Chapter One
Too hot…
That was the first thing that penetrated the thick fog of restless sleep that hung over Hermione as she struggled to untangle herself from within the damp sheets that were clinging to her slicked skin. Ripping them back and shoving them down to the foot of her bed, she tossed and turned in a vain attempt to find a modicum of comfort.
Left side.
Right side.
Stomach.
Back.
Nothing worked as the persistent fever continued to lick and lash its way through her body. Countless doses of various potions and relief remained just as elusive now as it had four days ago when the flu that was wreaking havoc through her system had begun to trickle in.
Repeatedly slamming her fists into the plush mattress, she whined at her defeat and sat up, her legs heavy as she swung them over the bed, the cool, stone floors a temporary balm. Yanking open the drawer of her night table, she rummaged around for the useless vials that gave false promises of diminishing her symptoms. With the maximum dose of three different blends opened, she downed them all in a single go, hissing around their vile taste before rising to an unsteady stance.
Checking the drawer's contents, she angrily swiped at the tears that started to roll down her cheeks upon seeing her depleted stash. It would take a whole day to brew more, not to mention the cost associated with replenishing her dwindling stores. She was living on a generous but fixed income following the parting of ways from her parents over the summer in light of her rapidly darkening future. To already have to begin replacing her modest stores of ingredients would result in compromising her carefully planned budget elsewhere, throwing her whole system into chaos.
The Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey was an obvious option—a free one that was beginning to look enticing as her self-treatment only served to advance her flu—but with it came a mandatory absence from class until she was symptom free for at least twenty-four hours. Absences she couldn't afford so early into her first NEWT year when the foundations of advanced magic were being built. Especially not for a silly fever and aching muscles which were probably the result of a new strand of muggle virus and nothing magical. It was of course the logical explanation as to why her potions only acted like a plaster on an arterial bleed. One she would have come to much sooner had her head not been so foggy and full of cotton in light of her flu.
Satisfied with her latest conclusion, Hermione sludged her way over to the small wardrobe that housed her uniforms and muggle clothes, collecting what she needed for the day. Shouldering her overweight knapsack and reluctantly emptying it of half its contents knowing she couldn't make it through the day carrying the burden at its current capacity, she tried to force herself towards the door but remained firmly planted, staring at her disheveled bed.
Stuffed up in the corner by her pillow was the asymmetrical throw she had knitted over the summer. The material had been difficult to work with—even more so given her less than impressive skill—but finishing her project without the aid of magic had filled her with such pride, she hadn't cared about its numerous flaws. In fact, it was her favorite creation to date. As such, it held a place of honor in her bed and as the days following her birthday passed and she grew more and more poorly, it had become an invaluable source of comfort. Not giving her actions much thought, she snatched up the blanket and stuffed it into her bag, a single corner sticking out so that she could covertly worry it through her fingers during the day.
Content as she could be—a gentle hum resonating through her chest that she brushed aside as some sort of trapped cough—in her current state, she resumed her graceless fumbling through the darkened dormitory. Stumbling into the corner of a desk, she knocked a lamp off the edge, creating a ruckus as she struggled to prevent it from crashing to the ground in her muddled state.
Stirring in her bed, Lavender sleepily grumbled about the interruption before giving a congested sniff of the air.
"Hermione," she slurred, her eyes not opening even the smallest of slivers. "You smell different. Like cinnamon apples and vanilla.
"Normally—" she continued only to interrupt herself as a snore swallowed and ceased her murmured words.
Breathing a sigh of relief at not having fully disturbed her roommate, she took care to avoid the rest of the obstacles that lay between her and relative freedom. However escaping the claustrophobic room was not as rewarding as she had hoped. Still awaiting the faint effects of the potions to take hold, she was assaulted by a multitude of putrid and pungent scents. Each one clawed through her to offend her further by pulling a fresh well of tears to her eyes as she slapped a hand over the lower half of her face to stifle the unyielding attack.
Worse than the fever she had quickly come to realize, was the way her senses seemed to work in overtime. Everything around her had become sharper, clearer, stronger. Sounds, taste, sight, touch, and especially smell—something that made having two teenage boys as friends exceptionally difficult. More than all the other side effects combined, this was the worst. Her over stimulation making her day even more laborious as she struggled and fought to stay attentive throughout her lessons. Yet another reason she was stubbornly refusing to seek out professional help. Half-retained class time was better than zero class time.
Down the stairs and in the common room, Hermione groaned upon catching sight of the time. Four in the morning and she had only just fallen into her fitful sleep after midnight. Another day of exhaustion that would not end when she could finally fall back into bed in sixteen or so hours. At least she would have the time to soothe her flaming flesh in the icy waters of the Prefect Bath.
Slipping through the corridors, her nerves tingled with awareness, eliciting itchy patches to form along the junction of her neck and shoulder and inside her wrists. Even behind her knees was beginning to prickle, her gait turning even more uncoordinated as she tried to soothe each irritation at once. Rubbing turned to scratching and scratching turned to clawing until she was whimpering out a soft moan of satisfaction that impossibly seemed to have originated from somewhere in the far recesses of her mind.
Reaching the bath, she thought for a moment she could hear an echo of footsteps that were not her own. But as she hushed her movements, her fingers wrapped around the door's already released handle, she heard nothing but the rapid fluttering of her own heart singing through her ears. Shrugging it off as a fever induced hallucination, she wrenched the door open and stepped inside the misty bathing chamber. Taking care to yank on the door until its latch was firmly caught–re-engaging the need for a password–she wasted less than a second before beginning to divest herself of the things she carried and her pajamas. Giving an absent minded flick of her wand towards the abundance of taps to halt the fresh pour hot water, she dropped the slender carve of wood to complete her trail of stripped belongings before diving beneath the surface.
Submerged at the bottom of the pool as she was, the flames within her veins freezing and shattering as her flushed flesh further colored from the freezing temperatures, she basked in the waterlogged silence. The crawling itch that had begun to consume her receded. The too strong and lingering odors of the student body whispered away. Distraction was absent, nothing existing as her lungs burned under the stretch of not breathing, each bubble of held oxygen escaping through her nose to slowly float to the surface.
The world and its hungry chaos was forgotten. The parting from her parents who would never again know her, gone. The stressors of school, a prejudice fueled war, and less significantly her ever evolving flu, distant problems to be handled at a later time.
Staying under until the fight against her instincts to gulp down air threatened to become a losing battle, she released the last of her breath and shot up to break the still, glass-like surface. The force of her return had water sloshing up and over to rapidly eat away at the dry floor, turning her forgotten things into a spoil of victory.
Lazily floating across the top, the scent-less foam of the bubbles lapping around her ears keeping sounds away, Hermione drifted to the bench seat, counting the intricate panes of the stained glass ceiling. Bumping into the rim of her destination, she swirled her arms about to direct her body into a position that would allow her to sit in the shallower water without exertion.
Covetously free of thought and fever as she was, a faint but molten need started to bloom to life. A heavy weight stretched her breasts and puckered her nipples into teasing peaks that welcomed the flirtatious advances of the rippling water. The site of her earlier agitations pulsed and throbbed, a low, desperate purr emanating from within her chest as she glided and kneaded her fingers along her neck to where it joined with her shoulder. Further down and between the highest points of inner thighs, a hollow clenching stirred and erupted, a release of wetness spilling out to mingle with the water.
The excessive arousal she felt was new. As was the humming keen within her mind that was urging her to explore. To search and find. What it guided and pushed her to seek beyond pleasure she wasn't sure, but even as her hands started to wander, she knew whatever heartstopping, breath stealing ecstasy she brought herself would only leave her wanting more.
Craving more.
Needing more.
It was a void she was ill equipped to fill herself but even instinctively knowing the dissatisfaction that would follow, she couldn't stop herself.
Circling her hands around her throat, she squeezed forth a gasp of air before relinquishing her self-made necklace. Trailing down along her collarbone, she lightly swept her fingers back and forth until the goose flesh that adorned her skin came from anticipation and not the sweet relief of frigid temperatures battling her feverish body.
Slower and with a teasing caresses, she traced the top swells of her small, plush breasts to their outer rounding. Drawing closer and closer to her coral colored areolas, she brought her thumbs and forefingers together at an aching pace, capturing the responsive flesh in a pinching, pulling hold until each one popped free, leaving her nipples high and prominent with their erect longing for more.
As pleasurable and responsive as she found her touch to be, she still ached for more. A burning fire was returning in her blood. Only this time, she sought to be engulfed by its flames.
Guided by the increasing jumps of elation that spiked throughout her body, Hermione tentatively struck out on a new course. Between the valley of her breasts and over the contours of her fair stomach her fingers slid. Off to the toned protrusion of her hips she detoured, needing a moment to muster up the courage for what she was about to try. Steady and renewed as her breath shortened and her muscles at once turned pliant and tense, she continued on leaving a grazing caress along the top of her soft mound. Further still she went, a tremble from either nerves or anticipation she didn't know, flowing into her fingers as she drew near. Then with a whispered huff of determination she parted her warm, slick center, her thighs eagerly falling open to spread her further and grant unobstructed access to her neediest parts.
Masturbation wasn't an elusive or unexplored concept to her. In fact, she often worked to get herself off each night as a part of her nightly rituals preceding sleep. Her preferred methods having always been the high pressure of a shower head pulsating along her clitoris as she waited for her conditioner to penetrate her thick hair, or the fast, wanton humping of her pillows that saw her collapsing with a bitten back yell of release before surrendering to sleep. The overwhelming need to fill herself over and over again that she was currently experiencing however was; her mind always previously filled with the prim voice of her mother telling her that while curious, self indulgence of the physical variety was not dirty and in fact very natural, there were some things a proper lady was to reserve only for her husband's claim. Sexual penetration of any kind being chief among those.
Gone was the reminder though as she felt the abundant mess her body was making faster than the water could wash away. The amount of arousal she was producing under such limited stimulation was mortifying, her cheeks warming further until she could feel the apple red coloring that was sweeping across her face like a hot summer's dry heat. Too far gone to truly care though, she forged ahead and gave an experimental strum along her distended concentration of nerves, a sharp, deep, moan unexpectedly tumbling out of her in response.
Spurred on by the racing elevation of her heart rate and the single minded focus of chasing the swelling hot liquid that was filling her core, she circled and rubbed faster and faster. Climbing higher with each pass but still not at the summit, she quickly brought her other hand between her opened legs and acquainted herself with the opening of her pussy. Stroking and petting herself sufficed for only a moment, the pleasure faint by comparison when her fingers began slipping in, searching to relieve her of her maddening ache from the inside.
Brazenly continuing on, she pushed a single finger inside herself. The feeling was so intense, so encompassing that her head crashed back against the ledge of the pool under the intrusion, a high pitched mewl echoing around the bath until it muted the sound of the sloshing water. Increasing the pace of her thrusting as she grew more vocal and determined, her slick flooding out to cover her palm, she began working a second finger into her plush and constricting core.
Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes as her body tightened and keyed into the wash of euphoria that was threatening to drown her.
Hot and on the edge, she rubbed along the front of her pussy where she was especially swollen and eager in time with her clit on the other side. The tandem stimulation rushed her towards a shattering free fall, nothing but death having the power to stop her from seeing things through to the end.
Death, or the sudden chilling sensation of being watched.
"Don't stop," a sickening voice pleaded along her ear, the owner's nose trailing up to the nape of her neck where he buried it with an indulgent huff into her sodden curls, turning her stomach sour.
Jerking away with a stifled whine, Hermione slipped off the bench, careful to keep her back to whoever had been laying in wait, as she waded further and further across the pool to escape.
"Where are you going, omega? Don't you need my help?" he casually asked, alarm spiraling down her spine as he started to stroll along the edge and into her peripheral.
Shaking as adrenaline took hold of her and failed to provide her with an escape, she quickly covered herself through the disappearing bubbles as best she could with her arms, turning her head in the opposite direction from which he approached.
Cooing an admonishment, he continued, "Come now, don't be like that, darling. After all, you called me here, begged for me, in fact."
"No," she stuttered, the word trapped along the closing of her throat. Forcing her words out though they remained barely audible, she repeated, "No, I did no such thing."
"Don't be silly, of course you did," her fellow student, she now recognized as Cowley something or other, one of the seventh year Slytherin Prefects who had never previously deigned to even bid her a hello, said as he started to peel his shirt over his torso now that he had himself in front of her. Tapping his nose once his chest was bare to her, he continued, "I can smell it, you see. That sweet, delicious scent of impending heat. So fresh, so new, undoubtedly untasted.
"I thought I had caught a whiff of it the other evening on patrol but like the little minx you are, you scampered away before I could properly give chase. But that's okay," he smiled with predatory gleam as he pushed his joggers down, his erection bobbing free and forcing her to shut her eyes as she started to whimper and whine in earnest, her body and mind refusing to do anything but remain frozen, "I've found you now and I'm going to make that ache inside your sweet little cunt all better."
Crooking his finger as he hunched down into a squat, he called with a firm command that tugged deep in her mind, "Come to, Alpha, my sweet."
Biting on her lip until the flesh began losing its color and turned white, she fought to shake her head against the pulling action. It was like when Professor Moody—or rather Barty Crouch Jr—had used the Imperius Curse on each of them two years ago. She didn't want to do what she was told. Was fighting with everything she had to remain where she stood in the now too cold water. But try as she might, she felt her foot beginning to peel up from the smooth floor of the pool while a voice she recognized as her own raged and screamed alongside a softer, needier, previously unheard one that was already surrendering with a pained cry.
Not our Alpha.
Don't want to go.
Too putrid.
Not right.
Help…
The startling awakening of a second presence, gave her just enough of a foothold to keep herself where she stood, a look of hard determination coloring Cowley's face when she succeeded in not complying.
"You're a stubborn one, aren't you darling? That's okay, we'll get you sorted once you're on my knot. Just like the good little bitch you are."
Watching him begin to slide into the water, the gripping control her fear had over her body started to wane. As the water rippled from his movement, she started backtracking to the bench.
One slinking, predatory step forward, two skittish movements back.
Advance, retreat.
Advance, retreat.
Screwing her courage into place, she lowered her arm from her breasts and slowly reached it behind her feeling out the remaining distance to the bench and ledge. Tracking his heated, hungry, disgusting gaze over her body, she licked her lips several times trying to bring moisture to her mouth as she croaked out, "What's an omega?" hoping to keep him distracted.
"You don't know? Well now, that's interesting. Gryffindor's Know-It-All lost without knowledge.
"That's okay," he soothed as if had just referred to her as a dog ready for breeding. "It's my job to take care of you in all things, including educating you on your designation and place.
"Let's see, the basics is probably the most apt place to start, hmm?
"You of course know the levels of blood purity: Sacred Pureblood, fifth generation pureblood, half-blood, and mudblood—now, now, no need for offense," he chuckled as she reflexively sneered at the slur. "It was after all the proper term for your kind when the hierarchy was created so many centuries ago.
"Your blood status is your first and primary designation within the Wizarding World. However, everyone with active magical blood, carries a second designation that they come into on their all important seventeenth birthday, also known as Wizarding maturity.
"Your second designation is in one of three classes: Alpha—me—beta, and omega—you."
Feeling her fingertips graze the wall of the protruding bench, Hermione further stalled, by saying, "But that doesn't explain what an omega is or why I'm one of them," playing into his obvious need to feel superior.
"Look Granger, your scent has wafted throughout the entire castle. No doubt every presented Alpha in this school is currently on the other side of the bathroom door, ravenous with impending rut waiting to be chosen for a taste of you. Be a good girl and come here so I can start my claim on you and then I'll tell you everything you wish to know. You really won't find a better offer than my own. I can give you wealth, prestige, and the world at your fingertips."
Pretending to mull it over as she planted her palms down on the bench, she started to slowly lift herself out of the water before saying, "I think not," kicking Cowley in the face with the heel of her foot as he tried to grab her ankle and yank her back in, a howl ricocheting through the room upon impact.
Slipping on the wet stone, she acted through a fog of fear as she forewent her saturated clothes and discarded wand, outrunning her pursuer the only thought that pounded clearly through her head.
"You fucking bitch!" Cowley raged, from behind her, the slap of water sloshing about announcing his exit and speeding her up. "Just because you're an omega doesn't mean you're better than any other filthy mudblood! I tried being nice, but I see that defiance in you needs a firmer hand."
Making it to the corridor of lockers, she screamed out for help, praying he was right and others were outside, one of them willing to take pity on the threat to her consent.
"Hermione?" a muffled voice answered back. "Hermione, is that you? Sweetheart, I can't get in without the password!" her hidden savior cried.
"Discimus as—"
"SILENCE!" Cowley boomed as he tackled her to the ground, her words instantly cut off as her mind obeyed his command, her head cracking against the stone tile.
Shaking off the disorientation, she tried and failed to wrestle free of his hold, her screams and pleas lodged inside her head with no way out. The only sign of her unwillingness to be pinned down coming as the tears that had already trickled out turned into a flood the more she was forced to feel his sickening hands on her body.
"COWLEY!" the other voice yelled. "Myrtle saw you and has already gone to get Snape. Let her go!"
"Bulstrode can't help you," he snarled, shoving her face into the floor as she continued to struggle. "She may be an Alpha but she lacks the equipment sluts like you need. Now submit," he ordered, his teeth at her throat, rendering her pathetic and docile in an instant.
Under Cowley's stripping of her autonomy, the small, foreign voice in her head that had been just as against the assault came front and center, singing a different albeit resigned tune.
Stay down.
The Alpha demands it.
Alpha has rightfully forced submission. Must be a good omega or we'll be rejected. No one will take us if rejected.
Must take his knot. It'll help.
So hot…
Need an Alpha's knot…
Lost to whatever place she had been shoved into, Hermione cried harder as her body failed to fight off Cowley's manhandling. Distantly she could hear Bulstrode—someone she never would have guessed would have become her ally—banging and firing spells at the door as she screamed commands over and over that refused to shove aside Cowley's hold on her.
"There, there, omega, I'll make it all better," he falsely cooed, licking the path of her tears before pressing a harsh kiss to her temple, making her shudder.
Flushed with her returning fever, the faint fight that still echoed from within evaporated leaving behind a regrettably resigned and pathetically submissive will. Further falling in on herself, an embarrassed mewl of need poured out of her as the copious amounts of slick she had earlier produced returned. Her only consolation to what was happening was that no matter how demanding and rough Cowley's voice turned, the voice that had taken control of her firmly refused to offer him the verbal pleasure of calling him her Alpha.
"You'll learn your place soon enough, Granger," he growled, forcing her hips up and his knees between her own. "Until then, I'll enjoy fucking you into obedience."
So defeated and crumpled in a corner inside herself where Cowley couldn't reach her, Hermione stared with vacant eyes at the bathroom door that was just out of reach, losing herself in a fantasy of it flying off and breaking apart into little more than kindling as a soothing flood of rosemary and mint filled the air chasing away the putrid hell of reality.
The strength of her mind's desire to protect her was a powerful and blessed thing as she was able to convince herself that the exploding interruption had Cowley's perverse touch ripped off of her. Falling further into the illusion, an arousing, auditory layer descended as a feral growl rumbled throughout the room, forcing the weaker, lesser Alpha to submit to the will of the bigger, stronger threat, its vibrations sensuously rolling over her body and drawing forth another rush of slick as she rolled over in eager presentation.
Alpha's here.
Ours.
Must have his claim.
So good for Alpha.
A sharp inhale floated through her ears in response and was quickly followed by a pleased purr that had her sitting up and preening as she softly recognized, "Alpha," earning her a delicate pet through her wet hair that saw her nuzzling into the gentle safety in search of more.
Blunt nails scratched at the nape of her neck eliciting a deep moan from inside her chest as she rolled her head to look up at her Alpha with wide, pleading eyes.
"I need you. I ache all over."
"I know, but I need you to be good and wait just a little longer. Can you do that for me?"
Snuggling in closer to the firm thigh she had scooted up against, she nodded her head, her pussy clenching in want as he praised, "Such a good omega," his fingers drifting to the swollen patch of skin at her neck to knead it until she was groaning in such pleasure she absently wondered if she would come under further stimulation.
The longer he rubbed at her, the stronger his scent became until it began to cleanse her of the thick fog that had enveloped her mind, clearing out the simpering voice in her head and scooting her back into her rightful corner.
"There you are, Miss Gran—Hermione."
"Professor Snape?"
"Shh… we'll talk after, sweet girl."
Still not entirely coherent, she didn't question him further, preferring to bask in the contented safety she felt tucked against him and wrapped in the protective hem of his robes as she was. Though as his serene face began to melt away into cold, barely contained rage, she started to pull back only for him to begin rubbing at the juncture between her shoulder and neck again. In no time at all, she was purring at his side, shifting on her knees as she struggled to bring stimulation between her thighs.
"Mr. Cowley, you will back away from Miss Granger right now, " her Potions turned Defense Professor quietly intoned, somehow becoming taller, wider, and even more imposing with each enunciated word until she was certain his robes and shadows had completely obscured her from view. "Step away or I will see to it that you are not only expelled, but thrown in Azkaban until such a time that you are driven so far beyond the point of madness that not even Saint Mungo's can help you."
"But she's—"
Whatever look Professor Snape gave was enough to not only permanently silence Cowley, but send him scrambling back in a cloak of sour fear. Something she hadn't thought possible when he had taken her down to the hard floor. Now however, her muted scent of cinnamon apples and vanilla grew in the air once more as she reacted to the effortless prowess of Professor Snape.
So strong, so virile.
Alpha.
He's ours.
Be good for him.
We need Alpha's knot and bite. Alpha will make everything better.
The louder the voice got and the more Hermione found herself agreeing with it, the stronger her scent grew, blending with her persistently leaking arousal until both wafted through the air creating a lustful haze inside the misty bathroom. It became so thick that her Alpha's dominating scent receded further and further back until her body once more became a siren call to Cowley.
As he began coming out of his cowering huddle with a hungry moan, she pushed closer into Professor Snape, her small hands clutching fistfuls of fabric as she rose on unsteady legs to better disappear her from the sight of her aggressor.
At the first sound of Cowley daring to take a step towards her, a shaken warble trickled out of her mouth. The fear that colored her and seeped out of her pores only served to turn him ravenous as he foolishly lunged towards his Head of House. As if he truly possessed the power to fight the man who had just forced submission out of him for a claim over her.
Reaching behind him and drawing her closer to his back until she was flush against him, Professor Snape gave a short sigh, saying, "Mr. Cowley as you seem to be a slave to your designation, you leave me no choice," the caressing stroke of his fingers trailing along her spine a stark defiance against the bored indifference of his tone.
"Professor—"
The Slytherin seventh year gave a pained, animalistic yelp as he stumbled back before falling unconscious with a hard thunk against the stone floor. Adding an absent flick of two of his fingers, Professor Snape had his student bound and levitated before them, his calming touch still working a different kind of magic along her skin.
So strong… so powerful… so intimidating… so delicious… Alpha's here. He'll take care of us… soothe us… knot us… give us pups to carry, the delicate and eager voice chanted. Unable to grasp reason against the voice's strong urging, Hermione found herself purring in agreement as she stretched up on her toes to nuzzle and lick at his neck.
A strong, sensuous, almost pained lilting of, "omega," from Professor Snape was her reward, prompting her to do it again. Only this time his powerful hand worked against her, forcing her back down on to flat feet, as he warned, "Behave."
Whimpering at so quickly having disappointed him, she started crying yet again, this time with heaving hiccups jumping out of her.
"Patience, it's not time just yet," he quietly pacified, resuming his hypnotic petting. Speaking louder he addressed another presence in the Prefect Bath, drawing Hermione's attention to them for the first time since his entrance. "Miss Bulstrode, as you have witnessed, Miss Gran—Hermione, is in no state to be left unattended. If you would, please escort Mr. Cowley to the Hospital Wing and explain the situation to Madam Pomfrey."
Turning around and beginning to pull off his cloak to conceal her nudity from the view of others, he added, "And if he should arrive in a state worse for wear, well, let's just say I won't be questioning you over it."
"Of course, Professor," Millicent replied with a feral curve of her lip. Shoving her housemate's body out the broken door, his head knocking once, then twice, into the remnants of the door frame, she added, "All anyone knows is that there was an omega in the chamber. They don't know who so once you… do what it is you do… she'll be able to continue about under the radar."
"Good," he tightly replied before fixing his attention wholly back upon Hermione, his knuckles tracing her cheek. His silken voice absent of the strain he spoke with seconds ago, he gently praised "You've been such a good omega; just a few moments longer okay?"
"Alpha… please… I need you…"
Touching her forehead, then the sides of her neck, and the top of her breasts, he hummed, "Soon, too soon," turning to guide her out of the Prefects' Bath, his hand held out in offer after lifting her over the mess his rescue created.
Marveling at the size of his palm and length of his deft fingers, Hermione took it, allowing herself to be unquestioningly led through the corridors of the school. Wrapped as she was in his clothes, her small hand tucked safely within his own, and his mind melting scent invading her nose, the wet, hot, pulsing arousal between her legs grew. And as they traversed deeper and deeper into the bowels of the castle where ordinarily the temperature drew colder, her body began to reignite, sweat dotting her forehead and misting her back, patches of skin swelling with the need to itch and rub, and fervent desire to become bare once more.
Reaching his office, Professor Snape opened the door, guiding her in ahead of him and further through, into his private chambers.
Producing her blanket and now dry clothes from a neatly folded pile at his entry, he quietly instructed, "The bedroom is straight ahead Hermione. Go make us a pretty nest and I'll be in shortly," his dark eyes sparkling as he looked towards the indicated room.
Feeling as if she were floating on air, she happily obliged, unclasping his cloak so that it whispered down her body, forgotten as she walked towards his bed chamber. Following the heavily concentrated scent of her professor, a deeper, needier purr left her as she ran and launched herself onto his bed, beginning to roll along the duvet and rub her face against the pillows, covering herself in everything he was.
Must make a pretty nest for Alpha so he'll knot us and fill us with his pups.
Again agreeing without question or fight, reason having long since abandoned her, she started ruffling up the sheets and duvet and arranging and rearranging the pillows until she pulled everything off the bed to drag along in search of a better spot.
"That's it, omega. Make yourself at home," he cooed, drawing forth a proud, beaming smile from her before closing the door, impenetrable wards shimmering into place as he locked her inside, without him. Dropping everything and racing to the door, she cried out against him separating them and began scratching at the door. On the other side she could just barely make out the sound of his fireplace coming to life with the distinct crackling of a floo call and his angry, displeased roar of, "Albus, we have a serious problem!"
We've displeased Alpha. He doesn't want us, the voice wailed in despair, her own guttural cry ringing out in answer as she collapsed against the door pleading for him to return until she cried herself to sleep.