Chapter Text
All Hermione had done was watch one video.
One.
One video of some troll spewing absolute nonsense about the oppression of Alphas and the rightful place of Omegas all because she had some self-sabotaging desire to be rage-baited.
That and she couldn’t sleep despite taking 2mg of Ativan and 150 mg of Trazodone together, just as her doctor had prescribed.
But her inability to sleep wasn’t the point. The point was that Hermione had watched a single video out of morbid curiosity and suddenly her feed was flooded with men spitting out opinions that weren’t just objectively wrong, but were dangerous.
And you know what the freaking problem was?
She couldn’t look away.
She even couldn’t help but tap her thumbs away on the comment section, fighting with random people on the internet. Some were probably bots, existing just to enrage and create engagement which then monetized the posts which then fed into the pockets of the very men she despised and hated, but she couldn’t help herself.
She couldn’t help herself because these days, trying to think about what title to give her nonexistent, overdue Philosophy 101 essay was crippling, but insulting and fucking around with dumb men on the internet gave her a sense of accomplishment.
She couldn’t help herself because reading the comments just made her so…so…
Angry.
Hermione glared at her phone as she waited in line at Borgin & Burkes. It was Sunday morning, which meant the wait was longer than usual because students desperately needed caffeine to treat their hangovers and crowded the tables to try to study what they had procrastinated all week. And because it was Sunday morning, that also meant that he had posted.
LordVoldemort.
Out of all the social media "Alpha Activists", Hermione hated him the most. It wasn’t just because he said the worst things about every possible topic in existence. It wasn’t just because he delivered his message in a way that seemed to be supported by “so-called-facts” and seemed to make sense. It wasn’t just because of his grating voice that was clearly manipulated with artificial intelligence.
It was because he was a coward.
He hid. LordVoldemort was an online alias for some sad, pathetic soul too scared to show his true face or reveal his identity because every video he posted, he wore a black mask that covered the bottom half of his face and a black cap that covered his hair and eyes.
Yet for some reason, people flocked to him, praising him in the comments section as if he were the second coming of God or something and his word was gospel.
Hermione had long given up on listening to these videos – they just aggravated her far too much – and went straight to the only thing that was worth consuming: the comment section. LordVoldemort always pinned several comments from various usernames, usernames that Hermione was half-convinced were just him using throwaway accounts considering they always seemed to summarize his key talking points.
luciouslucius: “Anxiety is the Dizziness of Freedom.” Brilliant and beautiful. You’re a wizard with your words.
Hermione rolled her eyes. More like pompous and pretentious. Who did this man think he was?
grangerdanger919: you spelled luscious wrong you fucking idiot
Yeah, she had also long given up on trying to reason with them as well. It wasted her time and what little energy she had.
ToujoursPur: The idea that society has moved past the need for Omegas is an absolute farce. It’s propaganda being promoted by those currently in power in an effort to maintain both image and control.
Hermione snorted and tapped her reply.
grangerdanger919: always pure? smells like incest to me
She frowned when she saw the third pinned comment.
naginimaledictus: Such great points about how Phoenix Pharmaceutical has hidden the detrimental side effects of suppressants, which have caused a mental health crisis in Omegas. We are suffering in silence, our true nature diminished and destroyed, our problems dismissed every time we raise them with doctors because the entire healthcare industry is profiting from this as well. There is a secret Order intent on lining shareholder pockets and NO ONE IS TALKING ABOUT IT EXCEPT FOR YOU. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Wait…what?
Hermione read the comment not once, not twice, but three times.
Mental health crisis? What mental health crisis? There was no mental health crisis in Omegas.
…Right?
She bit her lip and stared at the comment again, half-tempted to plug her earphones in and listen to LordVoldemort’s video to hear just exactly what he had said.
Then she shook her head, as if that would shake the thoughts that were creeping in.
No, this was what LordVoldemort did. This was why he was so damn popular, why he was considered a rapidly rising influencer. He twisted logic, made up facts, presented concepts and ideas so that they sounded like they were right when they were actually wrong.
It was wrong to let biological nature strip an Omega of her mind, her rights, and her agency when a breakthrough by Phoenix Pharmaceutical had allowed pheromones and heats to be suppressed, managed, and controlled. It had been fifty years since suppressants had been released to the world and it had been life-changing for every single Omega out there. There had been no reports of side effects that amounted to a mental health crisis, only a sensitive stomach and occasional headache.
No, Hermione’s problems were her own, just like how the commenting Omega’s problems were her own – that is, if it were actually an Omega and not LordVoldemort himself.
Hermione glared at her phone again, even angrier than before, but before she could type another ridiculous comment, an unfamiliar voice cut through.
“Thank you so much for waiting. What can I get for you today?”
“Yes, can I get an iced quad espresso but instead of four shots can I get six shots?” Hermione exited out of the social media app, Prophet, and double tapped the button on the side to pull up the credit card she had linked to her phone. “And can I get extra ice…” she trailed off as she looked up, her eyes widening in shock.
Alpha. Alpha, Alpha, Alpha.
There was an Alpha. Here. At Borgin & Burkes. Working at Borgin & Burkes. She knew it, knew it like she knew that her heart beat in her own chest, knew it deep within her bones. She had been distracted by her phone, but now she could smell it on him, an indescribable scent wafting from the glands on his neck and wrists, mixed with roasted coffee beans and hazelnut syrup. Even though she had taken her suppressants just before she had left the house, the smell was still…still…
Intoxicating. Mouthwatering.
“Six shots of espresso with extra ice coming right up. Can I get a name for that?”
Hermione swallowed hard and felt a bead of sweat form on her temple. Her body was warm, far, far, far too warm.
What was going on with her suppressants? This wasn't supposed to be happening. She shouldn't have been able to smell or sense an Alpha, it should have been impossible.
Could he tell she was an Omega? No. No, he couldn’t. Based on his unaffected, calm nature, he didn't have a hint. No, whatever was going on was happening to her and only her.
“So sorry, but I do need your name.”
“Granger,” she finally managed to croak out. “Name’s Granger.”
“Granger,” the man murmured as he jotted her name down with a black sharpie on the side of the plastic cup.
Hermione blinked rapidly at the sight of his bare wrists, forcing herself to breathe just through her mouth, hoping that would help. She was definitely calling her doctor the moment she got her coffee. This shouldn’t be happening.
The next several minutes passed in a blur. She barely remembered tapping her phone against the machine to pay and then shuffling to the side of the coffeeshop to wait for what she knew was a chaotically unhinged coffee order. Instead, the same word repeated in her head over and over again.
Alpha, Alpha, Alpha.
“I’ve got six shots of espresso over ice and a breakfast sandwich for Granger!”
Hermione flinched as the man’s voice cut through her thoughts. She walked towards the counter, nearly tripping over her own feet, and picked up her coffee with a trembling hand. When the barista handed her what she assumed was the breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil, she shook her head.
“Oh, that isn’t mine,” she started. “I just ordered a coffee.”
The man tilted his head sideways. “Don’t worry. It’s on the house.”
A wave of pheromones invaded her nose at the slight movement that had exposed the glands on his neck. It took everything in Hermione to not lick her lips. “W-w-what?” she stammered.
“It’s on the house,” he repeated. “To be honest, you look like you partied all night or pulled an all-nighter working on a paper. Either way, you’re going to need something in your stomach.”
The small part of Hermione that noted that the coffeeshop was filled with students who, unlike her, had done either one of those options but hadn't been given a free sandwich was drowned out by something far, far louder.
Alpha, Alpha, Alpha, her Omega brain crooned.
Alpha takes care of you.
Alpha watches over you.
With herculean effort, Hermione shoved the voice away. She needed to get her shit together, leave this coffeeshop as quickly as she could, and then immediately call her doctor in the privacy of her own room. “Well then, thank you,” she said as steadily as she could, then glanced at his name tag. “Thank you, Tom.”
Tom smiled, his lips curving upward into a cheshire cat grin, revealing a telltale set of sharp canines. “You’re welcome, Granger."