Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3391934.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy, Hermione_Granger, Ron_Weasley, Severus_Snape,
      Albus_Dumbledore
  Additional Tags:
      AU, Dom/sub, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, First_Time, Dubious_Consent,
      Drama, Angst, Spoilers, Knotting, Omega_Harry_Potter, Alpha_Draco, not
      really_non-con, but_possibly_triggering_for_some_readers, Dom_Draco, Sub
      Harry_Potter
  Series:
      Part 1 of The_Alpha-Omega_Bond
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-19 Completed: 2015-02-23 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 20390
****** Harry Potter and the Alpha-Omega Bond ******
by Becstar7
Summary
     Harry goes into heat unexpectedly. Malfoy stakes his claim. Contains
     bonding, knotting and Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics (and the shades of
     dub-con/non-con inherently implied).
Notes
     JK Rowling et al. own all characters etc. this story is based on. No
     money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
     intended.
     This story is NOT meant to be considered non-con, however there are
     certainly elements of it, especially in the characters' initial
     perception of what is happening to them - therefore read with caution
     (or not at all!) if this is a possible trigger for you. Having said
     that, though, I hope those of you not scared away enjoy it!
***** Chapter One *****
Harry squirmed in his seat. Professor Snape was giving them the details of a
DADA practical assignment that would be worth a third of their grade for the
year, but it just wasn’t holding his attention like it usually would. DADA was
still Harry’s favourite class, despite Snape taking over as professor, and
normally this kind of assignment would be right up his alley.
But today he couldn’t concentrate.
He was itchy, all over, but scratching did nothing to relieve the torment. He
felt flushed too, almost feverish, and he wondered if he was coming down with
something. He’d felt fine this morning; not even a sniffle. But something…
something was odd. Off.
He squirmed again.
“Harry,” Hermione hissed, out of the corner of her mouth. “Pay attention.”
“Sorry,” he whispered back, just a little too loudly. Several students turned
to look at him, and he could feel their stares burning into him. Most turned
away again almost immediately – but a couple… lingered. Alphas, Harry thought,
his face flushing darker, breath catching in his throat. He wanted to shout at
them to stop – stop looking at him, stop undressing him with their eyes, but
his mouth was dry. He wanted – he wanted –
“Harry,” Hermione said again.
“I know,” he said, clutching at the desk with white-knuckled fingers. “S-Sorry,
I –”
Her hand was on his, suddenly, and the skin-to-skin contact made him gasp. He
jerked backwards, almost tipping his chair over, and stared in surprise at his
hand. It felt like she’d branded him. He looked up to find Hermione staring at
him with wide-blown eyes, reaching out towards him again in slow motion, as if
she couldn't quite control herself. He scrambled to his feet and backed away,
heart suddenly hammering in his chest.
“Hermione?” he heard Ron say.
There was an annoyed voice from the front of the classroom telling him to ‘sit
down, Mr Potter, unless you want detention for the next month!’, but he
couldn’t make sense of the words. There was a roaring in his ears, and –
horribly – he could feel himself starting to harden.
In DADA. In class, in front of his friends – in front of all his classmates,
and oh sweet Merlin, even Malfoy was looking at him now, and he couldn’t look
away from those grey eyes, and he was getting a bloody erection –
Panicked, he tried to spin away, only to come face-to-face with Terry Boot. His
pupils were blown wide just like Hermione’s, and as Harry stood, dazed, gaze
wandering back to Malfoy despite the clear and present danger in front of him,
Terry touched a fingertip to Harry’s lips. The breath left his lungs like he’d
been sucker-punched, and he gasped, that simple, tiny touch searing him,
tearing him open, and still he couldn't look away from Malfoy's burning eyes
long enough to –
“Get away from him!” Hermione screeched, and shoved Harry behind her as she
attacked.
Harry stumbled backwards, and suddenly there were arms around his waist, hands
wandering into definite no-touching areas, lips on his throat, and he’d only
just registered that it was Ernie Macmillan – prefect Ernie Macmillan, always
so upright and proper and respectable and straight, with his long-standing Beta
girlfriend of three years – when someone else tore him away.
There were several infuriated shouts as he was hustled out of the room, and as
Snape locked and barred the door behind them, he heard thumps – as if the
students (Alphas, he reminded himself; there was no point sugar-coating it)
were actually trying to physically batter the door down.
Alarmed, he tried to struggle out of Snape’s grip. “Don’t – please –”
“Stupid boy,” Snape snarled, jerking him closer. “I’m not going to rape you.”
“Wh-what?” Harry’s brain spun, horrified at the implication that was even an
option. But, then – even more horrifying, he realised he was still turned on.
There was an strange, uncomfortable wetness slipping down his thighs, and his
erection hadn’t flagged at all, despite the fear and confusion of the last few
minutes. His face burned in embarrassment, and he tried to pull away again.
“Let go!”
“I’m taking you to the infirmary,” Snape snapped at him. “And if you know
what’s good for you, you’ll stop fighting me and come with me quickly.”
“Infirmary,” Harry echoed, his body going limp with relief. Snape was
practically manhandling him up the corridor, but he felt oddly safe. “What’s
happening to me?”
Snape made a noise of disgust. “I don’t know why I continue to be surprised by
your blatant and frankly dangerous ignorance, Potter. You are in heat, you
stupid boy, and had I not been there to intervene, the Alphas in that room
would have torn each other apart to claim you. Much longer, and even the Betas
would have been roused by your scent. You almost caused a heat-frenzy, Mr
Potter.”
“I don’t – I don’t –” Harry swallowed, trying to understand through the fog in
his mind. Something in him instinctively recognised Snape as safe, but the heat
wasn’t diminishing. If anything, it felt like it was getting worse by the
minute. Like – like he might spontaneously combust if – if – if what? He needed
– something. Needed touch, and Harry suddenly knew – knew that Snape was the
last person he needed to be touching him – anyone would be better than him,
better than the skin-warm hands that did nothing to soothe the itch burning him
up from the inside –
“Stop fighting me, Potter!”
“Let me go!”
Madam Pomfrey started to her feet as Snape shoved Harry through the door to the
infirmary, making him stumble and catch his hip on a side table. He yelped in
pain. “Professor Snape!” she said, shocked. “What are you –”
“The boy’s an Omega,” Snape interrupted, short and succinct. “He’s in heat. I
need your quarantine room, now.”
She gasped, eyes widening as she stared at Harry. Harry stared back at her,
beginning to squirm again as the itch grew impossibly worse.
“Now, Madam Pomfrey!”
“O-of course,” she stuttered, turning and fumbling with the keys on her belt as
she hurried in the direction of her office. “This way – quickly now – how long
has he been in heat?” Snape forced Harry forward, following in her wake, and as
they drew closer, her brisk, matronly steps faltered. She shivered. “Never
mind. Less than – less than half an hour, clearly. Oh dear.”
She unlocked a door Harry had never noticed before, her hands trembling
slightly. Snape shoved him inside, and for the second time that morning, a door
was slammed in Harry’s face. Only this time he was alone, and he was burning
up.
                                      ~*~
He tried the door first. It was locked.
Whimpering, Harry sank to his knees. He was so hard it was starting to hurt,
and his trousers were soaked. He put his hand back to feel, tentatively, trying
to understand where it was all coming from, and moaned out loud when he
accidentally brushed his hole, his arousal ramping up even further until he
could hardly think. “Oh Merlin, oh Merlin,” he babbled, pressing his forehead
to the cool stone floor. It didn’t help. He needed to be touched – to be
touched by –
No. No. Hermione was his friend. Ernie was his friend, too, not to mention
straight. And Boot – he didn’t even know Terry. Not well enough to want – to –
He pressed a hand against the base of his cock, willing it to go away. It
didn’t work. He whimpered again, and raised glazed eyes to take in his
surroundings. It was a small room, but there was a large double bed, and
suddenly he wanted nothing more than to be curled up in it.
He couldn’t bring himself to stand, so he had to crawl. But he made it, and he
stripped off his robes and his trousers, leaving only his shirt as he slipped
between the clean, soft sheets. It was bliss against his over-heated, over-
sensitive skin, and he closed his eyes, burrowing his forehead into the cool
pillows.
But it didn’t work for long.
He could feel the heat, the lust and desperate arousal rising again, and it was
consuming. Despite himself, Harry slid a hand down to touch his throbbing
erection. A few strokes and he was gone, coming onto the already-damp sheets,
biting into the pillow to swallow his shouts.
And even then, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be filled.
It frightened him. He’d never even touched himself like that while
masturbating; had never really even thought about it. He was straight. And that
meant he was supposed to fantasise about penetrating. Right? Not – not being
penetrated.
Except… he never really had. Fantasised about either.
Tears welled up in his eyes. If he’d had time to work this out for himself...
if he'd been free to explore and learn about his sexuality like most boys his
age, instead of living in fear for his life and worrying every day about how a
sixteen-year-old boy was supposed to defeat the most powerful Dark wizard in
modern history...
But when he had masturbated, it had always been to generic, faceless people,
just – touching, holding. Kissing. Maybe, if by some miracle he’d survived the
war... he might have wanted to experiment with more. Explore, learn about his
own desires. Maybe even with another person. Another… boy.
But not now. Not yet. Not – forced like this, like he might die unless –
He wanted to be held down. He wanted to be pressed into the mattress. He wanted
someone to jerk his hips up and bite him, push inside him and fuck him, hard
and fast and none of this made any sense. “Please,” he whispered, his voice
thick with tears. “Please, oh Merlin, please help me, someone –”
“Harry?”
Hermione.
He jerked in fright, yanking his fingers out of his arse and scrambling to sit
up, pulling the covers in even tighter around himself as he looked around for
the source of that voice. No, no, no –
And then his body overruled his mind, and he moaned, more slick wetness
drenching the sheets beneath him. He didn’t even really want her – she didn't
have the right parts, for one, never mind that she was his best friend. Why was
his body doing this to him?
“It’s okay!” Hermione said, her eyes wide and pained. “Harry, please, it’s
okay!” She was in some kind of – Harry struggled to understand – of viewing
chamber? Her hand was pressed up against the transparent wall, reaching out to
him, but Harry was relieved to see that her eyes, at least, were completely
normal again.
Ron was by her side, and Snape, Madam Pomfrey, Professor Dumbledore and
McGonagall were standing behind them. All staring at him, watching him, with
the exception of Professor Snape, who was lurking right at the back with his
head turned away.
Harry moaned again, this time in utter, abject misery and embarrassment. How
long had they been standing there – long enough to see…? He buried his face in
his hands, remembered exactly why his fingers were wet, and flinched back,
scrubbing his face on his arm violently. “Fuck,” he said.
No one scolded him for his language.
“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said, his voice infinitely gentle. “Do you
understand what’s happening to you?”
“I’m in heat,” Harry said automatically, echoing Snape’s words, and then shook
his head, his breath hitching. “No – sir, I don’t –”
“It’s all right,” Dumbledore soothed him. “You are in shock, and understandably
so. I will make this as quick and simple as I possibly can. I know you are in
pain. But first, I need to know – and I understand this is a very sensitive
subject for a young man of your age, but I need you to answer honestly, Harry.
Do you understand?”
Harry nodded slowly.
“Good. That’s good.” The words made something in Harry relax, and he sighed a
little. “I need to know your sexual orientation,” Dumbledore said. “It’s very
important.”
Harry stared at him, tensing up all over again. He glanced at Ron and Hermione,
panic rising and clawing at his throat. No. No. He wasn’t ready for this. He’d
only just figured it out for himself – he couldn’t face the idea of telling his
best friends.
He wasn’t ashamed of being gay. He certainly wasn’t going to beat himself up
over it – it was something that was completely out of his control, just like
being the Boy Who Lived, or being a Parseltongue, or being a Beta. He’d
accepted his dynamic when he turned sixteen; refused to think less of himself
for not having a knot, unlike Ron (who had had what amounted to a complete
mental breakdown – until he realised Hermione was an Alpha, and then he went
oddly reticent about the whole thing).
But – well, Harry had learned the hard way that not everyone saw things the
same way he did.
The Dursleys hated homosexuals – hated them, perhaps, worse than wizards, which
was really saying something. When one of Dudley’s friends had ‘come out’ the
summer between fourth and fifth year, Vernon had cut off all contact with the
family and forbidden them to even mention the boy’s name. Harry hadn’t cared
much (Dudley’s friends were bullies and brutes, and he had never cared for any
of them), but it had given Dudley a complex, and he’d teased Harry ruthlessly
for the rest of the summer about his dreams of his ‘boyfriend’ Cedric.
Of course, the Dursleys were poor examples of Muggles – of human beings, even.
But that kind of blind, prejudiced hatred was the same hatred that infected the
wizarding world. Purebloods obsessed with bloodlines and breeding, the
destructive hatred they had for Muggle-borns and half-bloods… somehow Harry
couldn't see homosexuality going down well with that lot, either.
Not that Ron was a snotty pureblood Slytherin git, and Hermione certainly
wasn’t the Dursleys. But... prejudice and hatred ran deep, and it wasn't always
visible on the surface.
He couldn't care less what anyone else thought of him. But – he could not abide
the thought of being hated by Ron and Hermione.
“Harry,” Dumbledore prompted, a little more sharply. “It is very important that
you tell me the truth, and quickly.”
Harry flinched, looking down at his hands, twisting in the bed-sheets. “I. Gay.
I think,” he whispered hoarsely, and Dumbledore sighed and asked him patiently
to speak up. “Gay,” he said, louder, and couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
Dumbledore shared a glance with Professor McGonagall. She nodded and slipped
out of the room.
“All right, my boy, you’re doing very well. I know that was hard for you.”
The gentle tone touched that same place inside Harry, relaxing him enough to be
able to look up at his friends. Hermione appeared, strangely enough, relieved
at his answer, and her hand had found and gripped Ron’s tightly. When he met
Ron’s gaze, however, it was bewildered and just a little pitying, and Harry
turned away quickly, his face burning.
“I don’t understand,” he said, thickly. “Why am I – is this a curse?”
Snape barked out a bitter laugh from the back of the room. “You could say
that.”
Dumbledore made a sharp, quelling gesture, and Snape’s mouth snapped shut. “It
is not a curse, Harry. It is a gift. There are so few Omegas – fewer born every
generation. You are, in fact, one of only five that I have known personally in
all my hundred and fifty-one years. And the only one I have heard of coming
into heat at all in the last twenty years.”
Harry frowned. “What is that? What’s a – an Omega?”
Madam Pomfrey drew in a sharp breath. There was a loaded silence. The adults in
the viewing chamber exchanged significant looks. Hermione’s hand rose to cover
her mouth.
Madam Pomfrey spoke first. “It is, very simply put, one of the three gender
roles, Harry,” she explained, very gently. “Alpha, Beta, and Omega. The
majority of wizarding folk are, as you know, Betas, but –”
“Whoa!” Harry said, panicking. “Wait, wait – three? I thought – I thought there
were just Alphas and Betas. I’m – I’m a Beta. Right?”
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said.
“No. But –” Harry shook his head helplessly, looking between his friends, his
teachers. They all looked so serious. “I don’t – this is a joke, right? I’m a
Beta, I don’t have a knot, I’ve accepted that.”
“You are in heat, Potter,” Snape snapped. He was still staring at the back
wall, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to actually look at Harry. Oddly
enough, though, it wasn’t upsetting. In fact, Harry kind of appreciated it.
Everyone else was staring at him hungrily (Hermione and, scarily enough, Madam
Pomfrey), or with far too much fascination (Dumbledore), or, perhaps worst of
all, with pity (Ron). At least Snape gave him the illusion of a tiny sliver of
privacy. “Betas don’t go into heat, you idiot boy. You’re an Omega.”
And just like that, he was back to hating the man. “There’s no such thing,” he
snapped right back.
“Actually,” Hermione winced, “there is.”
Harry pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was that or scream.
“Why,” he said, through gritted teeth, “have I never heard of them, then?”
“Uh,” Ron began hesitantly. “You’ve really never –? I mean, Dean and Seamus,
they’re always going on about Omegas like the Alpha jerks they are – whispering
fantasies to each other after lights out – you’ve really never heard them – or,
I mean, any Alpha – not to mention the books –”
“Books?” Harry echoed, taking his hands away to look at his friend. Ron’s face
was beet red.
“Yeah. Uh. Romances, I guess?” Ron coloured. “Not that I – just, Mum’s always
reading them –”
“Why in the hell would I be reading wizarding romances, Ron?” Harry yelled.
“Aside from the fact that I’m actually not a girl, I live with Muggles all
summer, and when I’m here I’m kind of busy with school and homework and
Quidditch and – oh yeah, trying to stop Voldemort from KILLING me and taking
over the whole fucking wizarding world!”
Ron swallowed, hard.
“Yeah. Sorry, mate,” he said uneasily. “I – well, I guess I thought you knew.
It’s not as if I was keeping it from you. It’s just – Omegas are fantasies; no
one really expects to meet one.”
“Oh, that’s just – fantastic. Brilliant.” So much for being twisted up about
his sexuality, Harry thought; turns out he should have been worrying about his
lack of knot all along. “Why am I always the exception?”
Madam Pomfrey sighed. “I know this is a shock, Mr Potter, but it’s really not a
bad thing. It’s rather wonderful, really.”
Harry glared at her. “It doesn’t feel wonderful,” he said rebelliously. “I’m –
I ache, and –” He shifted uncomfortably, closing his eyes in despair at the
squelching noise. “Am I supposed to be –”
“It’s all part of your heat, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “There are
hormones flooding your body right now, making you –”
“Really, really horny?” Harry said tightly, and took a small satisfaction in
the way that suddenly none of them could meet his eyes.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Ah. Precisely. It is also what makes you so –
desirable, Harry, to Alphas in particular. In fact, the only thing protecting
you from every Alpha in this school right now – even those you are not
attracted to – are the magical protections on this quarantine room.”
“You mean –” Harry felt his whole body jerk in horror. “Even you –”
“I hope I have more control over myself than to attack a student, my boy,”
Dumbledore said gravely. “However, as your heat progresses, I could not vouch
for all of my professors – and certainly not your fellow students, who are far
more vulnerable to your scent.”
“My scent?” Harry curled into himself miserably. He was rapidly losing control
of himself – the sudden shock of an audience had killed some of his initial,
rampant arousal, but it was creeping over him again now, insidious and burning,
lighting his skin on fire.
“The scent of an Omega in heat, Harry, as you are.” Dumbledore seemed to sense
he was losing him. “We can discuss the particulars when you are yourself again.
For now, I need you to understand that this is completely normal – a gift the
Wild Magic gave us, long ago, to allow same-sex pairings to procreate.”
“S-same-sex?” Harry echoed, flushing.
“Yes,” Dumbledore said gently. “It is not unheard of for an Omega to be
attracted to the opposite sex, but it is rare. What few Omegas there are
generally bond with someone of their own gender. But Harry, you must listen to
me. Omegas are highly sought after and prized, and there are unfortunately very
few laws to protect you. Once an Alpha has claimed you, no one can break that
claim – not you, not I, not the Ministry. You will literally and legally belong
to that person for the rest of your life.”
Harry closed his eyes.
He wanted to be disgusted. Revolted. He knew that, even a mere hour ago, the
thought of being owned would have sickened him to his stomach. Now, all he
could feel was the emptiness inside him, the slickness covering his thighs, the
burning desire to be filled, to be forced into submission. To be bitten. “I
need –”
“I know,” Dumbledore said. He sounded strangely wistful. “I know you do, my
boy. But you must understand, in the state you are in, you cannot give true
consent to being claimed. You might think you want to, in the heat of the
moment – excuse the pun – but you are sixteen, Harry. So… I can offer you a
choice. You have already formed a preliminary bond with someone. Your mate.”
Harry straightened, his eyes flying open, fear and – something else, something
darker and hotter and right, flushing through his veins. “What?”
Dumbledore smiled sadly. “It is one of the gifts of Omegas. Your body is
physiologically designed to be able to go into heat at the age of sixteen, but
you will not – not until you have formed a preliminary bond with someone. There
have been cases of Omegas living as Betas for decades, only discovering their
true nature much later in life when they finally form that bond their body has
been waiting for.”
Harry swallowed. “So – so I’m in heat because I've bonded to someone?”
“It would seem so,” Dumbledore agreed. “But Harry, an Alpha-Omega bond is not
mutual. Your mate will want you, while you are in heat, will want to claim you
and impregnate you, but when it is over, there is no guarantee of faithfulness.
The law does not recognise an Alpha-Omega Bond to be marriage, and so your mate
may marry outside your bond. You will be forced to remain faithful, for the
rest of your life, but your mate may do as he pleases.” His blue eyes were
gentle, infinitely sad. “Do you understand, my dear boy?”
Harry felt cold.
It was his worst nightmare; belonging to someone who didn’t love him. He’d had
fifteen years of it with the Dursleys, and the idea of more, of the rest of his
life – Oh dear Merlin, no. No.
He could feel his chin beginning to tremble, and he pressed the heels of his
hands into his eyes again, trying to hold back the tears. He felt raw, naked
and exposed. He wanted them to stop looking at him.
“But – but, sir, that’s not fair,” Hermione said, her voice strained. “That’s
slavery, they can’t do that. I thought Omegas were precious, cared for! But if
he can’t say no, and his mate doesn’t even have to be faithful? It’s wrong.
Sir, it’s wrong, you have to –”
“It’s not wrong if it’s his mate,” Ron interrupted, his tone flat.
Harry glanced up in time to see Hermione turn on their best friend, her best
scowl in place, mouth opening in outrage.
“It’s not wrong,” Ron told her, stubbornly, and Harry was reluctantly impressed
because every instinct his friend had, had to be screaming at him to back down.
Which meant Ron thought this was important; important enough to risk her
displeasure.
“If any other Alpha forced a claim on him, then yeah, Professor Dumbledore’s
right, it would be – bad. But not his mate. It won’t be a mutual bond, by law,
but don’t you get it?” He looked at Harry suddenly. “You’re an Omega, mate.
Alphas go nuts over you. Bonkers. Didn’t you see them in DADA? And that was
just the beginning of your heat. It’s supposed to be –” he looked embarrassed,
but there was a definite hint of jealousy in his voice, “the best sex ever. Not
to mention your ability to carry children. For a gay pureblood, that’s like –
the Holy Grail. They’ll be lining up to try for a claim. And your mate – the
one your body’s formed a pre-bond with – you think that’s just chance? There’s
a reason it triggers your heat. You’re compatible with him, in every way. He
might not be forced to be faithful, or to love you, but he’ll want to.”
Snape flinched, hard, and turned further away. Harry looked between them all,
bewildered. “But – I don’t –”
“He’s right, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said gently. “Professor Dumbledore was
simply outlining the worst case scenario. And it is a risk, a great risk,
considering the legal implications, but – if I were lucky enough to bond with
an Omega, I would not give him, or her, up for the world. I would cherish, love
and protect them with everything in me. I have no doubt your mate will feel the
same.”
“Then why –?” Harry said, looking at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore sighed. “Because you are very young, Harry, and an Omega’s first
heat is the most difficult. The unexpected nature of it, the inability to give
true consent – has led to much abuse, over the years. As you yourself
experienced today, Omegas are incredibly desirable to Alphas; even Betas derive
a great deal of sexual satisfaction from dominating an Omega, which just goes
to show how very unique and special you are, Harry. And how very open and
vulnerable to abuse. For a long time, Omegas were favoured pets of the ruling
pureblood families, and a true bond was very rarely consummated. Other, richer,
or more powerful Alphas would – pay, to be the first claim.”
“So,” Harry said slowly, “so what if… I don’t want to bond?”
Dumbledore looked relieved. “Then you don’t have to – not during this heat.
However, you do need an Alpha. Your heat will last for several days, and your
need will only grow stronger.” Harry nodded; he could feel the truth of that
down to his bones. “I can offer you only this: Professor McGonagall is in the
process of inviting any male Alphas who are interested and of age to congregate
in the infirmary outside. One of them may be – will very likely be – your mate.
You will know as soon as you touch him. Should you choose not to allow your
bond with him to be consummated during this heat, you may choose any of the
others to join you for the duration, and I will place spells upon them
restricting their ability to bite you. Madam Pomfrey will of course provide you
with contraceptive potions. It will be frustrating, but at least you will still
be free at the end of your heat. Free to choose a bond-mate – your true mate,
or otherwise – consensually and in your right mind.”
“I don’t –” Harry’s stomach sank. His skin was itching with the desire to be
bitten, hard and painful, teeth digging into him, forcing him to submit. “What
do you mean, bite?”
“It is how an Alpha places their claim,” Madam Pomfrey explained. “Your true
mate, of course, would consummate your bond by doing so. However, if it was any
other Alpha, they would destroy your preliminary bond. Subsequent bites would
form the beginning of their own bond with you; a far more difficult process,
but still a significant risk. We will not allow that to happen, I promise.”
Harry stared at her, bewildered. A tiny kernel of hope was blossoming in his
chest, driving away some of the haze of terror and confusion and lust. “But –
no, but, that’s good, right? There’s a way out of this. I could destroy the
bond – let someone else bite me, just once, and then I’d be free, right? I
don’t have to let anyone claim me –”
The lines on Dumbledore’s face deepened, and he looked very sad. “My boy – I’m
truly very sorry, but no. The law gives you a mere three heats to mate before
the Ministry is within its rights to force you to choose a claim. An old law,
of course, created by the ruling Alphas of the time to further their control
over the precious commodity Omegas were. But the Ministry justifies its
continued enforcement – supposedly for your protection, and the good of the
community, to prevent heat-frenzies.”
Hermione made a strangled noise. Harry just dropped his head, resigned.
“I know it doesn't sound good, mate, but it doesn’t have to be bad,” Ron said.
His voice was very, very earnest; trying in his own way, Harry thought, to
comfort him. “I swear – you’re like a sex god now. You’ll have everything you
want, everything you need. Everyone will want you, but you’ll be safe,
protected and cared for by your Alpha –”
“And what about my freedom?” Harry said flatly, interrupting the flow of words.
He didn’t look up. “Will I have that?”
Hermione gave a low, broken sob. “This isn’t fair,” she insisted. “There must
be something – a loophole in the law we can exploit. What if – what if his true
mate died – would he still be forced to –”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said gently, and Snape made a muffled noise and whirled out
of the room, slamming the door. Everyone stared at it for a moment.
It was just all too much, Harry thought.
“I don’t understand,” he said. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate
on the conversation; he felt restless, unbalanced, his mind stuffed full of
cotton wool. This was his life hanging in the balance, but in a few minutes he
knew he wouldn’t be able to care at all, and that terrified him. “Please –
please – tell me what to – I don’t – I can’t – I don’t know what to do –”
“Harry,” Hermione said quietly, firmly. His eyes snapped to hers, and he
swallowed down the panic and the tears spilling down his cheeks. Her voice was
calm and soothing, and he could feel himself beginning to breathe again.
“That’s right,” she said, very gently. “We’re sorry, Harry. You’re right. This
isn’t the time for this discussion. Right now you have to make a very simple
choice, and that’s all. Either you spend this heat with another Alpha and come
out free and able to make a decision clear-headed and consenting, or you can
take a risk on your mate. I assume, if you decide to mate, that you can still
take the contraceptives –?” Madam Pomfrey nodded. Hermione frowned a little,
turning to Dumbledore. “Actually – is there any reason you couldn’t put the
spells on his true mate? Then they could spend this heat together without
consummating the bond immediately –”
Dumbledore shook his head. “No. Even a preliminary Alpha-Omega bond is very
powerful. It would prevent such interference.”
Harry closed his eyes in despair. He was aching; every cell in his body wanted
to be touched and – yes, claimed, and frankly he didn’t give a damn who it was
anymore. An Alpha. Any Alpha, even one of the female variety would do right
now, and he supposed that just proved Dumbledore’s point. But he was past
caring.
“I need them to touch me,” he said. “Please. I’ll – I’ll decide then.”
Dumbledore nodded, and then he was spinning into action, barking orders. “Poppy
– if you would be so kind as to fetch your potions, and send Severus back in –
I will need him to take the potions in to Mr Potter, and to set up the wards.
Miss Granger and Mr Weasley, I am afraid I must ask you to go back to your
dormitory. I will make sure you are kept informed, of course, but this will be
difficult enough for Mr Potter –”
Hermione nodded, smiled at Harry in an encouraging (if rather watery) way, and
led Ron out of the room. Harry watched them go, and then curled up into a ball
and let the tears come.
                                      ~*~
By the time Snape had set up the wards, and Harry had finished off the three
different, equally vile potions, he was desperate.
His trousers were damp and uncomfortably sticky when he pulled them back on,
and he squirmed, itchy and turned on in equal measure.
Professor McGonagall escorted the first student in. It was Terry Boot, and
Harry stared at him, remembering that brief, burning touch to his lips. Terry’s
pupils blew wide as soon as he stepped through the door, and he moaned softly.
Professor McGonagall closed it behind him hastily, a rather wild look in her
eyes, and Harry swallowed. Apparently he was affecting the Betas now, too.
“You’re so beautiful,” Terry whispered. “I’ll make it so good, sweetheart –”
Harry steeled himself and stepped up to the wards, putting his hand through the
small gap. Terry had his mouth on him instantly, and it sent Harry to his
knees, gasping, his every nerve alight. “Ah – Merlin, oh – please –”
Terry’s eyes were completely black, and he sucked Harry’s fingers into his
mouth, the burning heat of it almost painful. Harry whimpered, trying to pull
away. “No – no, I –”
Terry lifted his head, and Harry was caught, ensnared in his gaze. Alpha, his
veins sang, his whole body shivering in need. Why not? he thought desperately.
He should just – just submit. It would be good. He needed – but, no. No, it was
wrong. It was wrong, and he used his last scrap of sanity to force himself to
his feet again and trip the wards. Snape and Professor McGonagall hurried in
immediately, and Snape wasn’t at all gentle as he pulled Terry off and shoved
him off on McGonagall.
“Potter,” he said, and Harry opened his eyes. He had tipped forward to rest his
forehead against the wards, and he was surprised to find Snape crouching on the
other side, looking up at him. “Idiot boy,” he said, with a good deal more
fondness than Harry thought entirely appropriate for a professor who hated his
guts. “The slip-through in the wards is for them. Not you. You need every
advantage you can get, even if – even if it will never be really fair.”
“You’re an Omega, too,” Harry said, and then blinked in surprise.
Snape pinched his nose. “Yes, Potter,” he said, in a tone of long-suffering. “I
am an Omega too.”
“Who’s your – I mean, your true mate – did you –?”
Snape stood abruptly. “No. And it’s none of your business.”
Harry felt sick. “But – but the law. And – your heats – how do you –?”
“I use a suppressant.” Snape’s voice was flat, brooking no further
conversation, and he moved to the door. Harry threw himself against the wards,
shoving his hand through the gap in desperation. A way out. There was a way out
–
“Professor! Wait – professor, wait! Please – I don’t want to feel like this – I
don’t want my first time to be this –”
Snape sighed, his head falling forward. It looked painfully like defeat. “I
wish I could help you, Potter. You’ve barely scratched the surface of what it
means to be an Omega in this world, and I would do – anything to spare you that
suffering. But my suppressant only works before the heat. It cannot stop what
has already begun.”
Harry sobbed a little.
“Pull your hand back in,” Snape said, gently. He put a hand on the doorknob,
and then paused. “I cannot tell you what to do, but I would ask that you bear
in mind that Dumbledore and I both had traumatic experiences, and as such, any
advice we give you is biased. We are not the norm – as much as any Alpha-Omega
Bond can be considered 'normal'. You should know that – while I had my true
Alpha, while we were together – it was the only time in this life I have ever
been truly happy.”
“He died?” Harry said, his throat closing.
“She.”
“Oh.”
“Pull your hand back in, Potter. And stand firm. Not every Omega's story must
inevitably end in tragedy.”
                                      ~*~
He made the other boys put their hands through the gap in the wards after that,
and Snape was right, it wasn’t quite so difficult to say no when the discomfort
of wrong, this is so wrong deep in his gut overruled the need. He was
overwhelmingly grateful for that. Without the protections the professors had
put in place, it would have been practically impossible to listen to the only
guide he had in this fucked up 'heat'.
But it was getting harder and harder to resist the desperate need to submit,
now, even when every inch of him cried out against it. He just wanted – wanted
so badly to drop to his knees and beg for his Alpha’s cock.
Any Alpha's cock.
Strangely enough, it was the thought of Snape that kept him strong. Kept him
sane through the rush of desire and lust burning him up from the inside. His
trousers were soaked, clinging to him in a way that Harry found more than a
little distracting. He was actually considering removing them entirely – being
naked couldn’t make the Alphas want him more; each boy was progressively more
frantic in their attempts to claim him.
It made him uncomfortable and upset, even as his trousers dripped onto the
floor and he fought the urge to beg for their unwanted attention.
And then Malfoy walked through the door.
“No!” Harry said immediately, reaching to trip the wards.
“Stop,” Malfoy said, his voice calm even though his pupils had dilated as soon
as he'd entered the room. Harry froze, hand outstretched, his body vibrating.
“I saw you looking at me in DADA, Potter. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You
want me.”
Harry’s mouth opened in stunned, outraged disbelief. “I – I do not –”
“Take down the wards, Potter.”
“I won’t,” Harry said. “I hate you.”
“I know.” Malfoy’s lips twisted. Harry’s eyes fixed on them involuntarily, and
he licked his own, mouth suddenly dry. “You’ve always hated me, Potter, right
from the start. Perhaps that’s why this was inevitable, you bonding to me. I am
the one person you can trust never to fawn over you, never worship the ground
you walk on. Always tell you the truth.”
“The – the truth?” Harry said, haltingly.
“That I’m going to claim you. Bite you into submission, and then fuck you until
you can’t stand. And then knot you, and pump my seed so far into you you’ll be
carrying my child by morning.”
“You’re sixteen, Malfoy,” Harry said, annoyed. More annoyed that he could feel
his cock pulsing at the words, smooth and enticing, than at the idea Malfoy
might actually believe what he was saying. “You don’t want a kid.”
Malfoy paused; shook his head. His eyes cleared slightly, and he frowned.
“You’re right. I’m surprised any of the others could even think in here, much
less walk out on their own two feet. Your scent is – overpowering. You really
want it, don’t you?" His pupils dilated again, and the look he gave Harry then
was one of pure hunger. "You’d let me get you up the duff, if it was what I
wanted. Wouldn’t you? Tell me.”
Harry gritted his teeth, refusing to reply. Not because he didn’t want to give
the git the satisfaction, but because he was afraid Malfoy was actually right,
and he wouldn’t be able to resist saying so.
But Malfoy’s mouth stretched into a smug smile that told Harry he knew, anyway.
“Fortunately, we don’t have to worry about that. I’ll make sure you have a
well-stocked supply of contraceptive potions until we decide it’s time to
conceive.” He looked thoughtful. “Preferably not for at least a decade or two,
but I know that as an Omega you may feel your biological clock ticking earlier
than that. I’m prepared to compromise.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “I’m not a girl, you fucking bastard.”
“No, you’re an Omega,” Malfoy said slowly, as if he was stupid. “And I don’t
appreciate your tone or your language, Potter. You will call me Draco.”
“What? No!”
“You will call me Draco,” Malfoy said, stepping closer. His voice was oddly
compelling, and Harry couldn't look away from his eyes, the stormy grey
reaching into him and hooking him, holding him in place. He tensed. “And you
will put your hand through the wards so I can touch you.”
Harry found himself obeying without conscious thought. Malfoy smiled, and took
his hand in his own. The moment they touched, Harry sucked in a harsh breath,
his eyes fluttering closed as every hair on his body stood on end. He shivered
helplessly, and felt the hand around his tremble in response. His entire body
was thrumming, the desire to submit pounding through him in wave after wave
after wave. And it felt right. For the first time since his heat began, the
touch felt right.
“Tell them to take down the wards, Potter.”
He didn’t even hesitate. He was lost; completely and utterly. He pressed the
two keys embedded in the wards that would summon the professors. It only took a
moment; Dumbledore hurried in through the door, Snape and McGonagall close on
his heels. Dumbledore looked between Harry and Malfoy, his expression watchful,
wary.
“Has he hurt you, Potter?” McGonagall demanded, bristling.
Harry blinked at her. “He’s my Alpha.”
Dumbledore sighed. “Which means he no longer has the faculty to understand the
difference between consensual sex and rape.”
Harry met the professor’s bright blue eyes, surprised to see the deep, still
sadness there. “I’m okay, sir,” he said impulsively. “I feel better already,
and we haven’t even –” He blushed, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. "I
think he's my mate."
Malfoy threaded their fingers together and squeezed gently. “You are mine,
Harry,” he said calmly. “Don’t ever doubt that.”
“Harry,” Dumbledore said, his voice achingly sad, “My dear, dear boy. I’m so
very sorry."
"Sorry?" Harry echoed, confused, and Malfoy stiffened. “Why are you sorry?” And
then he remembered that Dumbledore had tried to convince him not to bond with
his true mate, and he almost laughed. There was no way anyone could feel this
and refuse their Alpha. The very idea was – ridiculous. Ludicrous.
And the idea of letting anyone else touch him during this heat was even more
ludicrous.
He wondered what had happened to Dumbledore, that he could believe that it was
even possible to want someone other than his true mate. But then – Dumbledore
was an Alpha. He would never be able to understand the awful, churning sickness
that had filled Harry's stomach every time an Alpha not his own touched him.
Letting one of them take him – that would have been true rape. Even the thought
of it made cold sweat break out all over his body, and as he met Snape's eyes,
he knew he'd made the right decision.
“It’s good, sir,” he tried to explain. “Ron was right. It’s good. It's right.
He’s my Alpha.”
“No,” Dumbledore said. “I'm sorry, Harry, but you know the delicate position we
are in. The war approaching. If you bond with Mr Malfoy, I fear – you will not
be safe. The wizarding world will not be safe. I cannot allow you to do this.”
Harry panicked. “No. No,” he said. Malfoy tried to hold onto his hand, but it
was shaking too badly, terror clogging his throat and stinging his eyes. He
drew his hand back inside the wards, pressing it to the invisible barrier
futilely. Malfoy snarled and shoved his own hand through the gap, grabbing hold
of Harry’s shirt and pulling him violently up against the wards. Harry trembled
helplessly as Malfoy scrabbled under his shirt, splaying his hand possessively
over Harry's bare stomach.
“He’s mine,” Malfoy said, staring at Dumbledore challengingly, even as his hand
began inching downwards, sliding beneath the waistband of Harry’s trousers.
“Yes,” Harry whispered, widening his stance automatically, opening himself up
for his Alpha to touch.
“No,” Dumbledore said firmly, and flicked his wand. Malfoy was torn away from
him, flying to slam up against the wall near the door, pinned there like a
butterfly to the drawing board.
The loss of contact with his mate was like a physical blow.
“No!” Harry screamed, and he could hear Malfoy shouting his name in a crazed
fury. He shoved his hand through the gap, reaching involuntarily for his mate
even as he looked desperately to Dumbledore, pleading for mercy. “Sir, please,
he’s mine – he’s my mate – I chose – you told me to choose and I did, I chose
him, you can’t take him away from me, you can’t, I’ll die, I’ll die, professor,
can’t you see that – please – please don't give me to anyone else –”
He could feel the tears streaming down his face, but Dumbledore was implacable.
“I’m truly sorry, my boy,” he said firmly, “but if Mr Malfoy is your mate, and
you still want him after the war, there will be time, then, for you to
consummate your bond. But for now, there are two dozen other nice young men out
there who would be more than happy to assist you through this heat –”
“NO!” Harry screamed, and the wards shattered. Dumbledore and McGonagall were
slammed back several paces as Harry’s scent burst out from behind the wards.
Their faces paled, and their nostrils flared. There was a sudden, dawning
hunger in their eyes that drowned out reason and sanity and everything else but
lust, and Harry sucked in a terrified breath. But then Snape was in front of
him, wand out and trained on them, steady and unrelenting, and they moved
backwards reluctantly.
Harry watched from the safety of Malfoy’s arms as the door shut and locked
behind the three adults.
Malfoy was growling into Harry’s throat. It sent shivers of pleasure down his
spine, and he pushed closer, rubbing his tears away on Malfoy’s robes. They
smelled like Alpha, like his Alpha, and he moaned quietly. “Please.”
“Yes,” Malfoy said. He ripped Harry’s shirt off, baring him to the cool air.
His nipples pebbled, and Malfoy took one in his mouth, laving it. Harry
shouted, trying to twist away and push into it at the same time, the heat
almost unbearably good. Malfoy slung an arm around his shoulders and held him
close with a hand on the small of his back as he kicked Harry’s feet out from
under him and guided him gently to the ground. “I’m going to fuck you,” he
said, and bit down savagely around his nipple.
Harry screamed again, thrashing against him, his arse clenching and releasing
rhythmically as he struggled to find purchase, friction, anything to soothe the
desperate, burning itch. “Please, please, please –”
“I know what you need,” Malfoy said, and fitted his teeth around Harry’s pulse
point. The bite was almost tender, this time, but hard enough to break the
skin, and Harry felt himself go limp in his Alpha’s arms. Suddenly all he could
think about, all he wanted, was his Alpha's pleasure. To be used as a vessel
for his Alpha's needs, his desires. Nothing else mattered.
“Good,” Malfoy praised him. “Such a good boy. Turn over for me, Harry.”
Harry hummed with pleasure at the words, turning obediently. It was more
difficult than it should have been, but that was mostly because Malfoy refused
to let go of him, pressing kisses and tender bites over every piece of skin he
could reach: chest, collarbones, underarms, shoulders. “You taste so good,”
Malfoy moaned, desperate now. He scrabbled at Harry’s trousers, pulling them
down to his knees before giving up, plunging three fingers into Harry’s wet,
slick hole without any warning or preparation.
Harry gasped in pain, trying to squirm away, trapped by the trousers caught
around his knees.
“No, no,” Malfoy said, reaching up and biting down again over Harry’s carotid.
Harry relaxed in spite of the pain, feeling Malfoy’s fingers slide in and out,
twisting, scissoring, stretching him out. “That’s right, baby. You can take it.
You were made for this. See how wet you are; you're practically gushing for me,
begging me to fill you.”
And he was right. It felt good – oh Merlin so good – long, slender fingers
touching and probing inside him, wet and hot and relieving some of that
tormenting itch. But it wasn’t enough; never enough. “Please,” Harry begged. “I
need –”
“You need my cock,” Malfoy said. Any other time, any other situation, and that
posh pureblood voice would have been oozing smug satisfaction. But it seemed he
couldn’t deny nature any more than Harry could; his words were unsteady, needy.
“You need my knot. Don’t you, Potter? Say it.”
Harry moaned, pushing his arse back onto Malfoy’s fingers. “Yes,” he said.
“Yes, please, please –”
Malfoy spread his cheeks, and Harry tried to part his legs, only to curse when
he couldn’t move them more than a fraction of an inch. Damned trousers. He
whined, squirming.
“Shh,” Malfoy said, fumbling for his wand and casting a spell that banished the
rest of their clothing. Harry sighed and tilted his hips up in relief, but
Malfoy bracketed him in with his thighs, lying down on top of him and sliding
his cock into Harry like he owned him. Like he belonged there, two puzzle
pieces fit perfectly together, and Harry bit down on his fist as he came, eyes
shut tightly against the overwhelming pleasure of it. Held down, his Alpha’s
body on him, in him, pressing him down, surrounding and filling him utterly.
“Yes,” he said, brokenly. “Yes, please, fuck me –” It was, he was sure, the
dirtiest thing that had ever come out of his mouth, but he was far too gone to
care. And it made Malfoy hiss and pull his hips back, slamming in again, so
deep that Harry cried out, scrabbling at the floor with his fingers.
“That’s it,” Malfoy whispered, the words brushing Harry’s ear as he eased into
a couple of gentle thrusts. “That’s it, baby, such a good boy for me –”
“Malfoy, Malfoy –” Harry said, desperately, trying to push back, to force his
Alpha into a rhythm.
Malfoy bit his shoulder punishingly. “Draco, I said. You’re mine now. You will
obey me.”
“Please,” Harry moaned. “Draco, please –”
Malfoy slammed into him, and then again and again, fucking him now, hard and
desperate. “Come for me,” he gasped, into Harry’s shoulder. “I want you to come
again. I want to feel you coming on my cock, a second time, without a single
touch.”
“I can’t –”
“You will,” Draco said, and it was as if the command had a direct link to
Harry’s body, jerking his cock to attention, drawing him tight as a bowstring
as he fought off his second orgasm in less than ten minutes. It was going to
hurt – there was no way it wouldn’t.
“Oh Merlin, Draco, please, please, I’m begging you –”
“You’re going to come,” Draco said, panting.
And he did.
***** Chapter Two *****
Chapter Summary
     The heat.
Chapter Notes
     Thank you all for your lovely reviews!
He lay enjoying the afterglow for a couple of minutes, wriggling a little just
to feel Draco inside him, and then moaning in loss as he slid out. Draco rolled
off him, stretching lazily. “Don’t worry, Potter,” he said, reaching out to pet
Harry’s hair idly. “I haven’t knotted you yet. I’ll be able to fuck you again
in a minute.”
Harry shivered, curling up on his side. “What does that mean, exactly? How does
– how does the knotting actually – work?”
Draco closed his eyes and smiled slowly. “Oh, you are delicious.”
Harry scowled and shoved up, intending to go and sulk on the far more
comfortable bed. Instead, Draco caught his hips and pulled him back down,
nosing under Harry’s hair to the claim mark and biting down again. “Mine,” he
growled.
“Yes,” Harry said, letting Draco push his leg up and plunge back into his
soaking wet arse, snapping his hips forward in just the right position to brush
something inside Harry that made him scream.
“Draco,” he cried, helpless, insensate, and what he meant was Alpha.
Draco growled in approval. He wasn't gentle, biting Harry's neck and sucking
desperately, pinching and rolling Harry's nipples between his long, sharp
fingers, grasping Harry's cock and stroking roughly as he fucked him. “From now
on,” he said, catching Harry's ear between his teeth, “you're not to come until
I say you can. Understand?”
Harry moaned. “Please.”
“I like you begging," Draco told him breathlessly, thrusting in hard and then
just staying there, grinding his hips in a circle that tormented that spot
inside Harry again and again. "Do you like that?" he asked, as Harry whimpered
and tried to squirm away. “Tell me.”
“Oh Merlin,” Harry cried. “Please, Draco. Fuck me. Please.”
“Do you want my knot?” Draco pulled almost the whole way out, and teased at
Harry’s hole until he was a sobbing, desperate mess of tears and wet need and
aching, dripping cock. “Do you want my knot, Harry? I’ll let you come if you
take it.”
He shoved back in, all the way, plastering himself right up against Harry’s
back, biting at his shoulder, and for just a moment, just that one brief,
shining moment with Malfoy’s teeth digging into his skin and Malfoy’s thick
cock buried deep inside his arse, Harry could think again. “You’re – my Alpha,”
he said, struggling to get his breathing under control, scrubbing away the
tears. “Can’t you just – force me to submit? You don’t need to ask.”
Malfoy snarled at him, biting down hard enough into Harry’s shoulder that he
yelped in pain. “Shut up,” Draco told him. “You’re mine. I don’t need to force
you to take my knot. I will never force you. Do you understand?”
And, Merlin, Harry’s whole body flooded with arousal at that. Draco – his Alpha
– wanted him. Wanted to own and protect him. Wanted him willing. “I
understand,” he said, pushing back desperately, forgetting control, forgetting
everything but need. “I understand, Draco.”
Draco made a small sound of satisfaction and took hold of his hips, fingers
digging in, leaving bruises as he thrust in again, and again, easy and smooth
in the wet slick Harry’s body was pumping out. He put his teeth to the back of
Harry’s neck; just resting there, the gentle pressure a reminder. Of ownership.
Alpha. Mine.
“Beg for my knot.”
There was a dull throb of fear coiling tight in Harry’s chest at the idea of
being knotted, but more than that, more than anything, he wanted to please his
Alpha. And there was an itch below his skin, growing worse the longer Draco
fucked him. It was too easy, too sweetly slick – the stretch had sated him the
first time, but now he wanted to be filled, held down and bred. “Please,” he
said. “Please. I need it. I need your knot. Please, Draco. Take me.”
“Yes,” Draco hissed, and shoved in again, grinding deep. Harry flailed his arm
backwards, grabbing hold of Draco’s hip to try to anchor himself. But it was no
good. Draco was pounding into him now, hard and fast, sending jolts of pleasure
through him at every slam into his prostate, shooting up his spine, blurring
his eyesight, drawing his balls tight. And he could feel the stretch as his
Alpha’s knot slowly started to expand, pushing against his rim, in and out,
more painful with every thrust.
He began to cry out, to try to pull away, but Draco held him still
effortlessly.
“I can’t,” Harry sobbed, when the knot was so big Draco was pushing at him in
vain, unable to get back in without tearing him. “Please.”
“Shh,” Draco soothed him, sliding his hands up Harry’s chest and cupping his
jaw, turning his head towards him. “You can. You will,” he said, and fitted his
teeth gently around Harry’s pulse point. It was hot and throbbing already,
bruised deep, and all Draco had to do was press lightly and Harry was relaxing
into him, limp.
“Good boy,” Draco said, and Harry flushed in pleasure. “Such a good boy, taking
all of me –” He pushed in, and it hurt, but Harry was riding high, the pleasure
almost too much to bear. The pain of the stretch was nothing compared to the
rush of knowing that it was his Alpha’s knot buried deep inside him, pushing in
and then swelling slightly more, stretching the walls of his passage tight. And
then pulling back, just a little, just enough to make sure Harry knew: he was
tied. Knotted. There was no escape. He had no choice but to lie there under his
Alpha and feel him pump his cum deep inside him, spurt after spurt after spurt,
unending.
Breeding him. If he hadn’t taken the contraceptives, he almost certainly would
have ended up pregnant. The thought should have scared the crap out of him,
should have jolted him out of the haze of lust and arousal, but it sent him
higher instead, and he suddenly, bitterly regretted letting Snape give him
those potions.
“I want you to give me a child,” he said. Pleaded.
Draco grinned fiercely. “I know you do.”
Harry squirmed, twisting to reach his Alpha’s mouth. He could feel the knot
inside him, holding him in place, but he was flexible. If Draco helped, just a
little – “Kiss me,” he said desperately, begging. “Please, Draco. Kiss me.”
Draco paused – just a moment of hesitation, but it almost broke Harry’s heart.
He felt cold suddenly, his insides shriveling up in misery as his erection
wilted. Apparently fucking was okay, but kissing was too intimate.
It was like being doused in freezing cold water; like having a bandage ripped
off an open wound. Draco was his mate, the one person in the world who should
love him absolutely and unconditionally, and he wouldn’t even kiss him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, tears pricking his eyes. “I’m sorry, Draco, I shouldn’t
have asked.”
“No,” Draco said, and Harry flinched, curling in on himself. “No,” Draco said
again, “stop it, Harry. You’re mine. Mine. Forever. I’ve claimed you, and I
cherish what’s mine. I will never hang you out to dry, never leave you wanting.
You can ask anything of me, and if it’s in my power, I will give it to you.
Understand? Now come here.”
Harry let Draco manhandle him, twisting around to press their lips together,
messy and not quite fitting together, but Draco licked into his mouth, running
his tongue along the seam of Harry’s lips, and Harry melted, opening his mouth
wide to welcome him in, something tense and painful easing inside him. He
cried, a little, in relief, and Draco just kissed away the tears and came right
back to his mouth, salty and wet and hot, twisting him up again in desperate
need.
They kissed for a long time, until Harry was cramping up, until his lips were
chapped and sore, and all that time, Draco stayed knotted in him. Finally, the
knot began to deflate, and Draco pulled out. Harry groaned as it dragged at his
stretched insides.
“That was bloody brilliant,” Draco sighed, collapsing onto his back. He kept
one hand on Harry, stroking possessively down his side and over his arse,
cupping and squeezing and then slipping in between, fingering his hole.
Harry moaned, pushing back, and Draco slid three fingers into him obligingly.
He was sore and stretched, and horribly, gapingly empty, and being filled again
was – incredible. He felt like he’d been hard for hours, and as Draco pulled
him closer and stroked him – just once, whispering permission to let go in his
ear, he came with a scream, overloaded, vision whiting out with the pleasure of
it.
Afterwards, he turned over and curled into his Alpha, sliding a hopeful hand
down to touch Draco’s cock.
Draco chuckled tiredly, pushing his hand away. “Soon,” he promised. “I want you
to sleep now.”
Harry lifted his head to contemplate the bed, on the other side of the room.
Too far away. He sighed, tucking his head back into Draco’s shoulder, resigning
himself to a nap on the cold floor. “Yeah.”
“Don’t be stupid, Potter,” Draco said, fond. “We’re wizards, and we’ve just
formed one of the most powerful, unpredictable bonds in existence. There’s no
need for us to sleep here.” He snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were in
the bed, clean and dry, covers warm around their shoulders.
Harry sighed in contentment, and fell asleep.
                                      ~*~
Draco fucked him for three days straight, knotting him again and again – on his
back on the bed; on his hands and knees on the floor; facing the wall, fingers
scrabbling for purchase; and on one, entirely unforgettable occasion, with his
back pressed up against the wall and legs wrapped around Draco’s hips, pounded
mercilessly as Draco’s muscles flexed and bunched under pale, perfect skin.
When they were both so tired they couldn't keep their eyes open, they slept,
tangled up in each other. Harry always woke to Draco pushing inside him,
pressing his hands down, holding him in place to be taken and bred like the
bitch in heat Draco called him, the words whispered filthy hot in his ear.
Even when they were sore and aching, even when Draco hissed every time he
entered Harry, even when Harry cried out and twisted away every time he felt
Draco's hand on his cock, knot pushing into him – even then, they didn't stop.
“It’s your scent,” Draco told him, as they lay on the bed, Draco's weight
pressing him into the mattress, Draco's knot holding him tied to his Alpha as
he was pumped full of cum, again.
Harry hummed a little, questioningly. He was lost in the feel of hot, naked
skin slipping against his, smooth and sweat-slick; his arse filled, stretched
and full and sore and so good. “What?”
“Your scent,” Draco said, nosing at the nape of Harry's neck. “It’s
intoxicating. You’ll keep releasing it until your heat ends. I can't escape
it.”
Harry shivered as Draco kissed the back of his neck. “Do you want to?” he
asked, throat closing at the idea.
Draco opened his mouth against Harry's nape, biting down gently, his teeth a
warning. Harry whimpered and squirmed, and Draco shushed him, soothing gentle
hands down his sides. “Of course not, Harry. How many times do I have to tell
you? You're mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” Harry said, the words sending a thrill of arousal through him,
hardening his cock. Draco made a pleased noise and licked his way around to
Harry's ear, catching his lobe between his teeth.
“Again.”
“I'm yours,” Harry repeated obediently, breath hitching as Draco pulled his
hips up and slid his hand around to close around his erection. “Ah! Draco!”
“Again,” Draco said, unrelenting.
“I’m yours, I’m yours,” Harry sobbed, trying to thrust forward into Draco's
grip, crying out when he pulled against the knot. Draco made a low noise,
almost a snarl, and grabbed his hips, pulling him back onto his cock, pushing
impossibly deeper, the pressure on Harry’s prostate unbearable.
“Hold still,” Draco said, his voice almost unrecognisable in his fury. “You’re
mine. Your arse is mine, you won’t pull away from me when I’m breeding you, you
understand? You'll come when I say you can, and not before.”
“Please,” Harry begged, trembling. Sweat was beading on his forehead, his cock
so hard it was dribbling pre-cum onto the sheets under him. Draco moved his
hand back to Harry's cock, and it was painful, the grip Draco had on him, his
skin rubbed almost raw from the countless orgasms his Alpha had wrung out of
him, but the pleasure was filling him up again from the inside and burning out
the pain. “Please.”
“Say it. Say it and mean it.”
Harry moaned. “I do. I am. You know.”
“Do I?” Draco bit Harry’s shoulder punishingly. “Didn’t you say you hated me,
before I claimed you?”
Harry frowned, bewildered. The memory was distant, hazy, as if it had happened
years ago instead of days – or as if it had happened to someone else. “But you
claimed me. I chose you. I’m yours, Draco. I’m – ah, I’m yours. I’m yours,
please, I’m yours. Please.”
“Yes,” Draco said, and stroked his hand once up and down Harry's cock. “Come,”
he said, and Harry gasped as his balls drew up and his cock jerked, spurting
weakly.
“Oh Merlin,” he whimpered, shuddering helplessly.
Draco held him through it, stroking him gently. When Harry started coming down,
Draco let go before the pain of his over-sensitive cock got too much. “Good,”
Draco was murmuring, “such a good boy for me. Coming for me. Taking my knot. So
good.”
Harry sighed a little, relaxing into the bed. Draco lay over him heavily, still
tied to him, his cock making those little twitches as it emptied itself into
him, and Harry was sated and filled almost beyond what he could bear, and it
was perfect.
“What happens after my heat ends?” he asked, after several long, quiet minutes.
“Nothing happens,” Draco said, turning them on their sides carefully so he
could wrap his arms around Harry and hold him close. The knot pulled slightly,
but the burn was pleasant, and Harry just closed his eyes and let himself be
manhandled. “You stay mine. I fuck you, you take my knot. You submit to me – in
everything.”
“And when the war starts?” Harry said, because that was why Dumbledore had
tried to keep them apart, and there was a terrible, dark fear in him at the
thought of Draco asking him to sacrifice himself to Voldemort. Because he would
– he would do anything for his Alpha, and the world would burn because of it.
He said, “We’re on different sides,” but they weren’t, really, not anymore.
And Draco knew it, too, because he bit down into the dark, painful bruise over
Harry's carotid, making Harry whimper softly, and said, “You belong to me,
Potter. We are the same side, now. You’re mine. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” Harry agreed. “I belong to you, Draco. I’m yours.”
“Yes, you are,” Draco said. “Mine to fuck. Mine to knot. Mine to breed with as
I please… but also mine to protect. The Dark Lord won’t lay a finger on you, do
you understand?” He was growling softly, and Harry felt a little giddy.
“Okay. But –”
“No buts. I’ll take you away from here – from all of this – before I let anyone
hurt you.”
Part of Harry was overwhelmed with the oddest sensation of – joy, he thought.
It was joy. He was happy, really happy; not just content-with-his-lot happy,
not grit-his-teeth-and-bear-it happy, but really, smile-until-his-cheeks-hurt
happy. No one had ever cared that much about him before. No one, not even
Dumbledore.
But another part of him couldn't help but remember there was a reason
Dumbledore couldn't remove him from this fight, even if he’d wanted to.
“There’s a prophecy,” he began, haltingly. The two parts of him were battling
it out, now – should he really tell Draco Malfoy, Death Eater (because the
skull and snake tattoo on his left arm was kind of hard to miss, naked), about
being the Chosen One? But then Draco kissed the side of his neck and splayed a
hand possessively over his stomach, and the part of Harry screaming that he
belonged to his Alpha, dammit – that everything in him, and about him, belonged
to his Alpha – won. Hands down. The rebellious part of him died without a
whimper.
“I’m the only one who can defeat Voldemort,” he said.
“Well, then.” Draco was quiet for a long moment. “I’m not letting you face him
alone. So I suppose that means we do it together.”
                                      ~*~
Harry could feel his heat winding down. There were longer periods between
fucks, more time spent sleeping or cuddling or tucked obediently beneath the
covers as Draco fed him the light meals that had begun to appear sometime
during the third day. Or maybe they’d been sending the food in right from the
start, and Harry just hadn’t noticed. The days had sort of blurred into one
long, waking dream. Granted, a very pleasant dream, but one which couldn’t last
forever, no matter how much he might want it to.
He was waking up.
“Your task,” he said. Draco was petting his hair idly with one hand and feeding
him slices of melon with the other. Harry thought it might be breakfast-time;
he could see pastries on the tray, as well. European; someone was spoiling
them.
He suspected Dobby.
“Hm?” Draco’s gaze sharpened on Harry’s face. “What?”
“The Room of Requirement,” Harry said, letting his eyes flick deliberately to
Draco’s Mark. “Your task. Are you –?”
Draco slid another piece of melon between Harry’s lips, effectively quieting
him. He followed that up with his fingers, pressing in and exploring Harry’s
mouth with a proprietary air of ownership that took Harry’s breath away. His
cock made a valiant attempt to harden, but he was utterly spent, so he just lay
and watched his Alpha and sucked on the long, graceful fingers when he thought
Draco wouldn’t mind.
“That’s done with now,” Draco said, at last. His eyes were dark as he stroked
over Harry’s tongue. “I won’t let my mother suffer the consequences of my
decision, but I won’t betray you to save her, either. I will find another way.”
Harry opened his mouth, and Draco slid his fingers out, patting Harry’s cheek
gently before pulling away entirely.
Harry shook his head. “Why?” he whispered.
Draco frowned, irritated. “Because you’re mine, Potter. Do you still not
understand that? An Omega – you can't even begin to comprehend how rare and
precious you are. And not only that, but a true bond, not one bought and paid
for. Do you know there are only two Alpha-Omega bonds in wizarding Britain
right now? Ours, and Dumbledore and Snape’s. And their bond is mere
practicality; there is no love there, no lust, no power.”
Harry blinked, blinked again, and sat up quickly. “Dumbledore and Snape?”
Draco just looked at him. Harry flinched, remembering his Alpha’s order to stay
still as he was fed. He hunched his shoulders in apologetically, and Draco put
a hand on his chest and pushed down again, gently, insistently. Harry let
himself be re-arranged under the covers, warm and cosy, and then Draco
straddled his hips, which was very clearly a reward, so he tried not to feel
too guilty for disobeying.
“Worst kept secret in Hogwarts,” Draco mused, reaching over for a strawberry
and pressing it between Harry’s lips. Harry bit down obediently, relishing the
burst of sweetness across his tongue. Not as pleasant as his Alpha’s fingers,
but still. Close. “Or, at least, in Slytherin, but really, no one with eyes
could fail to see it. Of course, the Dark Lord doesn’t know, or Snape would be
dead. My father never had the heart to reveal his duplicity, and no one crosses
my father; not even now he's in Azkaban. Not even my Aunt Bella. Severus – has
suffered enough.”
“What happened? I mean – Snape said his true mate died.”
Draco looked at him carefully. “You don’t want to know, Harry.”
Harry met the stormy-grey eyes, feeling that tug low in his belly. The desire
to obey, to be good, to please his Alpha. But Draco hadn’t forbidden him to
ask, so he ignored the feeling and said, “I do, Draco. Please. Snape’s the only
other Omega I know. I need to know what happened to him.”
“Even if it hurts you?” Draco said somberly, almost radiating disapproval, and
Harry winced.
“Please,” he murmured, pressing closer.
“It’s not a pretty story,” Draco said. “Mind you, nor is Dumbledore’s, and
that’s probably the only reason their bond doesn’t self-destruct.” His mouth
twisted. “Merlin knows it can’t be a healthy bond. Especially not considering
Dumbledore’s first, true bond-mate.”
“Who?” Harry asked, fascinated already.
“Gellert Grindelwald,” Draco said. “And I think we all know how that one went.”
Harry gaped. “Grindelwald? As in, the Dark Lord Grindelwald?”
“Well, obviously it was before he went Dark,” Draco said, and then paused.
“Well, maybe not all before. But Dumbledore rejected him because of it, severed
their bond, and then sent him to prison. Explains a lot about the man, once you
know. The way he’s so afraid of facing who he is – what he’s become. He’s just
as corrupted by power as he feared Grindlewald had become, all those years ago,
and yet he refuses to admit it to himself, refuses to admit that his
machinations and manipulations behind the scenes, bending people and
governments and destiny itself to his will, is any different to what
Grindelwald wanted. At least the Dark Lord was honest about it.”
Harry frowned slightly. He thought perhaps he should try to defend Dumbledore,
but that seemed a little too much like defying his Alpha, so he said instead,
“I thought the bond couldn’t be broken.”
Draco shrugged. “Not by you,” he agreed. “Or by the Ministry, or even by the
most powerful wizard alive. But an Alpha may always sever a bond if he so
chooses.”
Harry swallowed. “Not our –?” he managed, and then his words died out. His
throat felt dry, scratchy and hot.
Draco smiled slowly, leaning forward to kiss him gently, and then more
fiercely, thrusting his tongue into Harry’s mouth and claiming it for his own.
“I will never let you go,” he whispered, and it should have sounded dangerously
possessive and threatening and even slightly manic, but Harry just shuddered in
relief.
“What about Snape?” he asked, when Draco had slowed his kisses to little ones
along his jaw and the line of his throat.
Draco sighed and sat back. “You really want to know?” Harry nodded, giving his
Alpha his best pleading look. “All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Draco reached over for one of the pastries, and tore off a small piece to feed
to Harry. “Snape found his Alpha at a very young age. Their preliminary bond
formed long before their bodies were ready to consummate it, and they grew up
loving each other like brother and sister. She was older than him, and there
was a war brewing, and she formed an attachment to someone else – a Beta. Not a
bond, but I suppose it was love enough. Severus was devastated, lost. Easy
pickings for my father and the other original Death Eaters. And by the time he
turned sixteen and his body went into heat, it was too late. His Alpha rejected
him, and my father took him in. Hid him from the Dark Lord while he mourned,
fucked him through his heats until Severus came up with his suppressant. But
then – then Snape made a deal with the devil.”
“Voldemort?”
Draco pinched Harry’s side, hard enough to bruise him, and Harry shut his mouth
again. “No. Dumbledore,” Draco said. “And Snape’s true Alpha paid the price.
The Dark Lord killed her, and her husband, and all Severus had left was the
child that should have been his – a child with his mother’s green eyes and a
lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.”
“A –” Harry’s head spun. “Me?”
Draco brushed Harry's hair off his forehead, running a fingertip over his scar.
“Yes,” he said gently. “Lily Potter was Snape’s true mate.”
“I don’t believe you,” Harry said automatically, even as everything he had
never really understood about the professor began to slot into place. “You’re
lying.”
Draco growled, deep in his chest, and Harry froze in horror, suddenly
remembering who he was. Who he was talking to. His Alpha.
“I’m sorry, Draco, I'm –” he said quickly, but it was too late. Draco’s eyes
were suddenly drowned in black, and he stripped off the bedspread covering
Harry in one smooth, efficient motion, pinning Harry’s hands to the bed above
his head before he’d even really registered his Alpha had moved.
“Draco –”
“Shut. Up,” Draco said, from between clenched teeth, “unless you want me to gag
you as well.”
As well as what? Harry thought, but then there were ropes snaking around his
wrists, pulling tight as Draco lashed him wandlessly to the bedposts. And then
he was shoving Harry’s legs up and thrusting three fingers into his arse
roughly, and it had been at least an hour and a half since their last knotting,
and Harry was not quite wet enough or loose enough to handle it.
He cried out in pain, a tear escaping his control and slipping down his face,
and Draco eased up slightly, frowning.
“You’re not producing as much,” he muttered, and Harry wanted to weep with how
much he wanted to apologise, to beg his Alpha’s forgiveness. But he couldn’t
talk; he couldn’t disobey his Alpha like that, not after accusing him of
something so awful, so –
“Hey,” Draco said roughly, touching Harry’s cheek, and he realised he’d failed
again, failed to keep his tears from ruining his Alpha’s enjoyment of his body;
failed, failed, failed. “No,” Draco said. “No, Harry, please don’t cry. I’m
sorry, I over-reacted, it’s my fault.” He withdrew his fingers slowly, jaw
tightening as Harry gave an involuntary sob of pain. He lay down, covering
Harry’s body with his own, and gathered him up in a hug. “It’s my fault,” he
said again, “I hurt you, I’m sorry, Harry, please forgive me.”
Harry stilled, confused and worried by the sudden change in temperament. His
Alpha was angry with him. He had to fix this, be obedient and submissive and
perfect. He pressed his face, hard and silent, into Draco's shoulder, hoping
desperately that it would be enough.
But Draco just made a soft noise of distress, arms tightening around him. “Not
your fault, Harry,” he said. “D’you hear me? Not your fault. You're mine,
you're safe with me. I won’t hurt you, ever. Tell me you know that.”
Harry swallowed. Permission – even an order – to speak, but how in Merlin’s
name was he supposed to apologise for something like this? “I know,” he said
tentatively. “I know, but Draco, I should have been ready for you. You
shouldn't have to worry about that. I'm yours, and I was disrespectful, and you
should have been able to reassert your claim. It’s your right, and I failed
you.”
Draco sighed. “Don’t be an idiot, Potter. Your heat’s ending – you can't help
that any more than you could help going into heat. I’ll expect you to keep
yourself ready for me at all other times – but right now, while you're still in
heat, you're my responsibility. Understand?” He pulled back slightly, cupping
Harry’s face in his hand and forcing Harry to look at him. His grey eyes were
flint-hard, fierce. “You will not ever let me hurt you, Potter. That is an
order, and I will not tolerate disobedience.”
Harry swallowed, tears springing to his eyes. “Okay,” he agreed, feeling warmth
spread from the top of his head all the way to the tips of his toes. “I love
you, Draco.”
He was half-hoping his Alpha wouldn’t hear the whispered words, but Draco just
pulled him impossibly closer and said, “I know. You’ll always love me, now.
That was never in question. What’s important is that you know I will always
love you. You will be cherished, Harry. I won’t ever let you feel unloved, or
unsafe, or uncared for.”
Harry closed his eyes. It was like Draco could see right into his soul; into
the deepest desires of his heart, the ones he kept hidden even from himself.
But – “Dumbledore said you can marry outside our bond.”
Draco snarled. “Dumbledore’s a bitter old fool. He rejected his own Omega, and
now he’s projecting himself onto us. I’ve told you already, Harry – you’re
mine, and I will guard you faithfully. Jealously.” He nuzzled behind Harry’s
ear, calming himself, and then murmured, “Do you know what my father would have
done to me if he’d found out I was gay, before this? And now I’ll be
celebrated, envied. I won’t have to live every day of my life as a lie; you'll
give me children, and we’ll be happy together, Harry. I’ll even marry you if
that’s what you want, although you have to know a marriage bond is far, far
inferior to what we already have.”
“Oh,” Harry said helplessly, and then suddenly he realised they were floating
three feet above the bed. He yelped, flinging his arms around Draco’s neck and
wrapping his legs tighter around Draco’s waist.
Draco laughed, delighted. “You’re doing that,” he said, kissing Harry’s ear.
“You’re even more powerful than you were before, now. Emotions – strong
emotions, like happiness – you’ll have to learn control of them all over again,
just like your accidental magic as a child.”
Harry couldn’t deny that; he was happy. Happier than he could ever remember
being. He held on a little tighter, and thrust his hips up.
Draco growled, flipping them over in the air. “Don’t let us fall,” he warned,
and then lifted Harry and guided him down onto his cock, slow and gentle – and
then when he realised how slick-wet Harry was, gushing out of him again in
readiness for his Alpha's cock, in one smooth, hard thrust.
                                      ~*~
Draco didn’t knot with him that time, or even the time after that.
“I want it to be special,” Draco told him, “the last time I knot you.”
Harry had been sprawled face-down on the mattress (no wet spot, because their
magic was awesome like that), but he found the energy at that to twist around
to look at his Alpha, sudden anxiety blooming in his chest.
“Last time?” he echoed, throat tight. “But – but you can still knot me when I’m
not in heat, right? I mean, I’m not always going to be in heat, but it’s your
right –”
Draco kissed him, sweet and gentle and commanding, until he was melting into
his Alpha’s body, relaxed and quiet. Draco smiled against his mouth. “The heats
only happen two or three times a year,” he agreed. “I can’t impregnate you at
any other time, but I can still knot you. It’ll hurt more, of course, but that
just means I’ll expect you to keep yourself well-stretched and lubed for me.
Understand?” Harry nodded, relieved. “I just meant the last time I knot you
during your first heat. It should be special, something we can remember when
the heat burns away and it’s just us again.”
Harry looked up at him, smiling. “You want to romance me, Draco?” he teased.
“Candles and flowers and music?”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you don’t want it too, Potter. The bond
means we’re compatible, in every way. I know what you want, because it’s what I
want, too.”
Harry considered that, feeling warm and loved again. It was a novel feeling; he
thought he could get used to it. “Do your worst,” he said.
Holding Harry’s gaze, Draco waved a hand. No wand – neither of them had had to,
not since that very first knotting. And suddenly they were somewhere else; a
pavilion by the sea, under the deep night sky studded with a thousand stars.
Harry gasped and scrambled to his feet, exhaustion forgotten. The sand was warm
under his toes, and there was a breeze brushing through his hair. “How did you
– it’s impossible to Apparate through Hogwarts’ wards –”
“Maybe it is,” Draco said, leaning back on his elbows lazily, an amused smile
playing on his lips at Harry’s awe. “Maybe it isn’t. Alpha-Omega bonds are
powerful, and unique; we won’t know our limits until we push them. But I didn’t
Apparate us here. Even if it was possible, I wouldn't want to exhaust us both
before we even start. No, it’s an illusion – of a real place, of course. The
Malfoy holiday home in Spain, in fact, with our own private stretch of beach.”
Harry turned to look at him incredulously, and Draco’s smile widened. “Romantic
enough for you, sweetheart?”
Harry thought for a moment, and then there was soft, gentle music drifting on
the breeze. He smiled. “Now it is. I want to suck you.”
Draco jerked, like he hadn’t been expecting that, his eyes darkening. “Do you,”
he said flatly, and Harry dropped to his knees beside him, begging with his
eyes. After days – and days – of being taken, of having the frantic itch inside
him soothed again and again with his Alpha’s cock, being stretched around his
knot, fucked and bred, he wasn't quite so desperate to be filled right now.
Soon, yes – he wouldn’t be able to bear it for long, but he wanted to taste his
Alpha on his tongue, and that would hold back the tide for a while.
Draco considered him thoughtfully for a moment, and then widened his legs. It
was all the invitation Harry needed; he clambered between Draco’s legs, hands
already smoothing up the long, slender legs. “Oh,” he said, making a face. “Am
I going to get sand –”
“Wizarding holiday home, Harry,” Draco said patiently, and Harry sighed in
relief, settling himself comfortably on his stomach in the sand.
Draco’s cock was already hard, bobbing against his stomach, but the knot was
quiescent, just a small lump near the base of his cock. Harry shivered, and
then Draco’s hand was in his hair, gently encouraging him forward. He licked
tentatively, and the taste was nothing that he’d expected; just warm, clean
skin and salt and the tang of pre-come as it dribbled down the side.
He moaned, opening his mouth to suck Draco inside, and it was incredible, the
heavy weight of his Alpha on his tongue, the silk of skin moving over hard
muscle, the way Draco’s whole body shuddered as he slid his tongue up and
pressed just under the head. He wrapped his hand around the base, felt the knot
shift under his palm and start to swell. Draco gave an involuntary thrust at
that, but Harry had been expecting it and just moved with him – he might be
inexperienced in, well, everything, when it came to sex, but he could hear
Draco’s order resounding in his head – you will not ever let me hurt you – and
he was determined to please his Alpha.
Judging by Draco’s panting breaths, the way his hands clutched convulsively in
Harry’s hair, he thought he was doing a pretty good job of it; sucking hard,
keeping hold of the base and stroking firmly in counterpoint, drooling a bit to
keep it wet, figuring out just the right way to wrap his lips over his teeth.
His jaw was starting to ache, but every inch of his Alpha was screaming out his
enjoyment of what Harry was doing, and there was no way in hell he could stop.
But Draco’s knot was growing, and he grunted and said, “Want inside you,
Harry,” and Harry let Draco’s cock slide out of his mouth reluctantly.
“Come here,” Draco said, urging Harry up to kiss him chastely, quickly, and
then flipping them over. Harry gazed up at him, aware that his expression was
probably bordering on adoration, but it felt right. Draco bent and kissed him
again, properly this time, shoving his thighs up and hooking them over his
shoulders. Harry shuddered at how open he felt, and suddenly he was squirming
desperately, his hole fluttering with need and wet, slick heat.
“Please,” he blurted into Draco’s mouth, and Draco chuckled.
“You want this?” he said, nosing under Harry’s jaw, teasing at his tender pulse
point. Just lips, no teeth, and it was enough to drive him wild. “Hm? You want
me to bite you, relieve some of that heat pouring through your veins? Force you
to submit to me?”
Harry threw his head back in a desperate yes, offering himself up the only way
he knew how.
But Draco just kissed the deep bruise and lined himself up, pushing in gently.
Harry cried out, fingers digging into Draco’s shoulders, the pleasure-pain of
it unprecedented. Draco always bit him first; relaxing him, giving him some
relief from the burning itch, making him ready. “Merlin,” he said on a
stuttering breath, fighting to stay on top of the flood of feelings, and then
realising that fighting it was just what he shouldn’t be doing. So he let it
pull him under instead, and it was a sweeter submission for the lack of Draco’s
bite.
“That’s it,” his Alpha praised him, thrusting in carefully, “such a good boy
for me, Harry, you’re incredible,” and Harry sighed and settled, his body
thrumming with pleasure as Draco hit that sensitive spot inside him again and
again, fucking him slow but steady, and there was sweat pooling on his stomach,
beading on his forehead and slick where he was touching Draco’s back, but there
was just enough of a cool, fresh sea breeze to keep them from getting
overheated. Harry let it flow over his face, closing his eyes as Draco pressed
his lips to the hollow of his throat and shoved in one more time, hard, his
knot swelling, stretching the walls of Harry’s channel smooth and tight around
him, tying them together as he began to come.
“Mm,” Harry said, stilling completely.
“Good boy,” Draco murmured again. “Want me to bite you, or let you come? One or
the other.”
Harry didn’t even hesitate. He was thrilled Draco had trusted him to submit
without the bite, but he wanted it. It was proof he was owned, proof he was
loved; not just a mark on his skin but a brand, a physical representation of
their bond. “Bite me,” he said, and Draco growled, fixing his teeth around
Harry’s carotid with an eagerness that told him he’d chosen right – he’d
pleased his Alpha, too.
He melted into Draco happily, content to just enjoy being used, being stretched
and held tight and pumped full of come, his own cock – not forgotten, exactly,
but not necessary for his Alpha’s pleasure.
Until it was, and Draco’s hand wrapped around him and stroked him roughly, his
own hips thrusting a little as if he could get his cock just that tiny bit
deeper, make his claim just that tiny bit stronger. Harry moaned and stretched
up for a kiss, pleading with his mouth open, lips still red and swollen and wet
from the earlier kisses. Possibly, Harry thought, his lips had been swollen for
days, ever since that first, marathon snog.
Draco indulged him, and Harry shivered and moaned as his Alpha explored his
mouth, because he was being knotted and jerked off and kissed under the stars,
and he’d been bitten, and this was all an indulgence on Draco’s part, which
meant his beloved Alpha was very, very pleased with him.
Then Draco whispered, “Come,” in his ear, and he barely even registered it
before the flood crashed through him and swept him up and up and up, until he
was dizzy with the pleasure of it and he fell.
He came to several minutes later with Draco still tied to him and pumping
gently, kissing Harry’s eyelids like he was the most precious thing in the
world. He didn’t try to open his eyes; just lay there and let himself be taken
care of, everything in him blissed out and utterly satisfied.
***** Chapter Three *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry and Draco wake up from his heat, and must deal with the
     consequences of their bonding.
Chapter Notes
     Again, this may be triggering for some readers, with the boundaries
     of consent being very much blurred by the nature of what Harry and
     Draco are in this fic. Please don't read if this might be upsetting.
     Everyone else, enjoy! Happy ending ahead!
“Ew,” Harry said, not long later (and a long time later), and the sound of his
own voice startled him awake. He sat up quickly, and cried out in pain, every
inch of his body protesting. “Oh Merlin, oh Merlin,” he panted, fighting to
control his breathing when it hurt to suck in even a partial lungful of air,
and he was on the verge of a panic attack.
“Harry,” said a familiar (beloved) voice, and there was a hand on his back. It
was familiar too, and there was no reason for the hand that belonged to that
voice to be familiar on his bare skin, and it almost tipped him into a full-
blown screaming panic when the voice continued, “Calm down.”
He relaxed, instantly, and then tensed up all over again when Malfoy (Draco)
moved into his line of vision.
The last thing he remembered (“I love you,” whispered against sweat-slick skin,
and he smiled, drifting off to sleep in a haze of contentment) was DADA – Snape
had been explaining something, an assignment –
“Where are we?” he demanded. Dammit, even his lips hurt. “What have you done to
me?” There were marks on his chest, stomach, bruises in the shapes of fingers,
teeth marks on the inside of his thighs, his neck felt like it had been mauled,
and – oh Merlin, his arse was agony, a deep, fierce ache like he’d been torn up
and spat out by a dragon, only this was internal, inside him – “Did you rape
me?” he said, fury choking him, and he tried to lunge forward but his body was
in too much pain, too exhausted to do anything but twitch futilely towards the
other boy.
Draco’s eyebrows drew together into a frown, and Harry suddenly felt
uncomfortable. He wanted to apologise, but that was ridiculous. Malfoy was
quite clearly in better shape than he was, not to mention naked – it was a
reasonable assumption. Except... except he didn’t feel like he thought he
should; didn’t feel violated, or dirty, despite what was clearly semen drying
on his inner thighs.
He looked up at Malfoy again, and this time his eyes were drawn to the ugly
black tattoo on his left forearm. He started backwards, wincing at the pain but
his whole mind focused on I was right, and oh fuck, I was right. “You’re a
Death Eater,” he said, horrified and triumphant.
Draco was silent. Harry frowned and shook his head. “Well?” he pressed,
impatient.
But Draco just watched him, and the weight of that frown began to burn some of
the gauze protecting Harry’s memories away. He took a shuddering breath; curled
into himself. Omega, Madam Pomfrey explained. Inability to give true consent,
Dumbledore said. Literally and legally belong to that person for the rest of
your life.
“It was rape,” Harry said, fighting back a sob. “Oh Merlin, no.” He was bonded
to a Death Eater; bonded to a smug, self-righteous prick who hated him and
would make the rest of his life a living hell.
“Stop it,” Malfoy said, and the bed dipped. Harry flinched, and Draco paused
with his hand outstretched. “It’s not like that, Harry.”
“No?” Harry said, directing a furious look at the boy who owned him, body and
soul. “I was out of my mind. I wasn’t even here. You think I’d have chosen you
if I’d been thinking clearly at all?”
Draco’s face closed down. “You’re mine,” he said stiffly, and again Harry felt
that uncomfortable need to apologise, to take the hurtful words back, no matter
the truth to them. (Not true, not completely). He had a sudden, vivid flash of
blurting out a desperate apology, of Draco binding his wrists to the bed-head
in punishment, and he scowled.
“So I suppose that means you want me to get down on my knees and beg for your
forgiveness?” he snarled.
Malfoy’s jaw worked. “It might be a start.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but you got the wrong end of the deal,” Harry said. “Maybe
you should’ve thought about what you were doing before you bound your enemy to
you. Or maybe,” a sick burn in the back of his throat as a thought occurred to
him, “you did. Maybe you’re planning on giving me up to Voldemort.”
Draco flinched, his fingers curling. “Don’t say his name,” he snapped.
“Why? Are you scared, Mal –” The name dried up in his mouth, and he fought to
continue, but there was something far more powerful stopping him, and he was
panting with anger now. “Seriously? I seriously can’t call you by your fucking
name because of your fucking order?”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have that kind of power,” he said. “That’s you
– the part of you you’re fighting tooth and nail right now. The part of you
that remembers, and loves me, and would do anything for me. The part of you
that wants to obey me.”
“There’s no part of me that wants to obey you,” Harry spat. “And love –?” He
almost laughed, but the look in Malfoy’s eyes stopped him. His hands clenched
into fists. “How can you want this?” he demanded instead. “You had the
opportunity to back out – when Snape got me out of there, you didn’t have to
come after me, to the infirmary. You chose this. Was it revenge? Or are you
really going to hand me over to your master?”
Draco sighed. “No,” he said. “You’re mine, Harry, whether you like it or not,
and I take care of what’s mine.”
Before Harry could even begin to try to get his head around that, the door
opened – one Harry hadn’t even noticed (or had forgotten, days or an eternity
ago) – and Dumbledore entered, Snape hovering behind him awkwardly. Harry only
had a moment to realise the cloying terror in his chest was directly related to
the Headmaster’s presence before Draco was between them, growling deep in his
chest. He seized a blanket and wrapped it quickly around Harry’s shoulders,
bundling him up in it until he was completely covered. And then he flung
another blanket carelessly around his own waist, gathered Harry up in his arms,
and held him tightly, pressing Harry’s face into his shoulder.
Harry relaxed despite himself, the shivering, terrible fear dissipating
slightly, but Draco was still as tense as a centaur whose territory was being
invaded. “You won’t take him from me,” he said, almost snapping the words out,
whip-sharp and desperate. “He’s mine, I’ve bitten him, the law is absolute.”
“I am not disputing your claim, Mr Malfoy,” Dumbledore said, gently. “I simply
want to talk. I’m sure you understand there is a great deal to discuss. Your
mother, for instance.”
Draco tensed even further. “What about my mother?”
Snape cleared his throat softly. “I’ve sent a message to the Dark Lord,
explaining the situation – that you have bonded to Harry Potter, and that
Dumbledore and his Order intend to attempt a rescue mission for Narcissa
tonight.” Harry’s breath caught, but Malfoy just smoothed a hand down his back,
his eyes alert but trusting as they rested on the DADA professor. “The Dark
Lord knows the most secure room in Malfoy Manor is –”
“My mother’s bedchambers.” Draco relaxed slightly, let Harry lift his head to
look at him. There was a small smile on his lips as he met Harry’s questioning
gaze. “It’s very true,” he explained. “Her rooms are impenetrable, and with
guards outside – impossible to get to her. Except – there is one way; a family
secret. Severus knows, of course, but the Dark Lord will have no cause to
suspect that. He’ll believe it was me.”
Harry shook his head, bewildered. “You’re changing sides?”
Draco sighed. “Not changing sides, Harry. Simply – realigning my priorities.
You are my priority now, and that means I have to keep you safe.”
(“I won’t betray you to save her. I’ll find another way.”)
“Oh.”
Snape left the room, closing the door behind him quietly, and Dumbledore
cleared his throat. Harry tried to crane his head back to see the Headmaster,
but Draco put a hand on his neck, pressing him down again. Harry scowled; the
rush of (mostly) irrational terror had subsided, and he wanted out. “Mal –
Draco,” he hissed.
Draco’s hands curled into fists in Harry’s blanket, but he let him shuffle a
few inches away on the bed – enough, at least, that they weren’t touching at
all except for the possessive hands still holding Harry’s blanket, keeping it
closed around him.
Dumbledore cleared his throat softly. “How are you feeling, my boy?”
“He’s not yours anymore,” Draco snapped instantly, and Harry waited for the
surge of annoyance and anger at the presumption of ownership. It didn’t come.
He frowned.
“I’m okay, sir,” he said, trying to sound casual. He thought he mostly
succeeded, but Dumbledore’s shrewd blue eyes had always seen right through him,
and he sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Draco stiffened again. Dumbledore’s eyes flicked between them, and he waited a
moment before replying carefully, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry. I
think we all recognise the difficulty this situation has put us in, but now
that Mr Malfoy has declared his intention to – cross over, as it were, and
fight for the Light –”
Draco’s lip curled, and he said, “If you were actually listening to what should
have been private, intimate conversations between my claimed Omega and I,
during his heat –” Dumbledore looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment, and
Harry wondered if there was a law about that, as well, “not to mention a mere
thirty seconds ago, you should know I said no such thing. I will not allow you
to make me one of your pawns. I will fight with Harry. Protect him, with my
life if necessary, and make damned sure he walks away from this war alive and
unhurt. And that is all.”
“Ah,” Dumbledore said. He stroked his long, white beard, and sighed. “I was
afraid of that. I had intended for this to all play out very differently – but
fate, it seems, has changed our path.” He was silent for a long moment, clearly
weighing his words carefully.
“Unfortunately, Mr Malfoy,” he continued, “there are a few immutable facts –
things that must happen in order to win the war, or I am afraid no one will
walk away from this alive and unhurt. Harry told you of the prophecy – the
interpretation he gave you is one I have allowed him to believe, and one that I
myself have come to believe in as well. That he will defeat Lord Voldemort. It
was – not always the only interpretation, however. I once believed – before his
encounter with Voldemort in the graveyard at the end of the Triwizard
Tournament – that it would be enough that he die at Voldemort’s hand. That
others might finish destroying the Horcruxes, and strike the killing blow.”
Harry stared at the old wizard, his friend and mentor, and tried not to feel
betrayed. Suddenly he didn’t mind the arm Draco slid around his waist; his
whole world was tilting on its axis, and the contact grounded him, a little.
“I’m sorry, my boy,” Dumbledore said, and then sighed again when Draco growled
dangerously, pulling Harry closer. “Harry, then,” he conceded. “You see,
something happened the night you were given that scar, Harry; something more
than Voldemort simply making you ‘his equal’. You already know some of it – the
connection you have with him, the ability to see into each others’ minds and
memories, the gifts you inherited.” Harry snorted; Draco looked intrigued and
somewhat repulsed. “But there is a reason for that connection – a reason
Voldemort does not yet suspect, but one which I have known for some time. I
believe his soul had become unstable from being split again and again, and when
he murdered your mother that night, Harry, his soul split again, accidentally.
With no direction, no spell to push it into an inanimate object, it latched
onto – well, the only living thing left in that room.”
Harry's heartbeat was suddenly thundering in his ears.
“I’m a Horcrux,” he said, and Dumbledore nodded silently.
“That’s ridiculous,” Draco said flatly. “Horcruxes are evil; they corrupt even
the non-sentient things they possess. A human host – just the idea of – it’s
sick.”
Harry swallowed. Dumbledore looked at Malfoy disapprovingly over his half-moon
glasses.
“Harry is an exceptional young man, Mr Malfoy,” he said, “a pure heart, one who
has survived a great deal more than he should have, but still pure, still
uncorrupted. Still capable of love. And it is that which will make his
sacrifice possible.”
“Sacrifice?” Harry wasn’t sure which one of them had said it; his mouth felt
dry, his throat scratchy and sore. He was scared, suddenly.
Dumbledore sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you so soon. In fact – but of course
there is never a right time to tell someone something like this. Harry, my dear
boy, for Voldemort to die, all his Horcruxes must be destroyed. You know that.
And unfortunately, in order to destroy the Horcrux inside you –”
“I have to die.”
Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so.”
“Dragon dung,” Draco said, and Dumbledore looked startled. Harry twisted to
look at his – at Malfoy.
“What?” he said.
Draco firmed his jaw, locked his eyes on Dumbledore, and put a gentle hand on
Harry’s chest. “I said, dragon dung. You're mine, Harry. I don't care what
destiny Dumbledore and a thrice-damned prophecy have mapped out for you – I
will not let you die.”
“Mr Malfoy –”
“Shut up!” Draco said, and to Harry's surprise, the Headmaster closed his mouth
and took a step back, surprised and wary.
“Look at me,” Draco said, and Harry realised that was directed at him. He met
the hard grey eyes; had a flash-memory of “you will not ever let me hurt you”,
and then fire was ripping into him, tearing him right down the middle as a hand
reached into his soul and straight for a part of him he'd never quite noticed –
always there but on the edge of his consciousness, turning anger into fury,
dislike into hatred, all the ugly emotions, bitterness and resentment and
loathing, multiplied a thousand times by this thing that was clinging to his
soul like a leech – and Draco got a hand around its neck and pulled.
Pain exploded behind Harry’s eyes, white-hot and scorching as the Horcrux dug
its strong, deformed little fingers into his soul and held on even tighter.
He screamed, and screamed, and screamed.
“Harry,” said a voice, and he opened his eyes.
The abrupt cessation of pain was a shock, disorienting him, and he swung
around, taking in the Quidditch pitch under a bright blue sky. It was warm and
sunny, and he caught a flash of the golden Snitch high above them.
“How’d we get here?” he said, blinking, confused, and Draco smiled.
“We’re still in the infirmary. I just took you away, into a safe place in your
mind, where the Horcrux can’t hurt you.” He tilted his head up, closing his
eyes, and Harry’s breath caught, a little, at the way the sun glinted off the
white-blond hair. “Figures it’d be Hogwarts.”
“Hogwarts is my home,” Harry retorted defensively, feeling exposed and suddenly
very vulnerable. This was his mind, and Draco Malfoy was in it, judging it. But
Draco just opened his eyes and smiled at him again.
“I like it. But I’m busy; I have to go. You –” He raised a hand to Harry’s
cheek, and somehow Harry couldn’t bring himself to move away from the touch.
“You stay here, understand? I’ll come and get you when it’s all over, but I –
obviously I’ve never done anything like this before, and it’ll lash out at
anything, anyone, within reach. You’re safe here, but it’ll hurt you if you
come out too soon. I’ll come and get you, okay? Stay here.”
“What about you?” Harry said, frowning. “Won’t it try to hurt you?”
Draco just looked at him. “I know you think I’m selfish, and a coward,” he said
slowly, “and I don’t blame you. Before this year – I had no idea what real life
was. I was a spoiled little brat, and I hated that you rejected my offer of
friendship back in first year, and I thought that being a Death Eater would be
exciting, a way to get back at you. I was wrong. I’m going to make it up to
you.” He hesitated, and then said in a rush, “I love you. I know you don’t
remember your heat properly, but I do, and if this goes wrong – I want you to
at least remember that.”
And then he was gone.
                                      ~*~
Harry stayed on the Quidditch pitch for what felt like most of the afternoon.
He figured out that, if he concentrated, he could watch his memories, like a
Pensieve but better, because everything was fresh and real but just slightly
distant, opening up in front of him like a peephole to another time and place.
He was safe here, in this little part of his mind, and he watched whole replays
of games – the first time he caught the Snitch, the first time he beat Malfoy
(and parts of his memory he hadn’t quite seen the first time around, like the
way Draco’s eyes had followed him, longingly, and the way Lucius Malfoy’s hand
had come down so heavily on Draco’s shoulder, and how the twelve-year-old had
winced and ducked his head and swore to do better, be faster).
He got bored, after a while, and wandered up to the castle instead. He didn’t
know where he was going until he was actually standing in the infirmary, his
hand on the door to the quarantine room.
He took a deep breath, wondering if he actually wanted to do this. But he’d
never backed down from a fight before, and he didn’t even really remember what
he was fighting. He needed to know.
So he pushed open the door, and Harry looked up at him from the bed, startled.
Harry stopped in the doorway, eyes widening. This wasn’t a memory; it was far
too real, his own face staring back at him, flushed and happy and relaxed, but
definitely him. “Who are you?”
The other Harry frowned, the aura of happiness around him fading slightly. “I’m
supposed to be you,” he said, distinctly unimpressed. “But you cut me off; shut
me in here.”
“You remember the heat,” Harry said, suddenly understanding.
The other Harry gave him a ‘duh’ look. “You have to let me reintegrate with
you. You can’t just leave me here. I want my Alpha.”
Harry took an involuntary step back. “No,” he said, throat closing in a sudden
panic. “No. I just wanted to – I just wanted to understand, that’s all. Look at
the memories. I don’t want to be you again. I was gone, all the parts of me
that matter –”
“All the parts that matter are here now,” the other Harry said firmly. “And you
won’t lose them again. You’ll just remember.”
Harry shook his head. “I’m not becoming that – that half-person again. I’m not
ever letting you take control of me again.”
“It’s not like that,” the other Harry said, frustrated. “I’m still you – I’m
just the part of you that loves your Alpha. Yes, the heat buried – everything
that might have interfered with the bonding, but it was still you. You’ve just
locked up those memories and feelings created during your heat. That’s what I
am. I won’t become you when you let me go, just add to you. You’ll get to feel
what I feel, remember what I remember – but it won’t be all you feel or
remember. I promise.”
Harry slid down the doorframe, hugging his knees to his chest. “I don’t want to
lose myself,” he whispered. “My freedom, my free will. I don’t want to be his.
It’s not fair.”
The other Harry scrambled off the bed. “Let me show you,” he coaxed. “You’ll
see. You think the worst of him now, but you don’t know how much you’ve given
him. The freedom to be himself, the ability to have children without
compromising who he is –”
Children. “Oh Merlin,” Harry moaned. He remembered Dumbledore telling him the
Wild Magic had given them this gift so they could procreate. Why the hell
hadn’t he run screaming right then and there?
“You were in heat,” the other Harry said kindly, and Harry wondered irritably
why his other self sounded so much like Hermione. “It’s what you wanted, on a
very physical, biological level. You couldn’t help it.”
“Well, I can help it now,” Harry said, scowling. “And I’m not going to let
Draco bloody Malfoy run my life because of some freak act of nature or Wild
Magic or who the hell cares –”
“It is your duty to submit,” his counterpart snapped, green eyes flashing, and
Harry shrank back, thinking in alarm that he really was kind of terrifying when
he was angry. The other Harry softened. “Look, he loves you, Harry – you heard
him. He’s fighting a battle for your soul right now.”
“See – no, this,” Harry pointed a finger accusingly at his other self, “this is
what I’m talking about! Draco doesn’t love me, and you – I – really don’t love
him. We’ve been enemies our whole lives. Our feelings can’t just – just change
between one day and the next, no matter how – how good the – you know, was.”
“Sex?” the other Harry said, amused. “You’re right, it was very good. Sure you
don’t want to remember your first time?”
“My first time being raped?” Harry said incredulously. “No thanks, I think I’ll
pass.”
His counterpart sighed. “It wasn’t rape, Harry. You’re an Omega. He’s your
mate. You're bonded.”
“And that's supposed to make this right?” Harry said incredulously. “I never
asked to be bonded to that prat! He chose this – I never got a choice!”
“I know,” the other Harry said, gently. “It’s not fair. Nothing’s ever fair for
us. But we take the crap life shoves at us, and we come out stronger. You’re
not in heat anymore, Harry. You’re in control. You’ll remember loving Draco,
but you’ll also remember not loving him. And you have a choice now. He’s made
his already. He’s put his heart in your hands – his life, even, by changing
sides.”
Harry set his jaw. “I don't care. I won't be his bitch. I won’t.”
“He’s your Alpha,” the other Harry said, just as stubbornly. “Whether or not
you remember your first heat, he’s claimed you, he owns you. And you can make
you and Draco bitter and unhappy by refusing to accept that, or you can let me
reintegrate with you. You won’t be me, I swear on our parents’ graves. Memories
and feelings, Harry, that’s all. I’m not the Omega – you are. Letting me in
won’t force you into anything. You won’t lose your free will. You’ll simply
remember how wonderful it feels to be in love, and cared for and protected, and
you’ll be free to choose – knowing what I know, and knowing what you know –
whether you want to try to build that with him, for real.”
Harry deflated. “That’s all? I can still choose? I’ll be myself?”
“Yes,” the other Harry said. “Your options might be more limited now, but I
think that’s a good thing. You never really did know what you wanted out of
life. I think you always thought you’d end up dead before you hit twenty and
you wouldn’t have to choose – even before Dumbledore told you about the
Horcrux. And I think, if you had survived, you would have done what was
expected of you and married Ginny and gone on to become an Auror with a white-
picket fence and two point five children. You would have been unhappy and lost,
your whole life, never admitting that what you really needed was to belong to
someone – someone who loves you deeply, passionately, possessively, who won’t
take your crap, who won’t worship the pedestal they put the Boy Who Lived on,
but who sees you for you. And who will always, always be there for you, putting
your needs above his for the rest of your life.”
Harry stared at him, aware that he was trembling, but not sure how to stop.
“How do you –”
“I am you,” the other Harry said. “Of course I know.”
Harry dropped his head into his hands. “And you think Malfoy can give me all
that?”
“I know he can,” his counterpart said, resting a tentative hand on Harry’s arm.
Harry didn’t jerk away, and his other self gripped his arm more firmly,
confident now. “And I’m going to show you.”
                                      ~*~
“HARRY!”
The door to the Gryffindor common room burst open, and the memory Harry had
been watching – talking to Sirius’ head in the fireplace – faded. He turned
with tears in his eyes, but a smile on his face. “Draco.” And then, when he
registered what he was seeing, “Draco.”
Malfoy was ravaged, his robes torn and dripping blood onto the floor, his face
striped with three deep wounds that looked like claw marks, his eyes blotchy
and red, tear-tracks through the blood on his cheeks. One of his arms was
mangled, and he was holding it against his chest in an odd position. Harry
started forward, but then Draco was in front of him, between one moment and the
next, cupping Harry’s face with his one, good hand.
His face was twisted with pain, but his eyes were clear – and furious. “I told
you to stay put!” he hissed, and Harry winced as he saw the broken, bloody
teeth. “I told you –” His breath hitched. “It said – it said it was going to
destroy you, and I didn’t have the energy to put up any more barriers to
protect you, I was afraid it wouldn’t be enough, and it was laughing – I killed
it, I tore it up and threw it out of your body, and then I went back to the
Quidditch pitch, and you weren’t there –”
“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I’m okay.”
Draco gave a low, broken sob, and collapsed, and Harry caught him. Draco was
dead weight in his arms, and his heart skipped a beat as he realised the other
boy was unconscious, head lolling back dangerously. Harry crossed quickly over
to the couch nearest the fire, laying Draco’s damaged body (soul?) down
carefully. “Merlin,” Harry whispered, going to his knees.
The injuries were far worse up close; he was pretty sure Malfoy’s left leg was
crushed, and his chest looked odd – like half his ribcage had caved in. Draco’s
breath stuttered, caught, and then stopped, and Harry’s jaw clenched.
“Fuck, no,” he said, and laid a hand in the air over Draco, and pushed.
Draco sat up with a gasp. “What –”
“This is my mind,” Harry told him fiercely. “And you’re my mate. You think I’m
just going to stand back and let you sacrifice yourself for me? Let you die?”
Malfoy stared at him, wide-eyed, and then down at himself. He was completely
healed; even his robes were pristine again, not a drop of blood in sight. “Oh,”
he said, and then laughed. “Salazar’s purple panties, you’re powerful.”
“We’re powerful,” Harry corrected him, thinking of the Horcrux Draco had
somehow, singlehandedly, destroyed – all the while keeping Harry safe and
protected and unaware. He wondered what Dumbledore’s reaction would be to that;
whether this would change the ‘path’ he’d laid out for them to win the war.
He decided he didn’t much care right now.
“Yes,” Draco agreed, and then he frowned. “You were gone.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Harry said, and Draco swung his legs over the side of
the couch, one on either side of Harry. His eyes were dark, and Harry
swallowed. Part of him wanted to push to his feet, back away, get outside
Draco’s reach, but his other self had been right. Draco had fought a Horcrux
for him, and maybe – maybe he hadn’t been in his right mind to give consent to
Draco claiming him, but maybe that was for the best. If he’d waited… if he’d
tried to choose without that feeling of right and wrong to guide him, without
knowing what he knew now – “You will be cherished, Harry. I won’t ever let you
feel unloved, or unsafe, or uncared for” – he would never have chosen Malfoy.
And he would have missed out on everything Draco, and their bond, had to offer.
“You remember,” Draco said, touching his face.
“Yes,” Harry said.
“And you’re mine?” It was a question, hesitant and unsure, and Harry smiled.
“Yes. I’m yours. And you,” he said, stretching up for a kiss, “are mine.”
Draco shuddered in relief. “I want – I want to make love to you,” he said,
quietly, his voice rough. “I want to bite you, and knot you, and know it’s not
just the heat making you submit – it’s you. Choosing me.”
Harry closed his eyes. The truth was, he wasn’t sure he was ready for that. But
he remembered – “I love you”, whispered under a thousand stars, and “I won’t
ever let you go” – and he nodded. Draco was his Alpha; he’d taken care of Harry
through a heat that could have destroyed him, and saved Harry’s life – his soul
– by destroying that Horcrux, and he'd promised to fight with him against
Voldemort in the coming war.
It was only right that Harry make an effort in return; give Draco the chance to
prove that his love and the life he wanted for them could be something Harry
wanted, too.
“Wake up,” he whispered, and they opened their eyes. They were still in the
quarantine room, but the door was closed again, and the room was quiet. The
viewing chamber wall was opaque, but Harry knew there was someone in there,
watching out for them. Not just someone – Snape.
“Thank you,” he said to the wall, because the other Omega had saved his life
just as much as Draco had. And then he waved his hand apologetically, and said,
“No prying eyes – or ears – this time.”
Draco rolled up onto his knees, straddling Harry’s waist. His eyes were bright.
“Mine,” he said, bending to kiss him, and Harry opened up for him, smiling as
he heard I love you.
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