Chapter Text
"You need an Alpha," Dumbledore said.
Harrie stared. And stared. The old wizard looked back at her, with his usual kind smile, although it looked a bit wobbly, as if he was trying to put on a confident face while the situation was rapidly spiraling out of his control.
"I need a what?" Harrie finally said.
"An Alpha."
It didn't make any more sense than the first time he'd said it.
"Why do I need a letter of the Greek alphabet?"
Dumbledore removed his spectacles and let out a small sigh.
"I told you you're an Omega," he said.
"Two minutes ago, which again, means nothing to me."
"It's a very rare biological oddity, linked to one's magic. Usually it lies dormant and manifests around eighteen years of age, as it has in your case. It's the reason for all the physical changes you've noticed, the hot flashes, the inflamed area on the side of your neck, as well as more um, intimate urges."
Harrie flushed. Dumbledore looked as though he would rather be anywhere else than explaining this to her.
"Omegas are very, very rare. As such, you will be extremely desirable to any Alpha."
"And what's an Alpha?"
"While Omegas are submissive, Alphas are dominant. They also tend to be aggressive, powerful, and very possessive of their Omegas."
"I still don't see why I need one."
Need. She sensed there was a great deal of things hidden in that one little verb.
Dumbledore put his glasses back on. His smile devolved into a sort of grimace. Harrie braced herself for whatever he was gonna say. She had a feeling it would be pretty horrible.
"Voldemort is an Alpha, and when he learns you're an Omega, he will want to claim you."
Yeah, about that horrible.
"Claim me," she said. "As in..."
"Quite, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, looking very uncomfortable.
Harrie shuddered, disgust squirming in her gut. A series of awful half-formed images popped into her head. She pushed them away.
"Now, if you were already claimed, it would be different," Dumbledore said. "With the scent of another Alpha on you, Voldemort wouldn't seek to touch you."
"You mean he'd respect a prior claim... the scent of another?"
"Yes. I believe that would deter him very effectively. Voldemort is the type of Alpha that likes to be the first, and prefers his prizes to remain unspoiled. Were he to sense another Alpha has already laid claim to you, he would simply kill you."
"Great," Harrie said.
It sounded so outlandish. Scent and claiming, Alpha and Omegas, but Harrie was used to having her life turned upside down by unusual happenings. She was even kind of an expert at it.
"Alphas are a rare breed, almost as rare as Omegas," Dumbledore said. "Fortunately, I know of one Alpha who will be able to assist you with this delicate matter."
"Do I know him?"
"Yes, Harrie, you do."
Harrie wrinkled her nose. She didn't want anyone to claim her, but if it was someone whom she knew, then perhaps it would be a tad less awful.
At this moment, the door to Dumbledore's office creaked open. Harrie turned as Snape entered the room.
"You called for me, Headmaster?" he drawled in a bored, detached voice.
Their eyes met. He stared at her, nostrils flaring, then he drew back, actually recoiling from her, as if he couldn't stand being in the same room as her. Snape usually looked at her with some measure of antipathy, but outright revulsion was something new. Harrie sent him a murderous glare. Why was he here anyway?
"Yes, Severus, I did," Dumbledore said. "I'm sorry, but there is a rather urgent matter. Harrie presented as an Omega earlier this evening."
"I can see that," Snape replied, now scowling at her. "Was it not enough being the savior of the wizarding world, Potter? You had to turn out to be an Omega too."
"I had no choice in both cases," Harrie grumbled.
She remained locked in a glaring contest with Snape until Dumbledore spoke again.
"I do not need to explain what would happen if Voldemort found out. However, if Harrie were to be already claimed..."
Snape gave a sort of grunt.
"If I must," he said.
Harrie's brain screeched to a halt, all thought processes abruptly slamming into a brick wall.
"Wait, wait, you mean him? He's the Alpha that would—"
Snape quirked an eyebrow at her.
"No, no, absolutely not!" Harrie said, looking back at Dumbledore in desperation. "There has to be another option!"
"There are no other Alphas available, Harrie," Dumbledore said in the reassuring tone he used to issue bad news.
"He can't be the only Alpha."
Her protest sounded like a whine. She was too rattled to be embarrassed about it.
"I'm not," Snape said, "but I do happen to be the one most qualified one for the job, and trust me Potter, I don't say that lightly. In fact, I would be delighted to foist you upon another Alpha, and wash my hands of this entirely."
"Then do it!" Harrie growled. "I'll take anyone else, really. Like... like Draco. Isn't he one? An Alpha?"
Snape gave her a piercing look.
"And how did you come upon that conclusion?"
"I just... it's a feeling."
"A feeling," Snape said with open disdain. "While by sheer luck, you happen to be right, and young Mister Malfoy is indeed an Alpha, he would not be suitable for this task. He's so young he might lose control, and Voldemort might not even respect his claim anyway."
"Lose control? What do you mean, lose control?"
It was Dumbledore who answered.
"Young Alphas are more susceptible to give in to their primitive urges. I'm afraid Severus is quite right, and Draco would not show the restraint needed. He might become too enthusiastic, and forget himself."
Something grew cold in the pit of Harrie's stomach.
"Draco wouldn't... do that," she said weakly.
He was many things, and not a good person, but she couldn't imagine he'd sexually assault her.
"Alpha hormones are very powerful, known to overwhelm the inexperienced," Dumbledore said. "Certainly young Draco wouldn't meant it, but he would hurt you, Harrie."
"Or more likely," Snape said, "you'd hurt him fighting him off. We'd find him bleeding out again, and we'd still have this conundrum on our hands."
"So it has to be you," Harrie groaned.
"Unfortunately, yes. I assure you there will be no loss of control or enthusiasm on my part, Potter."
She rubbed her face, grimacing.
"So, how does it work? Doing it once is enough, right?"
"Once a week, I'm afraid," Snape said.
Her entire face flooded with heat.
"We're gonna need to have sex every week?" she squeaked.
She'd been ready for it to happen once, since doing it with Snape was vastly preferable to anything happening with bloody Voldemort. She'd close her eyes, she'd let it happen, and it would be done. Perhaps she'd ask to be Obliviated afterward, too. But she'd never imagined it would have to be a regular thing.
Snape made an annoyed noise, the kind he usually issued when a student had asked a particularly stupid question in his class.
"Who said anything about sex?"
"I assumed—"
"You assumed wrong," he said, giving her the hard, stony stare that came after the noise. "As you often do, Potter. Please use what few brain cells you have, and refrain from making assumptions on a subject you appear to know not much about."
She ground her teeth, swallowed back the objection that the subject in question wasn't taught at Hogwarts, and that it was the first time she was hearing about it at all.
"Then how will you claim me?"
"I'll have to lick you." His cold voice dipped into polar tones. "Believe me when I say I'll hate it as much as you will."
Lick her. Much more acceptable than what she had imagined. Except...
"Lick me where?"
"Your scent gland, on the side of your neck. Merlin, Albus, haven't you explained anything to her?"
"I was getting to it," Dumbledore said.
Harrie brushed a finger against her scent gland. It was a small patch of skin on the left side of her neck, which was very sensitive and appeared to be slightly throbbing. When she pressed down on it, it tingled pleasantly.
"Don't touch it like that," Snape said, almost in a growl.
"Why?"
"It's indecent," he said, a muscle working in his jaw.
Harrie dropped her hand, blushing again. So she had essentially been fingering herself in front of Snape. What a wonderful evening she was having.
"This cannot wait, Severus," Dumbledore said. "You should do it tonight."
"I'm aware," Snape replied tersely. "Potter, come."
She very much did not want to come.
"Why can't we do it here?"
"It's a private matter," Snape said. "There is some politeness to adhere to. Come on now, this won't take long."
She got up reluctantly.
"I'd recommend a heat-suppressant potion as well, Severus," Dumbledore said.
"I was already planning on it."
"Do I want to know what that is?" Harrie said morosely.
"I'll explain," Snape said.
She followed him to his office. He walked quickly, leaving her straggling a few feet behind. She entertained the thought of running away, wondered how he would react. He'd probably curse her, deduct a hundred points from Gryffindor, and then lick her anyway. It had to happen. At least he'd make it quick.
She entered his office like she had many times before for her Occlumency lessons. This time, the soft click of the door closing made a shiver run down her spine.
Snape rummaged through a cabinet full of potions, pulled one out, thrust it into her hands.
"Drink it. It'll stop you from going into heat."
"Into heat, like a dog?"
"Precisely like a dog," he said with a little smirk, like he was finding it funny. "You'd get overwhelmed by the need to mate with the closest Alpha, which is a fate I imagine you're eager to avoid. Not to mention it would be dangerous for yourself and the unlucky Alpha, and it would render my claiming of you null and void, wasting my sacrifice."
She chose not to remark on his word choice.
"Why have I never heard of Alphas and Omegas before?"
"Like I said, it's a private matter. It only concerns a small subset of the magical population, and the manifestations of that difference are mostly sexual in nature. You haven't heard of it for the same reason you're not going to speak publicly about this. Nor will I."
He sighed through his nose, as if explaining all this to her was an immense burden.
"Now drink that potion before I pour it down your throat, Potter."
She uncorked the bottle, gave the potion a cautious sniff, immediately grimaced. When she took a long swallow, the taste was even worse than the smell.
"Is it supposed to taste that bad?"
"I'm terribly sorry it's not up to your high standards," Snape said, his tone so dry it rivaled the Sahara. "I tend to focus on efficiency, not taste."
"I have to drink it all, don't I?"
"Yes."
Holding her breath, she downed the rest of the bottle. Snape snatched the empty flask from her hand, sneering at her.
"Every week as well," he said, no doubt relishing the idea of making her suffer.
"Can't you make a potion that will stop me from being an Omega?"
"A ridiculous notion. There is no potion that could accomplish such a thing, just as there is no potion that could stop you from being a witch. Both are in your nature. And don't complain that your life is unfair, Potter, I don't want to hear it."
"Fine, I won't." She crossed her arms. "Go on, then. Lick me."
Ugh, had she just said that to Snape? Her only consolation was that he seemed just as reluctant as she was.
"Sweep back your hair and present your gland," he said. "I'd rather touch you as little as possible."
She gathered her hair to the side, and tilted her head so he could lick her scent gland unimpeded. He approached, holding himself stiffly. Tension coiled in the pit of her belly, twined with disgust. She really didn't want to get licked, by anyone, least of all Snape.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered as he was bending down.
"Somehow you keep finding ways of making my life hell," he said lowly.
"I didn't do anything! I—"
Snape's nose brushed her skin just below her ear, and the rest of the words got stuck in her throat. She went very still, barely breathing. A prickle danced along the back of her neck, sneaking down her spine. Then there was a light contact against her scent gland, something wet and hot and God, he was doing it.
Actually licking her.
She drew back as soon as he was done, glared at him for good measure. He glared right back.
"Hold still, you silly girl! We need to do this thoroughly."
"You just did!"
"I barely touched you. This has to be a proper scent marking, so that any Alpha sniffing at you will have no doubt that you're mine."
"So you're gonna slobber all over my neck?" she said, wrinkling her nose.
"Yes, Potter, because I have to. I will not be responsible for a half-baked claiming. Stand still, and don't squirm."
She tilted her head again, clenching her fists at her sides. So stupid. Snape hovered close, licked her again, this time longer, with more pressure. She did her best not to flinch. His tongue didn't relent. He pressed it flat against her scent gland, in a long, slow pass, and then she felt his lips there, and she had the sudden thought that he was going to bite her. Closing her eyes, she exhaled sharply. There would be no biting. He would have warned her.
His tongue was so hot. And slimy. Oh, she wasn't even gonna be allowed to wash his saliva away, would she? No, that would need to stay, along with his scent. Goddamnit, what was happening to her life? As if having the threat of Voldemort constantly looming over her wasn't bad enough...
Snape licked her again, which was at least the sixth time. Harrie exercised all of her willpower to remain still. His tongue withdrew, except for the very tip, which lingered, barely touching her. A strange shudder spread down her spine, followed by a tingling tension low in her stomach. She frowned, but before she could ponder the sensation further, Snape drew back.
"It's done," he said, stepping away from her.
"Can I wash my scent gland?" she asked, without any hope the answer would be yes.
"Absolutely not," Snape said, in a dry, cutting tone. "Haven't you been listening to me, Potter? This isn't an academic matter where you can allow yourself to be mediocre. This is important, meant to ensure that—"
"That Voldemort doesn't rape me. I got that."
"Yes," he said, a bit more softly, which really wasn't much. "So don't wash it. We'll take care of that before renewing the scent marking next time. And keep it covered, unless you want people asking questions."
"Will people know I'm an Omega if they see it?" she asked, curious.
It looked like a patch of skin redder than the surrounding area. If she'd seen that on another girl, she would have assumed a bad mosquito bite, or an allergic reaction.
"Not the Muggle-borns, and probably not any half-bloods either. The pure-bloods might, and any other Alpha will recognize it on sight. So I insist, Potter, keep it covered in public."
"With what?" she said reflexively, annoyed at the command in his tone.
First he was licking her, and now dictating her clothing choices?
"It's November, you can get away with wearing a scarf indoors without raising any eyebrows. You'll probably start a trend."
"Fine," she groused.
"I'll expect you back here in a week, at eight p.m. Don't be late."
He turned away, dismissing her without a word. She hesitated. She didn't want to stay here one second longer than necessary, but...
"Are you sure it worked?"
Snape sent her a frustrated glance.
"I don't feel any different," she added. "There's no scent."
At least none she could detect aside from the smell of Snape's office, which was always the same, some sort of vaguely metallic, acidic scent. It smelled like the detergent they used to wash cauldrons, which rubbed her hands raw every time. She rather thought it matched Snape's personality.
"It worked, I can assure you," he said stiffly. "Now get out."
She left without further protest. The walk back to Griffyndor's tower from the dungeons was long, but at this hour, the corridors were mostly deserted. Harrie only saw a couple of other students from afar. She was almost to the Fat Lady's portrait when she ran into Hannah Abbot. Her Head Girl badge was proudly displayed on her robes, and she gave Harrie a smile.
"Out late, Harrie?"
"Dumbledore wanted to see me."
At that, Hannah frowned, and Harrie realized a bit too late that the staircase she had emerged from didn't line up with that excuse.
"...and then I got hungry and swung by the kitchens," she added.
"Late night snacks are the best," Hannah said.
Had she noticed her scent gland? It seemed to Harrie she had glanced at her neck for just a second. Pretending to scratch herself, Harrie covered the whole area with her hand.
"The best," she agreed awkwardly.
Did Hannah know? But she was a half-blood, and Snape had said they weren't likely to recognize a scent gland. Unless she was an Alpha? No, Harrie didn't get that sense from her. It was like there was something inside her that could tell Alphas apart. She'd guessed right about Draco, and she hadn't been surprised Snape was one. She was pretty sure Marcus Flint was an Alpha as well... and Victor Krum, too. Yes, it felt that way.
Girls were trickier... oh. Harrie grimaced. Bellatrix, definitely.
"Well, good night, Harrie," Hannah said, tearing her away from all thoughts about Alphas.
"'Night, Hannah."
It didn't matter who was what, anyway. She was stuck with Snape.
She trudged on.
"The password, dear?" the Fat Lady asked.
"Cream puff," Harrie said.
The portrait pivoted to let her pass. Keeping a hand on her neck, she passed through the common room quickly and made her way upstairs, to bed.
Once safely tucked away under the blanket, she allowed herself to sigh. Her scent gland tickled for real now, and she didn't even know if she could scratch it, or if that would mess up Snape's scent. With a growl, she buried her face into her pillow.
Why did it have to happen? Why couldn't she have a normal life?
And could Voldemort hurry up already and attack soon so she wouldn't have to get licked weekly by Snape?