A/N: This is a little ABO PWP for fun and to try my hand at the trope. I picked what I liked about it and ignored the rest. No knots or slick. Includes somewhat dubious consent.

"Fuck."

When Harry arrived at his best friend's flat for their weekly pizza night, he was not prepared for what he saw.

Or, rather, smelled.

An intoxicating cloud of something a little spicy mixed with the scent of citrus assaulted his senses.

Omega.

Hermione Granger was an omega. And she was in heat.

Double fuck.

How had he missed it? She must have been taking potions, suppressants or something. Now the prospect of a casual night in became complicated. Harry wasn't sure how long he could last sitting on the sofa beside an omega in heat, acting as if nothing were different, as if the alpha in his chest weren't trying to claw itself out.

With no prospective partners on the horizon that weren't after him for fame or money, each week that passed without the relief of lying with an omega put a little more pressure on the cap containing his normally airtight self-control.

So he'd leave. He'd leave, and he'd never bring it up, and they could go back to their normal friendship where he didn't know this intimate thing about the most important person in his life, and she didn't know that he'd been sweet on her since they were children.

Just as he was about to turn and go, he heard a whimper. Hands flying to the door, he said, "Hermione?"

A pained cry was her only response.

Sliding his wand out of its holster, he deactivated the complicated wards Hermione had erected, shouldering the door open as soon as they lifted.

Laying on the floor in her sitting room, Hermione was writhing around clawing at her neck, nails leaving bright red streaks on her already pink skin.

Fucking Circe.

Rushing forward, he fell to his knees beside her, trying to get her to still without hurting herself further. She blinked up at him when he grabbed her shoulders, very little lucidity showing in her eyes.

"Hermione, you have to stop. You've gotta stop."

She barely acknowledged his presence, fingers tearing at the scent gland on her neck. If she dug any deeper, she would draw blood. Overpowering her, he finally got her on her back as he straddled her hips, wrists pinned to the floor on either side of her head.

"Please. Please. Please."

Her words were a prayer, and she sounded so desperate, so needy that the reaction he'd been fighting washed over him, no longer able to be held back. Fire ignited in his veins and it felt like all the blood in his body rushed to his cock.

He leaned over her, nuzzling his nose into the juncture where neck met shoulder. She was sweating, damp strands of hair clinging to her skin. The scent of her was the strongest there, amplified by the heat of her skin, so near to the gland on her neck.

Realization hit him like a freight train. It smacked him straight in the chest, knocking away his breath with the sheer power of it.

The minute he lowered his head, she stilled beneath him, her entire body going pliant. She felt it too.

She was more than a simple omega; she was his mate.

Breathy whimpers left her lips, and he could feel them ruffling the too-long hair curling around his ear as he released her wrists, bracing his hands on the floor beside her head.

He still had a major problem, one currently attempting to burst from his jeans, but his actions had calmed her, at least. She was no longer trying to claw her skin off, thank Merlin.

"Harry. Please. Make it stop. It hurts, Alpha. My alpha…" The last syllable left her on a quiet wail that sliced through his heart.

In the morning, she'd regret this. She wasn't in her right mind; she was delirious.

Had she known about this all along? Had she known they were fated and ignored it because she would never want to be tied to him? If she'd been avoiding acknowledging it, she must not want him; it was the only thing that made sense.

He didn't know what to do.

But sweet Circe, she smelt divine.

When he shifted on his knees, the witch beneath him bucked up with her hips as best she could with him straddling her thighs, briefly making contact and pulling a growl from Harry.

"Please. Please. Just—please!"

Grasping her head firmly between his palms, he leaned in until their noses touched, waiting until her focus was back on his eyes before pulling away an inch. Her gaze was fixed on his, tracking his every move.

"Hermione, I—I need to know you're in there. Okay? Can you—can you just show me that you're still with me?"

A little furrow grew between her brows, the same she'd always had when he'd found her hunched over a table in the Hogwarts library at wee hours of the morning, trying to pack in every last drop of knowledge she could, even to her own detriment.

"'Mione?"

"I just… I need you. Please."

A lone, shiny tear escaped her eyes and ran down her face, catching on her pouty lower lip as it trembled with her desire.

The want building in his lower belly combined with the pleading that could not be quieted made his decision for him. Standing and pulling her with him, he urged her to wrap her legs around his hips. With a hand on her arse and his arm snaking around her back to land on the nape of her neck, gently pressing her face into his shoulder, he stumbled into her bedroom.

He tried to toss her on the mattress, but she was clinging to him like a tick, forcing him to lean down onto the bed over her, setting her on her back and carefully extricating himself from her unyielding grip. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she squirmed, calling out his name with increasing urgency while her hand slipped down into her jeans, her hand moving frantically beneath the fabric.

"Help… Help me."

"Okay. Shh. Okay, I'm here." Fingers fumbling with buttons on his trousers, Harry shoved them down his hips, kicking them off along with his shoes. His shirt landed on the floor beside them.

"Okay, just hold on." Her cries of need and the scent of her were overwhelming him, forcing his rational brain to back a few paces. Undoing her jeans, he tugged down a little roughly, fingers aching with the need to touch her. Hermione pulled up her shirt, struggling to get it over and off her head, adorable little grunts spilling from her lips. Carefully, he stilled her hands, untangling the wild strands of her hair caught in the collar.

When she lay there in just her knickers, Harry planted a knee between her thighs, bracing himself on one elbow as he dipped his head to brush his mouth over her collarbone.

She hummed, and he felt it vibrate in her chest against his lips as he moved lower, placing open mouth kisses atop each of her bared breasts, the soft flesh rapidly rising and falling from the force of her panting.

So pretty.

The restless wiggling returned in earnest. "Can you be good for me, love? Hold still for me." He spoke against her skin and when he felt her nod, he glanced up. The expression on her face almost made him laugh. She was so earnest, concentrating on stilling her movement as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Eyes on her face to gauge her reaction, he leaned on one elbow and closed his mouth over her nipple, buoyed by her immediate response. She moaned, fingers tangling in his hair as she held his head to her breast, pressing closer.

When he sucked, a shiver ran through her. Releasing her nipple with a pop, he moved to the other, his fingers coming up to play with the one he'd just neglected. His touch seemed to calm her as much as it inflamed her, like the simple sensation of skin on skin soothed the biological imperative currently flooding her system.

"Harry."

Laying there touching her—watching how beautifully she responded to him—was something he could do all night, and he might have had she not tugged at his hair.

Her eyes were clearer as she pulled him up until he was hovering above her and pressed her mouth to his, kissing him with so much gusto it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. It was hot and hard and everything he'd imagined it to be on the rare occasion when he let himself fantasize about what might happen if he wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist, tugged her to him, and devoured her.

The desire to stay here like this, drinking her in, was nearly stronger than the desire he had to taste her elsewhere, to make her feel good.

A laugh rumbled through his chest when he tried to move lower, and she tightened her grip on his hair with a whine. The corner of her mouth tucked up as she said, "Uh-uh. No moving."

"Trust me, love. You'll be pleased with the change of direction."

Moving lower, he trailed open-mouth kisses over her ribs, detouring to each hip bone, relishing in the needy sounds coming from her with each press of his lips to her skin before slowly pulling down her knickers with two fingers tucked into the pretty lace waistband.

He circled one ankle than the other with his fingers, tugging her feet up until her calves rested on his shoulders. Pausing for a moment, he just took in the sight of her, so beautiful and spread out before him.

"Harry." The vowel was drawn out; she was getting antsy. The fever consuming her seemed to have ebbed some, taking away the frantic edge the moment had held when he'd first arrived. Now, he wasn't as rushed and able to take his time with her, commit it all to memory for the inevitable moment when she would leave and he would be on his own again, out in the cold.

The torch he carried for her remained brightly lit, but she didn't know that. She couldn't know that. The price of keeping it a secret was one he'd gladly pay if it meant their friendship remained unchanged.

All manner of worst-case scenarios played in his head. In the morning she'd tell him that she'd known the truth about them all along, that she'd rather suffer the pain of unmated heats than be tied to him forever.

This, right now, was Hermione letting him stand in front of the hearth to warm his frozen fingers. It was a moment of true connection, and he intended to bask in all the warmth he could while she let him.

So, he shoved his thoughts aside and gave in to the fire burning in his veins for the little witch beneath him.

His fingers danced up over her clit and her hips twitched in response, a whimper escaping her when he went lower, circling her entrance with one finger.

"Fuck, Hermione. You're soaked. Is this all for me?"

"Yes." It was a whisper that became a hiss as he slipped a finger inside of her, and he had to hold back a groan when she bucked up and forced it deeper.

Gods, she was perfect, all smooth skin and sweet sounds.

"So responsive."

Those sweet sounds ratcheted up when he lowered his head, and his name left her in a shout when he finally tasted her, mouth and fingers working together to wind her up taut like a wire.

"Harry."

"Right here, sweetheart." Her erratic movements were impeding his efforts, and he solved the issue by holding her down with an arm banded across her hips. "Do you have any idea how good you look?" The smooth skin of her thigh called to him, and he bent to run the tip of his nose down the soft flesh. "How good you smell?"

She whimpered in response. When he glanced up, she was scratching at her neck again as she writhed beneath his mouth.

"Fucking perfect, Hermione." He needed to speed things up because her heat had amplified again, so he focused all of his attention between her legs, winding her tighter and tighter until she snapped and fell apart with a cry, every muscle tensing as release washed over her.

With quick movements, he released her legs and shifted up, holding himself on one elbow while using his free hand to line himself up with her centre. She blinked up at him with bright eyes, pupils blown wide.

He pushed into her as she cupped his jaw and feathered her thumb across his skin, and everything faded away until the only thing he knew was her around him and the twin sighs of relief that left their lips.

It was more than sex; it was the magic they each held individually twining together until it was unclear where his stopped and hers began. Until they were one.

It was warmth and light and everything good.

They moved together in sync, a perfect balance of push and pull, give and take. He could have stayed like that forever, slowly rolling his hips and soaking in the feeling of everything being exactly how it was meant to be.

He didn't what it meant, didn't know if the simple act of coming together had already cemented their bond or if there was more involved. Harry hadn't even known that this biological designation was a possibility until he'd been seventeen and utterly confused by the changes to himself.

Hermione probably knew a lot more than he did. Surely she'd researched every inch of parchment she could find on the subject. She'd know what it meant, and he could only hope she wouldn't hate him if they'd somehow triggered something that couldn't be undone.

"More, Harry." She rested her wrist on his shoulder, fingers brushing over his gland on the side of his neck and sending lightning down his spine.

"Okay. Okay." Sliding his arm beneath her lower back, he rested on his haunches and raised her hips, rocking faster in and out of her, getting deeper than he was before.

Unintelligible words flowed from Hermione's mouth, little murmurs of desperate pleasure that drove his desire for her even higher intermingled with the obscene sounds of their coupling.

"Good girl. Such a good girl." He was mumbling now, too, and his messy fringe had fallen in his eyes as Hermione's nails dragged red trails down his forearm.

It was too much all at once, and when he felt the first hints of her fluttering around his cock, he spoke to her between gasping breaths of air.

"That's it. You can come again. Come on, Hermione." His grip was slipping on her slick skin, and he adjusted them again, pressing her back to the bed with her legs tight around his waist.

"I— I... Oh."

"Let go for me. Let me feel it."

The sound she made as she shattered was music to his ears, igniting a burst of heat at the base of his spine. And then he was coming, and it felt better than it ever had, and he never wanted it to stop. He wanted to stay there, buried in her, for the foreseeable future.

But he couldn't, so instead, he rolled onto his back, adjusting her until she rested comfortably atop him. Her breathing evened out until the racing heart he could feel beating against his own chest slowed down.

Eventually, she pushed herself up and off him, reaching for her wand where it rested on her nightstand, pointing it at herself and whispering a few spells before swinging her legs under the covers and settling onto her pillow.

"Hermione, I—"

"Can we just… I'm tired. Can we talk about it in the morning?"

"Of course." He shifted to rise from the bed and collect his scattered clothing, but a delicate hand on his arm stopped him.

"Stay. Please? Just hold me for a while and we'll figure it all out tomorrow." She rolled to her side facing away from him.

Who was he to say no?

"Okay. Okay, 'Mione."

Sliding under the blankets, he pulled her back to his chest, curling an arm around her waist, closing his eyes, and inhaling the scent of her hair.

Cinnamon and citrus.