Chapter seven is here!
You all very much deserve two chapters today, it's the least I could do for making you wait so long, so please note there is a chapter six from Draco's POV to read first.
This chapter takes place after Hermione's visit with Ralf, please keep that in mind.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or other references to the original work of J.K Rowling. I only own my own mistakes
-o-o-o-
Reminder from chapter 1:
Step one: Learn everything there is to know about the nature of an Omega.
Step two: Learn everything there is to know about Alphas.
Step three: Cry.
Step four: Find an Alpha within two weeks. Owl Ralf to see if he has anyone willing and non-abhorrent.
Step five: Try to not die.
On unsteady legs, she stumbled up the curved staircase to her flat, located on the third floor and walked straight past her wards. Finally in the comfort of her own flat, she skipped right to step three as tears stung in her eyes. She leaned against the door and slid down, wrapping her arms around her knees, dropping her face to the fabric of her jeans.
Fatal.
Fucking fatal.
-o-o-o-
Hermione had been pacing around her flat all of Saturday, nervous and feeling unbalanced. Whatever she'd expected to learn that day, was not remotely close to what Ralf had told her.
"You're an Omega."
When Hermione had no tears left to cry, she picked herself off the cold floor and wrote a letter to Pansy. The chair scraped across the hardwood floor when she pulled it out from under the small desk. The screeching sound seemed to increase the pounding in her head. She licked her dry lips and swallowed.
She dipped the quill into the inkpot and didn't realise how terribly her hand shook until the ink made numerous small black spots on the parchment. Even though there was nothing composed or grounded about her right then, she didn't forget her well-taught manners. The kind her father had carefully and effectively instilled in her since she could comprehend words and actions. Trying to steady her hand, she began the letter with a 'thank you', saying she was grateful to Pansy for getting her in touch with Ralf, but that was about as far her good manners reached.
Her mind was racing with battling thoughts and even though she tried to make her sentences make sense, they came out clumsily with poor English. She explained she did not wish to be contacted for a while, that she needed time to process and surely Pansy would understand that. Her words stumbled on top of each other as if they were at war and she hoped Pansy hadn't had any wine because then her letter might be unreadable.
Reading it through once before placing it into an envelope, she realised the tone of the letter wasn't as carefree as she wanted. The words seemed to scream and her anger was apparent. A grimace splayed across her face. For a short time, she contemplated tearing up the letter and starting over. She gave a quick nod, realising she was allowed to be angry. It was true she had a hard time collecting her thoughts, but one question stuck out –why hadn't Pansy told her? To Hermione, it was unarguable that Pansy knew, to a certain degree, she must've had a formed idea in her head about what Hermione was going through.
She'd intentionally left out the part of having a mental breakdown and a full on identity crisis she suspected she'd never bounce back from. As she attached the letter to Agatha's – her barn owl's – leg, she thought it possible Pansy would be able to tell anyway. Agatha gave a low 'hoot' and pecked the pad of Hermione's thumb.
"All right, all right," she said and fetched her a treat. Agatha seemed satisfied with that and as soon as Hermione opened the window, she took flight.
Not long after Agatha disappeared around the corner of the building; she fell asleep, cozied up in her father's plaid shirt and with Ralf's words in the forefront of her mind.
She, Hermione Jean Granger, was an Omega, and she would refuse to submit to just anyone. Her dreams came to her in fragments, pleasure and revulsion mixed together. Pansy was there, circling around her, laughing, telling her she was stupid for not putting it all together herself. Pansy's face faded and was replaced with Ralf. In her nightmare he was taller and intimidating, he had kind eyes but his teeth were sharp as a sharks, ready to attack. Men surrounded her, told her she was their prey, told her she was theirs. Overcome by a feeling she no longer belonged to herself, she started to panic. It was as if her body served a purpose and her mind and intellect was no longer needed, for she was nothing more than a vessel of pleasure to anyone who was strong enough to fight off the others and claim her with a bite. She didn't scream, she wanted to scream more than anything, but when the man's teeth sank into her sore neck, the exact spot that had been bothering her for weeks, she felt an overpowering orgasm forced from deep inside.
Almost falling off the armchair, she woke with a hammering pulse. She used the sleeves of the shirt to wipe off the sweat from her forehead, and then she was irritated with herself for doing so. This wasn't a shirt she washed, and now it would be tainted with the smell of her own fear. Mumbling a row of curse words, she very much missed the serene dreams of pregnancy she usually had.
Her entire body felt taut and unsure, as if she'd been reborn and no longer knew how to move her own limbs. One step forward, she whispered to herself, and after some time, she managed to make it out to the kitchen. She didn't need to glance in a mirror to know she looked pathetic – the space between her living room and the kitchen was all but five steps. She rummaged the cabinets and soon found what she sought. The small glass flask with dark purple liquid held promises of a dreamless sleep. She uncorked it with a slight 'pop', and took the entire thing in two gulps.
She collapsed on top of her bed and when she woke again, she was shivering from cold. The sun peeked through her blinds came across as aggressive and rude.
-o-o-o-
The entirety of the following day was spent searching the shelves of the library. Her head constantly turning left and right, making sure no one would see her picking up the books she needed.
She tilted a book off the shelves "The hidden truth of Omegas" by Allan Warwick. It was so thin she almost put it back. When she'd gathered every single book the library had to offer on the subject - which was so slim her heart sank – she ambled out into the sunny day.
Casually glancing through the windows and alleyways she crossed on her way back to her flat, she halted at the sight of a dark haired man. He was standing with two hooded figures in a thin alley. Something about the square of his shoulders, his length and the muffled tone of his voice was familiar. She was too far away to hear what they were talking about but she could see the exchange of a letter. As they started walking further into the alley, she recognised the way he walked. Theodore Nott. She'd watched him so often at Hogwarts, seen his confident strides as he gave her that nod, but why was his hair black? People didn't normally exchange letters in shadowed alleyways. He turned his head slightly, and she hurried out of sight, afraid he might spot her.
She strolled the rest of the way home with a strange feeling in her stomach.
-o-o-o-
Again, snuggled up in an armchair in the corner of her small livingroom, with Molly's knitted blanket thrown over her legs she read, and read, and read. The more information she probed into her mind, the more she wondered if she should simply just reconcile with it. With the thought of death and that maybe her life purpose had ben fulfilled in her efforts during the war. It was possible she never was meant to live past it. She rolled the glass veil of suppressant potion between her fingers. She'd figured out how to brew it as soon as she'd read the instructions in one of the books. There was already another batch brewing, and perhaps the fact she'd bothered to, meant she held a sliver of hope of surviving after her first heat.
Suppressants were great; they could dull her smell to Alphas and allow her to live life sort of normally between heats. It was just that annoying, tiny detail of not being able to use it until after her first heat that concerned her. According to the book opened on her lap, the suppressant potion was mainly meant for Omegas who for some reason had forced separation from their Alphas, and they could only be consumed when an Omega had already presented. Rendering it useless as of now. It was as if she held the cure to her condition in her hands, and it was making fun of her.
She learned many things from the stack of books she'd acquired. One, the first heat was imperative to the development of an Omega. A ritual of sorts – a ritual into adulthood.
Two, she apparently should've become an Omega much earlier; this fed her illusion that maybe she wasn't meant to live past the war. It meant, not only was she the first Omega to present in about a century, she was also a late bloomer, and she didn't really know how to feel about that.
The conclusion landed on the only explanation she could think of. Her designation had been suppressed naturally due to stress during the war. To back up her claim, was a passage in the book "Stories of the enchanting Omega" by Sharon Alexander. It stated that normally an Omega presents at the age of 19, but studies show some present at a later time, due to unnatural consequences. However, examples of unnatural consequences were not provided. She remembered Ralf saying there was no exact age for Omegas to present, that it was different for everyone.
So, which was it? Did Ralf have it right or was it Sharon Alexander?
She scowled, and sipped some coffee that had more liquor in it than coffee to be truthful. Focusing back on the yellow pages she learned that the Omega's heat occurred every third months until impregnation. The suppressant couldn't stop her from going into heat it seemed.
Well wasn't that an utter disappointment.
The heat could last between four to seven days and it begins with a fever. The omega can experience mild cramping, increase of slick and pheromone production. The pheromones are released from the scent glands and will lure Alphas to her, a signal of sorts, indicating the Omega being fertile.
The fever could reach a very high temperature, and the only way to stop from burning up from the inside out was for an Alpha to knot in her.
Knot?
She skimmed the text to find the section that explained knotting. There was none. She felt her frustration grow, how hard could it be for all vital information to be found in one book? All the information was scattered amongst different ones, which led her to believe there must be even more information to be found in more rare texts. Texts she didn't have.
She rummaged through the other books and finally found a passage about it.
Knotting. Apparently the Alpha's private parts would swell at the base, the knot will inflate the closer an Alpha gets to an orgasm, catching on to the Omega, locking them together. There was no exact timeframe, but it was estimated to last for several minutes and within the first minutes the Alpha would release it's seed into the Omega. Knotting was biology's way of increasing chances of pregnancy.
She felt the need to read the passage again, but she'd read it correctly.
Minutes. An Alpha could come for minutes. She could feel her heart drumming in her ears. What about Omegas? Would orgasms for an omega be more powerful than the ones she'd experienced before? For a brief second she wondered what that would feel like. Amazing? The word came as a mere whisper from the back of her head and she shook it. The orgasm she'd had this morning due to the many foul nightmares had been intense, but not in a nice way. It was more like someone had used an Imperio on her and ordered her to come.
This situation was anything but amazing.
She closed her eyes, feeling a small rush of alcohol settling in. When she got to the part about the amount of slick her body would produce during a heat she wanted to scream with embarrassment and hide her face even though she was alone. Slick was a sort of see-through liquid that her glands in her private parts would create. In lack of better comparisons, she thought of the normal wetness a female produces during state of arousal. The amounts for an Omega were just, bizarre.
It wasn't her physical state that had her ready to faint when she closed the books. It was the overpowering thoughts in her head, the thought of her very real reality. If she didn't find an Alpha before her first heat, she was as dead as Voldemort himself.
She hugged the mug with her palms and soothed herself by tossing down what was left. Her vision blurred slightly and the words smudged together occasionally, but her mind stayed sharp enough for her to continue with her first task on the list. Learn everything there is to know about Omegas.
Claiming – when an Alpha bites an Omega on the scent gland during her heat. When claimed the Omega is off limits to any other Alpha. Hermione thought it incomparable to a marriage; the bond reached way beyond financial aspects and a marriage certificate. The bite could therefore better be compared to an unbreakable vow – as in, if bitten, it was irreversible.
She tried to think about this rationally, tried to see it as any other magical problem she'd ever encountered. To her it was clear. It was as Ralf had said. She needed to find an Alpha she liked, as a wizard, someone that made her feel safe, as a witch and not just as an Omega. Maybe then, it wouldn't be too awful and she could avoid having to belong to someone else. The entire aspect of the dynamic between Omegas and Alphas seemed out-dated to her, not fitting into the modern world, erasing things such as forward-thinking and equality between genders.
She pushed up to refill her mug. Adamant to continue working her way down the list, she decided to write another letter, this one to Ralf. He'd said something about helping her find an Alpha, and at this point she'd take whatever help he offered. She reasoned, she had to try, because if she didn't, she might end up dying or, possibly worse, having her free will taken away from her.
-o-o-o-
She had asked for time, she remembered writing that down specifically. Naturally, her request had been rudely ignored.
"You okay?" Pansy half screamed when she stormed into Hermione's flat. She was deeply regretting letting Pansy free access through her wards. She couldn't for the life of her remember how that could ever have been a sound idea.
"Just peachy, and you?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Pansy leaned her weight on one leg and placed her left hand on her hip in the way she did when readying for an argument. Her eyes narrowed. "You're angry with me. "
Hermione puffed her cheeks and blew out a breath. "Why are you here?" She backed away and dropped back down in the armchair, without losing eye contact. She regretted her harsh descend when the corner of one of the books dug into her thigh.
"Because of your letter, of course."
"The letter in which I kindly asked for alone time." She collected the books and put them down on the floor.
"Don't know about 'kindly', but I needed to see that you were okay."
"Well, I am not, sooo …"
"Anything I can do?" Pansy said tentatively.
"A little late for that. What you could have done was tell me, because you did already know, didn't you? You could've spared me weeks. Given me weeks to prepare, to make arrangements to–" the more she talked the more worked up she got, and she heard how her voice faltered by the lump growing in her throat.
"I know, I know. I probably should've–"
"Probably!?" Hermione screamed. She'd wanted to scream for hours and now that she finally had the chance, she seized it.
"I should have told you," Pansy quickly corrected. She was using her calm voice, the kind of voice Hermione heard her use with Mrs Parkinson sometimes. "But it wouldn't have been weeks Hermione, I wasn't – couldn't know for sure, but yes, when you left my place Friday I did think I knew." She stilled; looked for a reaction but all Hermione did was press her lips together even harder.
Pansy sat down on her knees in front of the armchair, placed her hand on top of Hermione's. The warmth of it had a calming effect.
"I wasn't sure until you mentioned the biting thing, and when you did I tried to piece it all together. The 'rash', the sudden attraction you felt, but it was the bite part that made me think it could be possible. Omegas are so rare, and you–" her voice trembled and so did her hand. "You're a muggle-born. From what I've learnt of Omegas, it is only those with," she made an uncomfortable face and shifted a little on her knees, "with pure blood who can have the gene. It didn't make sense to me, but evidently, I was wrong assuming such a thing."
"Evidently," Hermione repeated dryly, trying not to show how much it hurt her to think maybe purebloods never really could see past the distorted reality they'd been brought up to believe in.
"Why didn't you? Not just because of the muggle thing right? I can tell by the guilty look on your face there is more to it," Hermione said, adamant to get to the truth. Pansy looked so small where she sat, and she almost felt guilty for not relenting.
Pansy closed her eyes briefly. "Because I'm a fucking coward okay? Is that what you want to hear? Because my prejudice is too deeply ingrained in me for me to see the full picture, because maybe I didn't think it possible even when the evidence stared me right in the face! And when you left that Friday I thought I knew and it tilted the world on its axe for me, I couldn't fully comprehend it, and I was scared how you'd react if I tried to explain it. Hell, I don't even know that much about it. I wouldn't have all the answers for you." She fidgeted with the tassels at the end of the blanket.
They sat there quiet for a beat, before Hermione took a deep breath from her nose. "All right. I wouldn't expect you to have all the answers, I know you haven't doctored in Omegas and Alphas. A simple, heads up would've be nice, perhaps a 'Hey 'Mione, think you might be an Omega, you know, destined to go through life constantly pregnant'."
"Yeah, now that you say that out loud, you are able to imagine just how such a conversation would go, right?"
"It could've been said with a more delicate phrasing," Hermione said, looking down at her palms.
"Wasn't it better to hear it from someone who doesn't know you? Someone impartial who has the answers for you?"
Hermione didn't have to think long on the answer. "No, I would have preferred hearing it from you."
Pansy sighed in resignation. "Fine, that's fair."
"I would think so," Hermione said, not bothered that she sounded like a petulant child at this point.
"I am here now," she said softly, "We both know now. Do you want to talk about it?"
Hermione threw her head back, blinking away a couple of tears and told her that she did not. That she meant it when she said she needed time alone.
"To process. Got it. But I have a solution for you, if you want to hear me out?" She folded her hands in her lap.
Hermione furrowed her brows. "Unless you can unmake me an Omega – then no. Whatever it is it can wait."
"But I happen to know that Dr–"
Hermione got to her feet. "I said no." She walked out to the door and opened it. "I'll owl you later when I'm ready to talk."
Pansy pursed her lips together; it looked to pain her greatly to not say whatever words left on her tongue.
Hermione sighed loudly and wiped away the angry tear that had stopped mid cheek. "I don't agree with your reasons, but what's done is done. At least I got to yell at you," she gave tight-lipped smile.
"Come over when you need to yell a little more. 'Kay?" With arms that didn't look to hold as much strength as they did, Pansy pulled her into a firm hug.
"M'Kay."
-o-o-o-
Her face looked puffy and she kept tugging at her skirt, it was too short. She sprawled down on the settee and tried to motivate herself by thinking of positive things. She'd arrived to the Bunker early, the charm she'd used to French braid her hair made her look professional and her under-eye concealer hid most of the proof of her weekend cry marathon. The roll neck jumper she wore covered her developing scent glands – it was all she could ask for as of now, really.
Mere hours after she'd sent the letter to Ralf, she'd found Agatha softly pecking her beak against the window. With her was his reply; he'd given her information about a Noah Madsen, Danish, Alpha, single and a teacher. There weren't many more details except for his contact information and promise of absolute discretion from both of them if she decided to reach out. Hermione had written four drafts before settling on the fifth one, hoping it didn't sound desperate. She'd clearly stated she wanted to meet with him first, for them to get to know each other. What she really meant was this wasn't an invitation for him to claim her first chance he got, this was her taking control of a situation, simultaneously working on her fourth and fifth step on her list, finding an Alpha and trying not to die.
Harry had asked her to come in early; apparently he had something important to share with her. Hermione shook her head slightly, murdered. Two muggle-borns had been murdered. Her hand instinctively reached up to her throat at the thought of their vocal cords being cut. Silencing. They wanted to silence muggle-borns. As she slouched on the settee, she thought of how this day only could get better, but of course, she'd spoken too soon.
Malfoy strode into the lab and set down his suit jacket over the back of one of the chairs, either ignoring her or unaware of her presence.
"Mornin.'"
He did a slight jump in place and Hermione covered her laugh with a cough. "My God!" Malfoy blurted, his eyes wide and his hand resting on his chest. "Give a bloke a warning, yeah?"
"Oops?"
"No, seriously, Granger," he said while loosening his tie a little with a finger "Don't do that again."
She frowned at the absurdity of the accusation. "I was only sitting here."
"Yes, but before 8.15!" he said with a face too dramatic before noon. "Was expecting an empty lab. Gods, Granger."
Hermione rolled her eyes and tugged at her skirt again.
Draco raised a finger and did a spinning motion in the air. "Now that my heart attack is over, we need to get a move on. Third potion was a bust, spent all of yesterday tracking the original. Had to make sure the seller was still where he was last spotted."
"And where exactly is that?"
"Liverpool, home of that muggle band, the Bees or something." He said while donning his suit jacket.
Hermione didn't hide her laugh this time. "It's the Beatles," she clarified.
Draco stalked over to one of the tables and gathered the folders, shrinking them and putting them into the pocket of his trousers, muttering a "whatever."
"Let's go." He said, smoothing down his tie.
"W-what, now?"
"Harry filled you in, yeah? We're on a bit of time crunch here, Granger. Afraid there's no time to get that puffiness off your face." He pulled a pocket watch out of his other pocket. "We're apparating in ten. It'll take a few times, but beats the hours it would take with a broom."
Hermione was so astounded she didn't even mind he'd confirmed just how puffy her face looked. "But what about the fourth potion? We're supposed to brew it today!" Even she could hear the desperation in her voice. She was not prepared for this; she was a potions mistress not an auror and she had plans, elaborate plans to ask Theo at lunch about that letter exchange she'd witnessed.
"I don't do field work, I'm hired as a potions consultant."
"True, but what's the point if I actually manage to track down the seller if I can't determine what I'll return with is the actual potion or a fake?"
Hermione opened her mouth only to close it again, squaring her shoulders.
He smiled brightly, as if he knew she was out of arguments. When he stopped right in front of her, reaching out his hand to pull her up from the settee with ease, the illegal grin on his face, she realised it would be a long day.
-o-o-o-
Thank you for checking out Crushed fairy dust.
Okay, I will admit that I am dying to know what you all think of this chapter. Please keep in mind this is just my interpretation of the a/b/o trope, so things may differ from other stories you've read.
Please let me know your thoughts by leaving a review. Thanks in advance to anyone who does!
Updates will be made Sundays every other week for now. Changes to schedule might occur. (as you may now by now, sorry…)
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Lots of love.
