There was a scent, clinging to the air in certain parts of the castle that made Hermione tremble. On each inhale, it seeped into her skin and coated her in a blanket of warmth and on every exhale, it left her breathless with want. She knew exactly to whom the scent belonged and yet, she didn't. He was hers and she was his; that was the way of things.
It had always been the way of things.
She'd once thought Betas were lucky. They were able to choose their mates. Omegas, however, were inexplicably tied to an Alpha. One Alpha in the sea of billions of people around the world that she might never find. There were even services to connect unmated Omegas to their Alphas, but they weren't needed until the Omega's scent glands fully developed as she approached her first heat. Sometimes, they were connected to a Beta who'd signed up to help an Omega with her heat until her Alpha could be found. They didn't have a knot nor were the able to break through the thin skin protecting the Omega's mating gland. They served as a buffer, a way to prevent an Omega from being claimed by someone who wasn't hers.
It was dangerous to face a heat alone. Better to face it with a Beta and than by oneself.
Hermione had reached maturity over the summer and the first time she scented Ron, she thought she might die from the shame of it. She'd had to shove her hand over her mouth and nose to stop the smell because it was all wrong. She had, however, broken into a fit of laughter when she saw that he was doing the exact same thing. He was perfectly happy in his bachelorhood at the moment, as he'd yet to scent his own Omega.
She always imagined using the service, but when she'd returned for her eighth year at Hogwarts, Hermione had scented her mate the moment she stepped into the Great Hall.
He had been here. He had walked these halls and she'd made it her aim to find him. It was likely they'd gone to school together for the past several years and neither of them had been any wiser. It wasn't something that was even thought of during school because of how late the presentations of Omegas occured.
Sure, Omegas and Alphas might dream of meeting their perfect mate, but until they graduated from school, most of them had no idea whom they were destined for. It was one of the reasons pureblood marriage contracts existed only between Betas.
To top it all off, the concept of having a mate was the one bit of divination she didn't think was rubbish. Her parents were a mated pair and her grandparents before them. Both sets muggle, as it was uncommon for a muggle to match with a wizard, though not unheard of.
Every time she caught a whiff of his scent, the mating gland near her shoulder pulsed and throbbed and nearly sent her to her knees with the intensity of it. She needed him and he was here, somewhere in the castle. She knew that if she was able to scent him, he should have been able to do the same to her.
Term had been in session for one week and it had been driving her absolutely mad.
Why hadn't he come looking for her?
….
It was the strongest in the dungeons.
Every time she trekked to her NEWT level potions class with Professor Slughorn, she scented him. His scent clung to the damp corridors and blanketed her as she passed through each ancient hall. The potency sometimes made it difficult to concentrate, but none of the Alphas in her classes had ever even batted an eye in her direction.
It was possible he could have been younger than her. She completely dismissed the fact that it was someone older. Their scent shouldn't have been so strong if he hadn't been at the school within the past year. The majority of their professors were female and with Remus Lupin being the only male Alpha on staff and happily married to his own Omega, she knew it couldn't be him.
It only stood to reason that with the damage the castle sustained, the scent of him wouldn't have been so strong were he not also at Hogwarts.
"You're distracted again," Malfoy said as Hermione turned the stirring rod in the cauldron.
Her eyes popped open wide and she glanced down, ensuring she hadn't ruined the potion they had been tasked with brewing. Luckily, she hadn't. It was still a crystalline blue, just as it should be before the aster petals were added.
Malfoy ran the blade through the purple petals, slicing them with ease. "You've scented him, haven't you?" he asked, sprinkling the petals into the cauldron.
Hermione nodded, "It's like I can't think when I'm down here."
In the week they'd been back, she'd developed a tentative truce with Malfoy and had been making an effort to be nice to him, though many spat his name as if it were poisoned. Having him as a potions partner was surprisingly nice. He was intelligent enough and they worked well together, everything considered.
Malfoy passed her the vial of leech blood and the bowl of lemon juice to combine while he whisked the spiders eggs into the eel slime. "He's not come forward yet, I take it?"
"No. I don't think I'd be this distracted if I knew who he was," she said, picking through her potions kit for the correct size dropper. "We're you like this with Astoria?"
"Probably worse," he shrugged. "She came into maturity so much younger than anyone expected and I felt like I would have to tear down walls to find her, each time I caught her scent. You know the rest of the story."
Astoria had come back to Hogwarts, trying to hide her presentation with suppressants she brewed herself. Unfortunately, they hadn't worked. Hermione had come upon the pair of them in a deserted corridor and Draco had backed the younger witch into a corner and her eyes were wide with what Hermione interpreted, at the time, as fright. They'd carted him to the hospital together, Hermione apologizing profusely, and now, Draco and Astoria were nearly inseparable.
It was the catalyst that started their tentative friendship.
After potions finished, Hermione lingered in the classroom when Slughorn waddled off towards the Great Hall in search of lunch. Her fingertips traced over the ancient wood of the desk, seated at the front of the room as she leaned against it, looking out over the classroom.
She hoped to be somewhere like this one day, passing on her knowledge to future generations. Before the war, she'd aspired to the post of Minister for Magic or at the very least, a position in the Wizengamot, but the war had changed all of that. She wanted to live quietly, and obtaining a mastery and teaching seemed to be her favored option, for the moment.
Magic danced along the tips of her fingers as she trailed them along the woodgrain, marked with Merlin knew how many years of scratches shining below a carefully buffed layer of wax. When her finger brushed along the edge of the desk, a tiny drawer popped out, containing a single key made of heavy iron. Hermione held her breath as she picked up the key, her eyes immediately scanning the room for any sign of a lock.
When none could be seen, she stood and began to walk the perimeter of the room, fingers dancing over the cold stones of the dungeon classroom as she sought the keyhole. She even looked under the bunting and tapestries Professor Slughorn had seen fit to hang on some of the walls, but she found no sign of where the key might belong.
There were no false stones or hiddens doors she could find. With a sigh, she closed the tiny compartment in the desk and tucked the key into the pocket of her robes.
When she left the potions classroom, satchel slung over her shoulder, she turned towards the dungeons rather than towards the staircase that would send her to the Great Hall. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but there was something about the key that intrigued her. She'd seen ironworks on the doors of the dungeons before and knew it couldn't be far.
She didn't know what exactly it might lead to, but she could feel the magic pulsing from it. It was neither hostile nor welcoming, but it seemed to recognize her as she curled her fingers around it in her pocket.
She turned down several corridors until she came to an unassuming dark oak door with iron hinges near the entrance to the Slytherin common rooms. The same sort of recognition pulsed into her hand when she laid it atop the wood.
She pulled the key from her pocket and pressed it into the keyhole. Instead of being met with resistance, it turned with ease and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. The door was a little more resistant to open, but when she channeled her magic through her hand, it swung open with ease to allow her entry and closed on it's own when she stepped inside.
She found herself in a tidy room with a small sofa and shelves nearly overflowing with books. An empty teacup sat atop a saucer on a coffee table next to a stack of academic journals. There were no photographs within the room but several magical landscape portraits were hung on the sparsely decorated walls. A small writing desk was tucked near the back of the space with a matching chair placed before it.
The scent of him in the air was unmistakable.
It was everywhere in this tidy living space, clinging to the ancient tapestries on the far wall and the throw pillows on the sofa. Her heart pounded as she crossed the small room, nearly tripping over the antique rug on the floor, to open one of two doors leading off of the main room.
The bedroom she found herself in was devoid of dust, the same as the living area, but the flowers in the vase next to the bed were shrivelled and dry, though she paid them no mind. A small lavatory was found off of the bedroom on the wall opposite of a large wardrobe.
The bed was covered in a dark gray duvet with subtle embroidery while a veritable mountain of fluffy pillows in a matching fabric sat against the thick, wooden headboard.
Hermione shed her outer robes on the floor, leaving her in only her uniform, and tore open the wardrobe. She grasped at the dark fabrics and buried her nose in them, inhaling deeping and nearly falling to her knees with want as the scent of smoky scent of burning wood and herbs filled every crevice within her.
Alpha.
She moved before she could think, shedding her own clothing in a pile on the floor, suddenly so desperate to be surrounded by him. She wrapped a long, black shirt around her torso, leaving the robes in their place, and she was engulfed in him. His scent seeped into her pores and made her feel nearly completely. A sense of calm flooded her body as the fabric brushed against her bare skin.
This was where she was meant to be. In these chambers, with her Alpha.
He lived here and he would come for her. He had to. She only had to be patient and he would come. He would find her waiting and willing and ready to wrap her arms around him to welcome him home.
Alpha will be pleased.
Alpha will take care of you.
Alpha will be here soon.
Hermione crawled into his bed and buried herself under the thick duvet. She waited, listening for any sign of him until her eyes grew drowsy and she fell asleep. She dreamt of him, a nameless figure that held her and needed her just as much as she needed him. The one person in the world who would love her and cherish her, no matter the circumstances.
And after everything she'd been through. Every curse she'd taken, every ordeal she'd endured. His presence would make it worth it. She'd thought of him as she huddled in the tent with Harry and Ron as they worked to bring Voldemort down, wondering where he was and what he was doing. Wondering if he thought of her.
But by the time she woke up, hours later and weak with fatigue of not having eaten, he still hadn't come.
A feeling of unease settled in her stomach. If her Alpha wasn't here with her, then where was he? Surely he should have come back to his room by now? They were well past lunch and classes would have finished.
He should be here.
She forced herself out of his bed and wandered back out into the middle of the small flat, stockinged feet padding over the cold wood floors. She shivered, the thin shirt she'd draped around her did little to stop the biting cold of the dungeons from seeping into her bones.
She made her way towards the back of the room to the small writing desk tucked off in the corner. There were beautiful eagle feather quills and elegant glass inkpots and many sheets of fine parchment within the small compartments of the desk. Pulling a folded sheet of parchment from one of the compartments in her curiosity, all of the air rushed from her lungs when she read the two words inscribed upon the folded note.
Severus Snape
An anguished cry tore from her throat and she suddenly felt as though she were drowning. Her knees buckled and she landed, hard, on the cold floor. The comforting scent that had blanketed and comforted her, now felt as though it were smothering her, stealing her breath and making her dizzy with grief.
Her Alpha wasn't coming.
He was never coming.
Her Alpha was dead.