dropping into something primal. “Merlin, you smell like ambrosia.”

Instinct prickled and she stepped back.

“Hermione…” His tone had deepened, rougher now. “Gods.”

“Oliver.” Her warning snapped through the air. “Don’t.”

Gentle, awkward Wood vanished. In his place stood an Alpha strung too tight, intoxicated on pheromones she hadn’t meant to release. He crowded her against the cold stone.

“You should’ve told me,” Oliver rasped. “I would’ve come sooner. You don’t need Malfoy. Or Riddle. You need someone who actually cares.”

“Stop. You’re not thinking clearly.” Hermione shoved at his chest, but the grip that caught her wrist was firm, possessive.

“I’ve always thought clearly when it came to you.” His jaw tightened, eyes burning.

“You’re reacting to pheromones.” She tried to pry her wrists free. “This isn’t you.”

 His jaw clenched.

“You’re trying to reject me?” He growled. “Why? So they could have you first? Malfoy? Riddle?”

“Let go.” Her voice shook, but she held firm. “Right now.”

“No!” he snarled, pulling her closer. Their lips a breath away. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. I won’t let them touch you. I’ll claim you right here if I have to.”

Her heart pounded, heat rising in her chest as his breath brushed against her cheek. Eyes squeezed shut, tears traced lines down her face. She needed to act, but her body refused to obey, frozen in place.

“I’ve waited long enough,” he muttered, voice low and urgent. “I’ve been patient… watching them circle you like vultures.”

The sound of his belt unbuckling reached her ears.

“You don’t need them, Hermione. You need someone strong. Someone who actually loves you.”

A zipper followed.

His hand moved from her wrist to her waist, gripping with unyielding force.

“I’ll be good to you, Hermione. I promise. I’ll worship the ground you walk on.”

The fabric of her skirt shifted up her thighs.

“I’ll be gentle, okay?” His lips grazed the collarbone, trailing slowly upward to her neck.

“Stop!” she snapped, voice trembling with both fear and defiance.

She managed to yank her wand free and shoved it between them. Casting with a flick of furious intent.

“Stupefy!”

The spell hit him point-blank.

Oliver flew back and crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Breathing hard, Hermione stood over him, chest heaving, hand trembling.

Two steps back brought her against the cold stone wall, gaze fixed on the still form before her. Tears continued to streak her face.

Her scent- her Omega pheromones had undone someone she once trusted.

He was the second Alpha to try and take something she never offered.

Hermione didn’t look back. She left Oliver sprawled on the polished wood, stupefied and silent. The image burned behind her eyelids with every step back to Gryffindor Tower, but she refused to slow. If she told anyone, if McGonagall or, worse, Dumbledore learned what had happened, she feared Dumbledore would scold her for wandering alone, for inviting trouble. For not keeping to the escorts agreement. Would he throw her in an isolated dorm then?

The portrait swung open, and warmth hit her like a tide. The fire blazed in the hearth, and the chatter of students washed over her. Harry was waiting by the armchairs, expression taut with worry.

“Finally, must have been the longest meeting to date.” he muttered, standing as she crossed the room. “How did it go with Dumbledore?”

Hermione sank into the chair opposite, could she trust Harry? “As expected. He wants to lock me away. Said it would keep me safe, from everyone, especially Riddle.”

Harry’s brows drew together. “So he’s as worried about Riddle as I am.”

She nodded faintly, then swallowed, the memory of Oliver pressing close at the edge of her mind. “Erm, something else happened, Harry. On my way back, I ran into Oliver Wood.”

Harry stiffened. “And?”

Her nails dug into the parchment. “He… tried to claim me. Said he’d do anything if I let him bite. I had to stun him.”

The words hit like a spark. Harry’s fists clenched, color flooding his face. “I’ll kill him.”

Hermione shook her head quickly. “No. Don’t. It’s not his fault, well, not entirely. It’s this-” she gestured helplessly at herself “-this stupid bond business. It’s driving them mad.”

Harry paced, jaw tight. “Mad or not, he touched you. He tried- Merlin, Hermione-”

“Harry,” she cut in gently, “don’t. Please. I handled it. But, he- he said I was in pre-heat… Which means it’s going to happen soon. Maybe they’re all right. I just need to choose someone.” She said softly, reality finally sinking in.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the pop and crackle of the fire. At last, Harry sank into the chair beside hers, running a hand through his hair. His voice dropped, quiet but raw. “Does it have to be an Alpha? I mean- if it didn’t, if you need someone- I’d… I’d help. I would. I could .”

Hermione blinked, caught off guard. The offer hung in the air, heavy with meaning she didn’t catch. She gave a small, tired smile. “You’re sweet, Harry.”

Something flickered in his eyes, disappointment, but quickly hidden. He nodded, staring into the fire. “Yeah. Sweet.”

Hermione leaned back. Her body hummed with exhaustion, but her mind refused to still. If Oliver could snap… who else might?

Chapter Text

The corridor lay quiet, flagstone swallowing every step. Harry fell into stride beside Hermione, his elbow brushing lightly against hers as they made their way to Defense. He was retelling Ron’s latest disaster in Divination, a toppled teacup and a scalding spill in the most unfortunate place.

“You know,” Harry said, voice turning lighter as he shifted subjects, “we’re up against Ravenclaw this weekend.”

Hermione blinked, pulling herself back to the conversation. “Mm.” The sound was indifferent, though her thoughts kept getting tangled in the letters and recent confrontations… Oliver. She couldn’t keep stalling. A choice had to be made.

“You’ll come, right?” Harry asked, glancing at her. “I need someone to cheer me on. It would mean a lot. Perhaps… you could wear one of my jerseys?”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, but it was distracted. “Of course, Harry.”

Warmth stirred along her spine, sinking low with a pulse she couldn’t ignore. Her breath caught. Pressure built with a constant rhythm, clouding the sharp edge of thought. She pressed a palm to her forehead, her mind felt foggy. Trying to anchor awareness she thought of history notes, the new charms lecture, theories on spell work modernization. Anything to keep her mind operating.

Her fingers clutched at Harry’s sleeve for balance as tremors ran through her body to between her legs.

Harry, mistaking Hermione’s touch for something amorous, softened his expression. “Hermione… when it starts- your heat- I want to help. You’ll need someone you trust, and I want to be that someone. Please. I can be there for you.”

The words sank into the fog, all of its meaning fractured. She tried to cling to his voice, but the clarity dissolved.

Her grip tightened. The corridor tilted, the stones contracted as if the castle itself drew a breath. Reason frayed thread by thread with every heartbeat.

They crossed the threshold into the Defense classroom. Focus nearly returned, until a scent cut through everything.

Alpha…

Professor Snape stood near his desk, focused on the blackboard at the front. Merlin he smelt addicting, completely captivated, and impossible to ignore.

Harry steadied her, though Hermione’s hold had become a vise. Her mind went blank. Any coherent thought scattered into smoke.

Each step toward the desk heightened the throbbing ache between her thighs. Snape’s presence filled the room, saturating the air until she felt her knickers dampen.

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice sounded far away.

She nearly dragged him across the room.

Snape's eyes snapped towards her and realization hit, his eyes dilated.

“Miss Granger.” His voice snapped with authority. In one fluid movement, he crossed to her side, hand clamping firmly on her shoulder. “You will come with me.” His gaze swept the class. “Class dismissed. Return to your common rooms.”

“Wait!” Harry called, following quickly. “Does this mean…? I just mean- if it is, I can help. She needs someone she trusts.”

“You are not an Alpha, Potter.” The words fell like the blade of a guillotine. “This witch requires an Alpha. Without one, the symptoms of her heat could kill her.”

Harry staggered back, shock etched into his face. “Kill her?”

Hermione’s knees buckled, happily swaying in Snape’s hold. Breaths turned shallow as her body’s insistence clashed violently with her mind’s protest, but desire made thinking impossible. She brushed her fingers against his robes, desperate to feel closer.

Snape’s jaw locked, every muscle tightened. He shifted back, arm’s length away, though his hand still gripped her shoulder. “Hands to yourself, Miss Granger.”

“No,” she breathed, voice raw with urgency. “I want you. I need you… Please.”

Her hands reached again, fingers managing to curl around his wrist with aching desperation.

“Potter,” Snape said, voice sharp. “Take her arm. Now. And follow me to the Transfiguration classroom.”

“I don’t want Harry,” Hermione pleaded, trembling. “I want you, Professor. Please!”

Harry’s hand clamped on her arm, dragging her back as she leaned toward Snape.

“I’ll be so good to you,” she moaned.

Harry’s face twisted, horrified at her words.

And then the moment broke, they stumbled forward, the Transfiguration classroom sweeping into view.

“What is-?” McGonagall began.

“It’s time, Minerva,” Snape cut in, voice low but urgent. “I cannot remain near her. I’ll alert the others.”

Without another word, he turned and strode away, dragging Harry with him.

The Transfiguration classroom felt hollow without him. Snape’s absence left the air too thin, yet his scent lingered, curling around Hermione’s senses until every breath scraped like fire in her lungs. Each heartbeat pounded heavy in the silence.

A sob broke loose, jagged and uneven, shattering the quiet. Frustration tangled with longing until the sound tore from her throat in waves.

Professor McGonagall’s voice cut through. “Class dismissed.” Her eyes swept across the startled students. “Prefects, escort everyone back to their houses at once. No one remains here unsupervised.”

Chairs scraped hurriedly, whispers died under her charge. Soon only silence and Hermione’s ragged breathing remained.

Tears streaked her cheeks as she choked out, “Why did he leave? I- he-” Words crumbled beneath the weight of need and confusion.

McGonagall stepped closer, composure unshaken. A steady hand settled on Hermione’s shoulder, firm and grounding. “There will be time to understand, Miss Granger. Right now, we must get you to safety.”

Her tone brooked no argument, but her gaze softened a fraction as she guided Hermione toward the door.

The castle itself seemed to shiver in response to Hermione’s heat. Corridors and stairwells thrummed with the tension. Wordless warnings passed between professors, each one answering Snape’s summons. Wards fixed into place, as staff converged on the disturbance. Beyond the barriers, Alphas caught by the scent clashed outside the wards, their growls echoing through the halls.

McGonagall gripped Hermione’s arm and propelled her down the seventh-floor corridor, to the tapestry of Barnabas and his trolls. “We must move quickly,” the Headmistress said, urgency sharpening every syllable. “You are in danger. Trust me.”

When McGonagall paused to pace the hall, Hermione crumpled to the floor. Knees pulled to her chest, tears streamed unchecked as she gasped, “I don’t understand. What did I do wrong? He- he should have stayed. I’d be good to him. I’ll be better… please… bring him back…” Her voice cracked, dissolving into broken cries.

The older witch knelt, her expression taut between sternness and pity. “Miss Granger, we need to get you inside.”

Hermione’s hands clawed at the hem of McGonagall’s robes, fingers shook lightly. “I’d be so good. I would do everything he wanted. Please…”

The Headmistress steadied her tone... “Hermione, listen to me. We’ll speak of it once you’re safe. But first, inside.”

Sobs dwindled into muffled gasps. She pressed her face against her knees, words barely audible. “I just want him…”

McGonagall placed a hand on her shoulder, then slipped an arm beneath to lift her. “I know, dear,” she murmured, voice clipped yet not unkind. “But, for now let’s just get you inside.”

…………………………………………………………..

The castle itself seemed to roar, a menacing vibration thrummed through every corridor. A storm had ignited. Alphas, driven mad by an unclaimed omega in heat, scrambled toward the source. Snarls reverberated through stairwells. Magical blasts, along with physical blows, rattled doors and shook the ancient foundations.

Flitwick darted through the chaos, wand flicked with sparks threading into luminous wards, weaving themselves into nets of sparkling light. “Careful- careful!” He chirped to the running students, voice high and tense. Now guiding his magic to reinforce the barriers against the approaching Alphas. Threads snapped taut, pulsing as they held back grumbling bodies that clawed at the edges.

Professor Sprout swept forward in her dirt-stained robes, ushering stray students into safety with firm hands. “Back to your common rooms, quickly now!” Panic-stricken first-years scurried past, guided by older prefects and Sprout’s urgency.

At the center of the maelstrom stood Dumbledore. His hands cut through the air with grace. Spells spilled from his wand in arcs of silver and blue, binding and redirecting every Alpha who lunged. The corridor hummed with his power, carefully restraining his students.

Beside him stalked Snape, a shadow of discipline, movements as sharp as the crack of a whip. His presence alone unsettled the charging students, scent heavy with dominance. With a single slash of his wand, invisible bands wrapped around two combatants at once, yanking them off their feet and slamming them against the stone with a resounding thud. Growls faltered into whimpers.

Flitwick’s wards rippled faintly in response to the remaining alphas trying to break through, but he reinforced the enclosure.

Dumbledore’s voice rang, commanding yet serene. “Stand down!” Alphas faltered, confusion rippling through them as he and Snape advanced. Snape’s wand traced quick motions in the air, making the aggressors unresponsive.

Goldstein broke from the ranks, slamming shoulder first against the ward. Snape’s gaze snapped to him, black eyes narrowing. One flick of his wand and the boy froze mid-motion, limbs locking like a puppet’s. With another subtle twist, Snape guided him backwards step by step, until Goldstein crumpled harmlessly against the wall, every movement dictated by the professor’s will.

Macmillan charged from the opposite side, anger radiating off him. Dumbledore met him without hesitation. A sweep of his hand cast a gleaming tether, and the boy’s body slowed, pulled downward as if gravity had doubled. He dropped to his knees, then the floor, his rage smothered by calm pressure until the fight drained from him.

Together the two professors advanced. Dumbledore’s silver spells shimmered like threads of moonlight, weaving calm through disarray, while Snape’s magic cracked and snapped, brutal in its efficiency. The contrast between the two was stark but the outcome was inevitable.

Alphas writhed against invisible bonds, their fury reduced to frustrated grunts muffled by the restraints Flitwick’s wards sealed them in.

Dumbledore’s mismatched robes flew around him as he turned, eyes grave. “This must end before it consumes them entirely.”

………………………………………………………………

A few steps from the Room of Requirement, Hermione folded inward as McGonagall guided her in her arms. The symptoms flared harder now; she was sweating, and the throb between her legs intensified, her knickers were soaked through. Her hands trembled, fingers aching for contact.

“Miss Granger, focus,” McGonagall said, voice reaching Hermione through her haze. “I need to know- who have you chosen?”

Hermione wept as her body started to react violently. She shivered with need and frustration, unable to move, unable to please an alpha. Sobs muffled against her professor’s robes, each small sound threaded with panic.

Outside, the battle waned. Wards slackened as the growls thinned to mutters and the castle’s howl subsided.

And through it all, Hermione’s mind whispered the one thing she did not want to admit, she wanted Snape. She wanted the dominance he embodied, the dominance that would keep her safe.

Words came out in a tremor, a single, desperate whisper. “Snape… please. I’ll be so good to him… please… only him…”

McGonagall’s brows knit. Her voice was firm. “Perhaps Mr. Wood would be-”

Before Hermione could respond, the air shifted sharply. A new scent slammed into the hall. Hermione’s head snapped toward him. Every nerve screamed, flaring as the aroma hit her like wildfire.

Abraxas Malfoy.

Abraxas strode up the barrier of the ward with confidence, ignoring McGonagall entirely. His gaze latched onto Hermione, cold and hungry. “Granger,” he said, voice low and silk-smooth, the single word wrapped in command. “You belong to me. Come here.” He gestured to his side as though there could be no other answer.

The corridor seemed to tighten around them. Hermione’s breath hitched. She left McGonagall’s grasp on unsteady legs, arms reaching toward him. “Yes- please. I need you…” Her voice was low, sensual, her body betraying her mind. Every thought dissolved into a mist of desire and need.

McGonagall’s wand snapped up. “Absolutely not! Miss Granger is not going with you.”

Abraxas smirked, “No one will stop us.”

Hermione swayed as if the command itself tugged her forward. Her knees buckled. She stumbled closer, voice shuddering with a desperation that shamed her even as it escaped. “Abraxas- please-”

McGonagall moved swiftly, “I will not allow this!” She stepped directly in front of Hermione, blocking her path. “Step back, or you will be restrained!”

But the heady swirl of his essence tangled Hermione’s will into knots. She tried to twist around her professor’s hold, reaching for the Alpha beyond but McGonagall’s grip clamped down on her arm like iron.

“No! Please!” Hermione cried.

Abraxas only smiled, ignoring the threat. He raised his wand and pressed it to the edge of the ward. Murmured words curled from his lips and the barrier rippled.

McGonagall prepared her counter, lips tight around the first syllable-

And then the corridor darkened.

A shadow stretched long across the rugs and tapestry. From the far end, Tom Riddle approached. His presence struck sharper than the frustum spell.

They were trapped between two predators now. Abraxas at the barrier, McGonagall straining to hold the line, and Riddle closing in.

Abraxas’ eyes narrowed, a flicker of uncertainty breaking his smooth façade. His focus darted between Tom and Hermione, the tension in the corridor tightening like a noose.

“Hermione.” Tom’s voice rang through the charged air, his gaze fixed on her first before sliding coldly to Abraxas.

The sheer weight of Tom’s presence pressed into the space, and Abraxas’ grip faltered against his wand. For the first time, hesitation cracked his polished veneer.

Hermione whimpered, quivering in the intensity, caught between the pull of Abraxas’ pheromones and the sudden, crushing awareness of Tom’s. Her hands reached desperately, voice incoherent. “Tom…”

Tom Riddle’s dark eyes, sharpened. His jaw clenched as Hermione writhed in McGonagall’s arms, every movement of her small, frantic body pulling at him to help her.

McGonagall’s jaw hardened, wand raised like a blade, ready to strike should either Alpha move closer.

The armor of calm and discipline he wore began to splinter. A coiled fire stirred in his chest, unraveling restraint thread by thread. The scent of Hermione was potent, its unbearable sweetness wrapped around him, pushing him past reason.

And layered over it, Abraxas’ Alpha scent gnawed at his senses like a challenge. It was more than just a rivalry now.

“Come here, Hermione,” Tom hissed, his voice low but edged with something dangerous. The tip of his wand lifted, sharp as a threat, leveled squarely at Abraxas.

Abraxas only smirked, his posture unyielding, his own dominance unfurling like smoke. “You can’t have her, Riddle.” The challenge dripped from every syllable, testing the limits of Tom’s restraint.

The last thread of Tom’s control snapped. A guttural inhumane growl tore from his throat. It echoed through the corridor, making the wards vibrate against their frames. Hermione gasped at the sound, her entire body bowing toward him despite McGonagall’s firm grip, as if instinct itself had bent her will.

“That’s enough!” McGonagall barked. She raised her wand, but even she faltered, her sharp eyes calculating. She knew neither Alpha would be easily subdued, not in this state.

Tom’s gaze flicked to her for only a breath, his eyes blackened, a hint of red pushing through. The look was a warning, she was not the one he was fighting. Then his focus dropped back to Hermione. Her head lolled against her professor’s hold, breaths shallow, pupils blown wide. She looked so helpless.

His mind, usually a machine of strategy, faltered beneath the pounding instincts roaring in his veins. For once, there was no careful calculation, no plan. There was only her, and the rival who dared to stake his claim.

Hermione’s trembling hands stretched toward him, desperate, her voice fractured on a plea.

“Tom…”

The word detonated inside him. Tom rushed forward, wand flashing, a spell snapping against the air like thunder. Abraxas raised his own in answer, the corridor erupting in streaks of light and the crack of colliding force. Sparks rained against the wards, the castle groaning under the weight of their unleashed power.

Tom exhaled sharply, the last shred of rationality was gone. “Hermione,” he growled, stepping forward with such force that the ward buckled, barely containing him. His usually flawless composure, shattered. “You’re mine! Do you hear me? Mine!”

Control no longer existed. Her scent was devouring him whole. His hands clenched once at his sides, the barest heartbeat of hesitation, before he lunged, reckless and consuming.

McGonagall yanked at Hermione, dragging her toward the Room of Requirement. But the door was gone. Too many bodies crowded by, the magic couldn’t interpret the need.

Hermione gasped, her chest heaving as heat rolled through her, every tremor in her body screaming to be taken. Her spine arched toward him despite McGonagall’s unyielding hold.

The Headmistress’ wand slashed higher, the ward sparking violently as it strained. Her voice was firm, but a rare thread of fear seeped through it. She alone was holding back two Alphas on the brink of bloodshed, and an Omega already mentally lost.

Her thoughts snapped sharp with irritation, Where in Merlin’s name are the rest of them?

Tom’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, his wand raised to the ward. For the first time in years, the mask was gone. Calm had shattered. Desire, fury, and a crushing need to protect her burned through every vein. Nothing in the castle could stop him now, not McGonagall, not Abraxas, not even the wards themselves.

Abraxas’ grin curved, sharp and cruel. “She’ll be mine, Riddle. I’ll be the one to claim her, knot in her, bond with her.”

A feral darkness bled into his gaze.

The ward fell.

The first curse sliced the air, Tom’s jagged streak of purple light slammed against Abraxas’ shield. Sparks burst, the corridor exploded in noise and color. Abraxas retaliated instantly, his spell crashing against Tom’s with a crack that rattled the stone.

The air thickened with smoke, hexes colliding in vicious rhythm. Tom moved like a predator unleashed, merciless in every strike. Carrying in skill honed by years of discipline now fueled by fury. Abraxas answered with reckless force, each spell snarling with his need to dominate, his unpredictability forcing Tom to guard and attack in the same breath.

The corridor became a battlefield of curses sparking across the stone, light searing the walls as it contained the duel of two pent up Alphas.

Hermione’s body shuddered under the pulse of her heat. The fight raged around her, but all she could sense was the intoxicating pull of them both. Tom’s presence burned brightest but Abraxas’ own signature clawed at her, making every nerve scream for release. Her body arched toward them, craving, shaking, desperate to be claimed.

McGonagall stepped forward, wand raised.

“Stay back, Professor,” Tom snapped without sparing her a glance, voice tight with barely restrained violence. “Do not interfere.”

A blinding streak erupted from his wand. The force knocked McGonagall back, her wand flying from her grip as ropes coiled up her frame, binding her arms to her sides. Shock widened her eyes, but Tom’s movements held no malice, only ruthless necessity. Every second of distraction was a second Hermione could be harmed.

The vicious duel raged. Abraxas pressed with raw aggression, spells cracking against stone, but Tom’s power over his magic was merciless. Finally, after a brutal exchange, Tom broke through. A perfectly timed curse snapped Abraxas’ defenses apart, hurling him to the ground. Then a binding spell wove over him in a net of shimmering cords, tightening until his thrashing stilled into futile snarls.

Tom didn’t watch him long. His gaze snapped back to Hermione.

Tears streaked her flushed cheeks, body hot, scent clawing at his restraint. He moved toward her with caution, hands steady enough to brush damp curls from her forehead. “I’ll take care of you,” he breathed, chest heaving, the echo of rage still quivering through his frame.

“Tom-don’t leave me, please” Hermione whined, lips parting as her body pressed instinctively against him.

Tom flicked his wand once. Abraxas slumped into unconsciousness. Another flick, and McGonagall went rigid, stupefied before she could speak his name.

Only then did he pull Hermione into his arms, lifting her carefully. The castle itself seemed to hold its breath as the wall shifted and a door appeared. Its surface glowed faintly, and he carried her inside.

Tom’s eyes softened a fraction as he looked down at her fragile form, her body still raw with need. “I’m going to take care of you.” He murmured, voice low, almost swallowed by the hum of tension between them.

Hermione cried against his chest. “I- want you… please, it hurts… I’ll do anything.”

Smiling as he carried her to the conjured bed…

He had her.

Chapter Text

The door closed behind them with a deep, echoing thud that sealed the world away.

The scent of victory clung to Riddle like smoke, feeding the molten ache that burned low in her belly.

The Room responded instantly, stones rippling, shifting, transforming into something suffocatingly intimate. A large four poster bed, cushions spilled across the floor, and velvet drapes that cascaded down the walls, enclosing them in what felt like a cocoon. A flame blazed to life, its glow washing the air in gold and brushing her skin with more warmth.

She broke out of his hold but her knees gave out before another thought could form, and she fell into him.

Riddle caught her easily. One arm locked around her waist, the other slid up to cradle the back of her head. Her face pressed against the hard line of his chest, each breath drawing in more of that intoxicating scent of citrus and spice.

“I didn’t-” The words cracked on a sob. “I didn’t choose you.”

“You called for me, Hermione.”

She shook her head, voice breaking. “N-no, that can’t be right.”

Tom lifted her chin, forcing her to face him. Merlin, she was beautiful.

“Everything’s too bright,” she whispered hoarsely. “I can’t think-”

“I know.” His voice came smooth, cutting through the storm inside her mind. “The hormones heighten everything. You need to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” she snapped, brows knitting.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he continued guiding her toward the conjured bed. “Not like that,” he murmured. “Breathe me in.”

Placing her gently on the edge of the mattress, Hermione peered up at him. His scent was everywhere, thick and heavy, and inescapable. One inhalation filled her lungs and settled beneath her skin, shattering what little control remained.

Tom’s hand brushed her cheek, making her pulse race.

“It hurts,” she whispered. “I don’t understand- I don’t-” Her breath hitched. “Tom… what do I do?”

“Nothing.” The word rolled out as he eased her back until she met the comforter. “You trust me.”

Every movement was planned. The world seemed to slow as he slipped free of his robe, unrolled his cuffs, and drew her gaze without effort. The Room itself appeared to shrink around them, the light dimming.

There was a controlled power in his actions, a patience that only sharpened the ache that was twisting in her chest. Every unhurried gesture wound that anticipation tighter. Her hands spasmed, wanting to reach for him, but an imaginary thread kept her tethered to the spot.

He paused, his shirt loosened at the neck as he looked at her. Each inch revealed commanded her attention. The air between them thickened, her senses screamed to move closer, to fill the space between them.

Hermione’s pulse drummed in her ears, her breathing shallowed. The world narrowed to the slow rhythm of his movements, and every second stretched heavily. Hermione found herself swallowed in it, mesmerized by it, impatient from it.

Then he slid his trousers down… Merlin, help her. When he stepped closer, her body tensed. Without breaking eye contact, he climbed onto the bed, straddling her thighs, his body pressing close. Reprieve consumed her, yet, her heart was pounding as she felt the weight of him against her, leaving the pull of instinct she could not resist.

“Let me take care of you,” he murmured, nose brushing her cheek. “Focus on my voice.”

Her body lifted toward him before she realized she was moving. His scent, his voice, his control, it wrapped around her like a net.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “That’s it.”

The world blurred into color and cozy warmth as he lowered his chest onto hers. Hermione’s hands moved on their own, tracing the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck, seeking the source of the intoxicating scent that had surrounded her.

“Tom,” she pleaded.

Something shattered.

His mouth crashed against hers. Any restraint he had left was gone. The kiss was not gentle, it was consuming. Lips bruising as he forced her further into the bed. Hermione moaned into him, relief and hunger tangling. She clutched at his neck, afraid he might vanish.

Riddle’s growl thrummed against her tongue. Dragging her closer, he crushed the space between them until it was unbearable.

Then he tore his lips from hers, “Fuck Hermione,” he rasped.

Riddle gripped her throat, tightening just enough to remind her who held the power as his kisses drifted down her neck to her collarbone. Hermione melted, eyelids heavy, lips parted, body thrumming with desperate need.

“Mine,” he said, not asking but declaring.

The word filled her chest with something that burned sweeter than air. “Yes…” she whispered eagerly.

His mouth was on hers again, swallowing every syllable she managed. Dragging her skirt higher, his fingers sliding over her knickers. Hermione gasped into his mouth, hips arching forward shamelessly.

“So wet already,” he murmured, smirk curling his lips as he pressed harder, causing her to whimper. “Pathetic little Omega.”

The teasing insult only sent a shiver through her, her nails dug into his shoulders as her body begged for more. She didn’t care if he mocked her or was cruel, she just wanted him to take her, to end the nagging burn that was tearing her apart.

When his fingers pushed past her soaked knickers, she cried out. Riddle’s other hand clamped over her mouth, muffling the sound, his dark eyes gleaming at her.

“You’ll be good for me right Hermione?” he asked dangerously low.

She nodded frantically, tears of need spilling, every part of her strung tight under his control.

Fingers slid inside her, dragging out another muffled cry. Her body convulsed, clenching around him, as he pressed his palm hard against her clit.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. “The brightest witch of our age… reduced to this. Coming apart on my hand”

Hermione couldn’t think, didn’t want to think. Only wanted to submit wholly to whatever he had planned, her heat burning away every trace of shame.

Riddle’s hand abandoned her mouth only to seize her chin, dragging her face back to his. He kissed her again, his tongue forcing past her lips. Hermione moaned, clutching desperately at his body.

Buttons came undone as layers of fabric fell beneath his touch. Slipping everything free until her knickers were swept off her legs and only her skin remained beneath his exploring gaze.

Riddle loomed over her, eyes ravenous with hunger, lips curved into something feral.

“I’ve wanted this… you… for so long, it’s all I’ve thought about.”

Settling between her legs, his arms hooked under her thighs, and pulled her closer. Hermione let out a strangled sound, her face flushing, but the moment his mouth touched her, all thoughts scattered.

A cry tore from her throat as he devoured her like a man starved, tongue dragging slow, before plunging deeper, sucking, tasting. Hermione clawed at the sheets, every nerve was on fire as he worked her with his mouth.

The tension inside her coiled so tight it felt unbearable. Tom only pressed harder, his grip bruising on her, refusing to let her move away from him.

“You’re mine,” he growled against her, the vibration of his words sending a violent flutter through her.

Tongue flattening, he pressed circles around her clit. Making her hips buck despite his grasp. Her moans grew louder, and he shifted, sliding two fingers inside her and curved them.

Hermione sobbed his name, thighs spasming around his head, hands clawing at the bedding as the climax ripped through her.

An overwhelming sensation flooded her senses until all she could do was writhe beneath him.

Tom didn’t stop. He drank in every sound, every shudder, driving his tongue harder, fingers curling and thrusting again, wringing more out of her.

When she finally crumbled against the sheets, chest heaving, he drew back slowly. Lips glistening, and the smirk that touched his mouth was edged with superiority.

“You’ll remember this,” he said, voice deep and certain, brushing the back of his fingers along her swollen lips teasingly. “No one else will ever touch you like this. Only me.”

Climbing over her, he leaned down, his lips traced over the swell of her breast, then her nipple, sending tremors down her spine.

Hermione’s hands sought him, grasping at his shoulders, his chest, anything, needing more contact. Breathing came ragged again, each exhale was a mixture of satisfaction and surrender. The world outside the room ceased to exist, leaving nothing but the undeniable pull between the two of them.

“Every inch of you has been haunting me, waiting for this.” he whispered under his breath, a confession he had never allowed himself to voice aloud before.

Hermione’s reply was gentle. “Tom- Please.”

“I’ve been patient, Hermione. So patient,” he said humbly. “I cannot believe I was going to wait so long to take you.”

She didn’t catch what he had said, she was too enveloped with the rest of him.

"Tom," she begged, her voice filled with need. "Please, I need yo-"

Before she could finish her sentence, he was already moving, his hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing against her nipples. She moaned, her head falling back as he began to play with her, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through her. He pinched lightly, rolling them between his middle and index finger, making her gasp for air.

He kissed her again, but only briefly, before his lips trailed down her body, his teeth nipping at her skin. She could feel his cock pressing against her, hard and ready. She wrapped her legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, but he held her at bay, his hands pressing on her hips, holding her in place.

Hermione’s mind swirled, fogged by the heat and desire. She wanted him, wanted to surrender completely, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Please…” Tears gathered, “More. I- I’ll be so good.”

"Not yet, Hermione," he growled, his voice filled with a primal need. "I'll claim you on my terms." He flipped her over. Hands grabbing her waist pulled her up onto her knees. She gasped, her hands reaching out to brace herself, body trembling with anticipation.

Tom's fingers dug into her delicate flesh as he positioned himself at her entrance. Feeling him press against her she pushed back against him, her body desperate for him to fuck her. But he held her in place, his hands tightening on her as he kept control and slowly pushed inside her, inch by inch, filling her completely.

Crying out, her body stretched to accommodate him, her inner walls clenched around him. His head lolled back as he groaned, his hold tightened as he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of her. She could feel the climax building again, ready to explode.

"Fuck," he grunted. "You'll never leave me. You'll be mine. Forever."

Hips slamming against hers as his cock hit a spot deep inside her that made her see stars. Her body convulsed as the orgasm raged through her, clamping on him, and pulling him deeper into her.

The bed creaked beneath them. Tom could feel the pleasure building, a wave of sensation that threatened to consume him.

He wanted to look her in the eyes as he came inside her. Quickly spinning her over again, his body covered hers once more and continued driving into her, his body picking the pace up more aggressive as he drove into her.

“Fuck.” Tom felt his own release, body shuddering as his cock pulsed inside her, filling her. The knot was swelling, a sensation that was both strange and euphoric. Tom groaned, his body shuddering as the knot locked them together.

Gazing down at her, he saw the mixture of surprise and pleasure that mirrored his own feelings. "You’re incredible," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Collapsing on top of her, his body was spent, heart was racing. He could still feel her tightness, and it was the most amazing feeling he had ever experienced. Then suddenly her arms were around him, pulling him closer

A curved index finger guided her face to his and he kissed her gently, "You're mine, Hermione," he whispered. “I’m never letting you go.”

……………………………………………………………

Over the course of the next few days. No one was talking about lessons, or Quidditch, or exams. They were all talking about her.

Whispers swirled through the Great Hall like smoke, rising above the clatter of breakfast. Students craned their necks towards any chatter regarding them.

At the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson leaned back with a dramatic sigh, spoon dangling between two fingers.

“Well,” she drawled loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear, “I, for one, am thrilled it’s over. The Alphas were unbearable. You couldn’t take a single step down the corridor without someone snarling.”

She flicked her hair, “Honestly, if I had to hear Abraxas boast one more time-”

“Please Pans, you were drooling over him,” Daphne cut in, smirking. “And you have been since third year.”

Pansy’s cheeks flushed, and she sniffed. “As if I’d ever stoop to that. And Tom-” her tone turned sharp, clearly jealous, “-he can have her. Why would I want someone that wants her? Ugh, disgusting.”

Daphne rolled her eyes, “Sure Pans. Every girl in this school wants them,” she took a sip of her tea before sarcastically adding, “Except for you.”

At the Gryffindor table, Lavender and Parvati were also in full gossip mode, their voices high and eager.

“They had to lock down the entire third floor,” Lavender whispered, propping herself up on her elbows. “Because the Alphas keep trying to break out. I also heard Riddle fought Malfoy and- well obviously won!”

“Of course he won,” Parvati said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “He’s brilliant. Top of every class, he’s practically guaranteed to be Minister of Magic one day.”

Lavender sighed dreamily, her face resting in her palm. “You have to admit, it’s romantic. Locked away together, him saving her from all that madness. And have you seen him? The man is gorgeous. Hermione’s the luckiest witch alive.”

“On Godric, if I were her, I’d let him bite me wherever… twice.”

They giggled into their hands, completely oblivious to the dark scowl at the far end of the table.

Harry sat hunched over his plate, fork unmoving. His jaw worked soundlessly as the laughter around him caved in.

Ron shoved toast into his mouth and muttered, “Mate, you’ve been glaring at your eggs for five minutes.”

Harry didn’t answer. Just started stabbing the eggs aggressively.

“Merlin, It’s not the eggs' fault that Riddle's a git.”

Harry glanced at his friend, “He doesn’t deserve her.”

“No,” Ron agreed after a pause, rubbing the back of his neck. “But that’s not really how it works, is it? Alphas and all that…” He trailed off, wincing, catching what he said. “Sorry, mate. I don’t mean it like that.”

Harry gave a short, humorless laugh. “No, you’re right. It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

The doors swung open and the twins entered, identical grins in place and mischief radiating off them. They reached the table and noticed Harry’s frown.

“Ah, still talking about love and heartbreak, are we?” George asked cheerfully, flopping into the seat next to Harry.

“Or were we at the part where Harry punches Riddle?” Fred added, sitting aside Ron. “Because that’s the bit I want front-row seats for.”

Harry glared, but Ron smirked despite himself. “Shut it, you two. He’s not in the mood.”

Fred leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Look, mate. It is what it is. You’re not an Alpha.”

George nodded sagely. “And even if you were, Riddle would’ve probably found a way to cheat her from you. The man’s allergic to losing.”

Harry muttered something under his breath.

From a few seats down, Neville spoke up unexpectedly. “Wouldn’t it be funny if Harry did present later this year?”

Four faces turned to him in perfect silence.

Neville froze mid-blink, realizing what he’d said.

“I- I mean,” he stammered, going red, “not funny funny, just- well… ironic.”

The twins burst into laughter. “You hear that, Georgie? Potter might still have a chance after all!”

Harry threw his fork at Fred’s head and missed by an inch. “Sod off.”

Ron snorted, “They’re idiots. But for what it’s worth, if anyone could throw off fate just out of spite, it’d be you.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched, but the bitterness didn’t fade completely. His vision drifted to the faculty table. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe. I just wish McGonagall had stopped him, or Dumbledore, or even Snape.”

“Dumbledore was a bit busy, mate. And Morgana, was it glorious,” Seamus excitedly added as he recounted what he’d seen from the upper balcony. “Dumbledore didn’t even raise his voice. Just flicked his wand and boom the whole hall lit up like a storm had torn through.”

“Oi, Snape was the real spectacle,” Dean added, unable to hide his grin. “He moved like the wind. Saw him just crumple Goldstein into a ball.”

Harry silently stared at the two boys until they realized they were interrupting.

“Ahem, yeah. We’ll just… eat our… breakfast.” Seamus said, signaling to Dean to look away.

Harry pursed his lips and pulled his focus back on the Weasleys.

“Look, I know you’re worried. But you really think he’s that dangerous?” Ron asked quietly.

Harry’s hand clenched around his fork. “Yes, because he is that dangerous,” he said through his teeth. “He doesn’t care about protecting her. He merely put on a show.” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Maybe you’re overthinking it. Hermione’s tough. She can handle him.” Fred said.

Harry looked up sharply, pupils flashing. “It’s not about her handling him. It’s about him choosing her. Riddle doesn’t do anything without a reason. And I don’t buy that he only noticed her once she presented.” He stood abruptly, ignoring Ron’s confused look, and left the hall.

As the doors closed behind him, the buzz of gossip rose again. Pansy was still ranting about Malfoy. Lavender, still sighing over Hermione’s future. And across the room, Dumbledore’s eyes followed Harry out with quiet concern.

……………………………………………………………

The third floor had been transformed into a gilded prison.

Warding sigils glowed along the walls, runes stacked upon runes were woven tight enough to choke the air.

All of the Alphas were confined inside.

They had been excused from classes, sequestered here until Hermione’s heat ended. The heavy doors were sealed, and no one was allowed to leave, or allowed entry.

Professor Snape acted as warden. A job he never expected to have. Nor did he want.

He stood now near the door, wand ready but not raised.

Across from him, Abraxas Malfoy prowled, bringing attention from the Alphas. Blond hair clinging to his temples with sweat; his magic snapped like a whip each time he turned.

“I told you lot, Riddle is a coward,” he spat suddenly, breaking the silence. “A damned coward. If it were me, I’d have claimed her the moment that door shut behind us.”

He paced closer to the wards and they shimmered.

“He’s dragging it out and keeping us all on edge on purpose,” Abraxas hissed.

A murmur rippled among the others. Restless and frustrated, all of them aware of the truth in his words.

“Knock it off, Malfoy,” Snape said sharply. His voice cracked through the haze like a whip. “Sit down, all of you.”

“Me? We’re the ones suffering because he’s toying with her,” Abraxas shot back, grey eyes bright and wild. “He’s always playing some game. He could end it, end all of this, but he won’t. Why? Because he wants us to feel it. To torture us. You as well professor, I know you smell her. We should all go an-”

Snape’s glare didn’t waver. “You forget your place, Mr. Malfoy.”

Abraxas’s sneer faltered, just slightly.

“My place,” he muttered. “My place is supposed to be with her, knotting insid-”

Snape moved then, too fast for the eye to follow. One step, wand out, and the air between them was palpable.

“You will not finish that sentence,” Snape said, voice low and venomous. “You are fortunate the Headmaster hasn’t had you sedated outright. Even more fortunate, Riddle didn’t kill you. Now. Sit. Down.”

The command struck deep, the tone carrying the kind of power that only Snape possessed, a dark, absolute authority that made the Alphas hesitate.

Abraxas’s chest heaved, but he obeyed. and sank back into his seat, his hands running through his hair.

From the corner, Goldstein muttered, “He’s right, though. We all feel it. It’s driving us mad. The castle reeks of her, and it’s worse knowing he’s in there with her.”

“Then be grateful it’s him,” Snape snapped, eyes sweeping across the room, meeting every Alpha. “If any of you were in his place, you would’ve lost control within minutes and you would’ve hurt her.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The room was filled only with the sound of suppressed growls and grunts simmering, beneath the heavy thrum of the wards.

…………………………………………………………

She was so close, her body trembled with the edge of release. Her hands glided over his smooth chest, feeling the muscle beneath.

They’ve been at it for days. Every time she thought it was over, her body would quake again, craving Tom more and more. The fog would clear, then as soon as Tom’s fingers caressed her skin, her brain turned to mush. Not that she minded, as long as Tom kept touching her, she didn’t care what else happened.

Her breaths were turning uncontrollably harsh again.

“Easy,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Breathe. Focus on me. Nothing else matters.”

Hermione nodded, though her mind scrambled to form coherent thoughts. She wanted to speak, to apologize for losing herself, to tell him she hadn’t meant to be so… unrestrained. But her voice came out weak, “I… I still can’t think straight.”

He chuckled, a dark, warm sound that made her quiver again. “You don’t need to think,” he said, seizing her hand and pinning them above her head. “You need to trust. And you do… trust me.”

Leaning down, his lips captured hers, his tongue invaded her mouth, tasting her. She moaned, her body pressing against his. Breaking away, his tongue found her nipples and circled them. Already she could feel the tension building, her body coiling like a band ready to snap.

"Please, Tom," she begged again, her voice filled with desperation. "Please, let me cum."

Hermione’s body was on fire, her skin still sensitive to his every touch. She broke out of his hold and reached down, her hand wrapping around his hard cock. Tom groaned, thrusting in her hand. She positioned his cock at her entrance and he smirked.

“Greedy thing, aren't you.”

Her big brown eyes pleaded with him, and his never left hers as he pushed into her slowly.

“Merlin, I’ll never be tired of you.” He groaned.

He started to move, hips bouncing off hers. Hermione met his thrusts, her body moving in sync with his. The room filled with the sound of wet slaps, soft moans and gasps of pleasure. Tom bent to kiss her again. Lips brushing hers. Hermione moaned into his mouth.

 Picking up his pace, he knew she was close.

“I’m going to bite you Hermione.”

She shook her head. “N-no. I don’t wa-”

He stopped and pulled out of her. She whimpered, her body aching for him.

“No please… I’m so close,” she cried, squeezing his shoulders, urging him to continue. He sunk down, his tongue flicking against her clit. Fingers following and swirled around it gently, teasing her. She whined as her cunt moved against his hand, desperate for more.

"I'm going to bite you, Hermione," he repeated.

Hermione shuddered, a mixture of exhilaration and confusion coursed through her. Her body ached for him, yet her mind reeled from the realization that something was wrong. Still, she clung to him, seeking his comfort.

She nodded, her body shaking with the need to climax. "Yes, please Tom. Bite me. Just let me cum."

Tom began fucking her again, her thighs in his arms as his body tensed, breaths coming short. Hermione could feel it, his knot growing. Her hands continued to grip his shoulders, nails piercing his skin as her body erupted to her climax. Tom groaned, but regained his composure and slid his tongue across her throat before sinking his teeth into her gland.

Hermione cried out, partially in pain, but mostly in pleasure. It was mind numbing, her heat, his knot, and now her glands. An overwhelming sense of Euphoria struck her entire body.

Riddle collapsed on top of her, and Hermione’s arms enveloped around him, her body still pulsing with aftershocks.

They lay there, their bodies entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Tom looked into Hermione's eyes, seeing the wonder and awe reflected in them. He knew that they had shared something special, something that would bind them together forever, but his were dark with triumph.

Her hands played with the silk waves of his hair. “You’ll never regret this,” he said, a husky promise. “I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you, and nothing will take you from me. You’re mine, Hermione.”