A New Dawn

Hermione startled into wakefulness to the sun glaring through the front facing windows, the prod of something hard against her hip, the feel of breath and a nose nuzzling the crook of her neck, and a deep growl against her shoulder.

There was an ache between her legs, at the juncture of her thighs far too intense to be natural arousal. It was as if her blood was boiling in her veins, and her body was not her own anymore. She had never been so aroused, in such dire need for a man - an alpha - to claim her feverish flesh. She needed friction, and more.

Then she was flinging herself onto the floor, scrambling away from the blood soaked sofa, and blurry dreamscape became sharp reality.

Fawkes was perched on the banister of the the stairs, trilling as he cocked his head from one side to another, chest swelling with pride. Professor Snape was still asleep on the sofa, his face smooth and unburdened by years of stress, torture, and Merlin knew what else. In fact, he didn't even look like the Professor Snape that Hermione had grown up seeing every day for several months out of the school year. No, he was… younger than she remembered.

And naked.

Her professor was de-aged, and naked. On her sofa. In her childhood home. With… a rather impressive, and yet horrifying large erection, which did nothing to quelch the intense throbbing between her legs that seemed to crash through her entire being like a tsunami hitting land.

Then she realized that she was bare arsed, as well, and Hermione couldn't hold back the scream any longer.

Snape jerked awake, obviously disorientated and unaware of the situation, reaching for a wand that wasn't within reach, and taking in his surroundings with too sharp an eye for someone who had just been sleeping. When his gaze focused on her, standing there as naked as the day she'd been born, he snarled - which did not help the matter of her steadily increasing libido - and lunged to his feet, advancing on her like a predator ready to rip her to shreds.

"What the bloody fucking hell did you do?!"

His erection was bobbing up and down, as he pushed her against the wall. Hand wrapped around her throat, Snape squeezed and lifted her a few inches off the ground and snarled again, unconcerned by her nudity, and either didn't notice his own, or didn't care to make a scene about it at the moment. No, he was more focused on giving her a tongue lashing to rival all tongue lashings. He looked ready to murder her, pupils blown in blinding rage.

Hermione was terrified.

"Answer me!"

Something in the threatening growl triggered a response from Hermione that she would forever hate herself for if she survived past the morning. The presence of glands at the junctures of her shoulders, at her wrists, and at the nape of her neck flared with a burning pleasure that ripped a moan from her lips and caused something warm, wet, and slick to flow down her thighs. It was the most embarrassing experience of her life, watching her former professor's nostrils flare when the scent hit him full force. He shook with thinly veiled restraint, complexion turning a mottled red, and his fingers dug into the curve of her throat, but his eyes burned with desire instead of anger.

"What did you do to me, Granger?" he asked again, another harsh growl that pulled another moan out of her. And then he pushed a command, the tone that of a powerful alpha, and she realized it too late, "Tell me, now!"

"I bound our lives together!" Hermione answered, involuntarily forced to do it as an omega. Bloody hell, an omega, and he was an alpha. What had she done? "My life didn't matter! I needed you to live!"

"Fucking omega!" Snape bellowed in her face, releasing her to collapse to the floor and putting distance between them, nostrils still flaring. "I did my duty - I was ready to die!"

"Harry's dead," coughed Hermione, tears streaming down her cheeks, as she rubbed her throat. She could still feel the strength in his fingers, and her body shook with the implications. "The Dark Lord won. I was dead anyway… but you're the only person smart enough to destroy him. My life didn't matter anymore…"

From her vantage point on the carpet, Hermione had quite a lot to take in, including the largeness of Snape's frame, and the taught musculature of his body at the age of what could only be 25, give or take a year or two. Or maybe three. She wasn't sure, because she had never known Snape before 31, and even then he had been aged several years older than he had actually been. His torso was like an inverted triangle, all broad shoulders and defined muscles, tapering down to angular hips and strong, thick thighs. His chest was almost bare, save for a thin smattering of black hair, and a narrow trail leading down to his cock from his navel. And even his navel looked as though it had been sculpted by the ancient Greeks.

Then he turned away from her to bellow a reverberating, "FUCK!"

He even had hard muscles throughout his back, for bloody Merlin's sake. Snape had an arse like Adonis, a perfect specimen of alpha and male. So male.

"Stop examining me as if I'm a prize steer, Granger!" snapped Snape, bringing her out of her appraisal of his very attractive new form. "Control yourself! I need to know what happened, and you will tell me this instant! Every detail!"

There was that tone, again. Alpha.

Aggressive, pure, and commanding.

Hermione told him everything, trying to cover herself as she stayed submissive on the floor, aware that she was still throbbing, uncomfortably warm, and pooling wetness underneath her as if she were a leaking faucet. Every detail poured out of her without delay, and she could see the cogs working in Snape's mind, his eyes extremely expressive at the moment, as he took it all in. He had known for several minutes that Hermione was presenting omega, a maiden omega, and he had noted how strongly she reacted to his use of alpha tone. He had already tucked that information into a compartment, ready to use it against her if need be. He was also picking apart everything she told him, pulling from his own formidable knowledge, and piecing together what had caused her to sacrifice her own life and magic to save him - the bullying, bastard professor of her impressionable adolescence.

There was a comment made in regards to her being a self-sacrificing Gryffindor to the very end, as if the notion offended him. It was highly laughable, coming from the man whose deep seeded honor had led him to sacrifice himself for his dead friend's son. Hermione would have laughed, too, but she couldn't bring herself to in the face of a naked, fuming Snape. Even then, she continued to divulge everything to him, through her harrowing escape to the moment she had woken up to him nuzzling her neck.

Snape was flaccid now, and it was still rather impressive, continuing to draw Hermione's gaze away from his face in regular intervals. The hormones were driving her mad, and the presence of alpha wasn't helping, realizing she was steadily transitioning into her first heat.

"You understand that the incantation could never have been successful if we weren't destined mates, don't you, Granger?"

He was growling again, frustratedly trying to explain to her the severity of the situation they were now in.

"I am a twice your age," he stated, sneering now. "I am a fucking Death Eater, Granger, and you've successfully bound yourself to me for the rest of our bloody lives!"

"I'm sorry," whimpered Hermione, fighting back the tears threatening to burst through. "It was a last resort… I couldn't let you die…"

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Hermione whispered. "It was like… a force guiding me…"

"That would be the imprint," snarled Snape, and Hermione looked up at him in confusion.

"Imprint?"

"The moment our gazes locked in the shack, Granger. The growing pull driving us both - IT'S ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!"

Hermione flinched, the force of his raw, unbridled power ripping through the house in a matter of seconds. Wall lamps were torn from the walls, the few pieces of abandoned furniture that she could see exploded in a shower of splinters and stuffing, and the walls themselves cracked from floor to ceiling. She had never experienced magic like Snape's in full force, unrestrained and chaotic, a whirlwind of destruction as he let his rage run rampant.

Then it was gone, retreated back into him and under complete control once more. He simply stormed up the stairs, and she could hear the muffled slam of a door on the second floor. And she left alone in the aftermath of his rampage, ashamed and aroused, full of conflicting emotions, and sobbing until she couldn't breathe...