Chapter Text
Draco was in his office, jotting down notes about a patient, when the scent hit him. His quill slipped off the page, causing a horrid blot.
There was an Alpha nearby. Perhaps headed down the corridor in the direction of his door.
It was special.
Draco tried not to breathe too deeply. His mind was already clouding over, his heart pounding, his skin tightening.
His cock was already tingling. He was getting wet.
Fucking hell, Draco thought.
A knock landed on his door. It sounded like a warning shot.
Draco fixed his tie with trembling fingers. Then he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. He must remain in control of himself.
He must.
“Come in,” Draco said. He let out an audible gasp when he saw the identity of his visitor.
Harry Potter blinked in surprise at him. His eyes were dark behind his glasses. “Oh, I hadn’t realised—”
Draco checked his magical watch. “Are you my two o’clock?”
“I think so… This is room 403, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
Potter gulped. “Then, yeah, I’m your two o’clock.”
Draco gathered himself in his chair. He straightened up. “Please shut the door, then. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”
Potter grimaced a little as he did what Draco requested. There was no making himself comfortable, though. He was as jumpy as a rabbit once he lowered himself into a chair.
Head bent, Draco pretended to fiddle with a stack of parchment. It was intimidating having Potter so close. Having an Alpha so close.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Draco asked, keeping his tone quite professional.
Potter shook his shaggy head. His hair hung just past his ears, the wild black locks curling in all different directions.
Draco nodded. He lifted his chin. “So,” he said, locking eyes with Potter, “we meet again.”
Something black flashed in Potter’s gaze. “Yes,” he said roughly.
“I assume you are aware of my specialisation?”
Potter licked his lips. “Yes.”
“As you can see, my credentials are behind me on the wall, plain as day. I graduated from the most prestigious wizarding medical academy in France. My apprenticeship was with the renowned Séraphin Fosse. He discovered the genetic code carried by naturally-born werewolves—”
“There’s something wrong with me, Malfoy.”
Draco fell silent. He waited for Potter to continue.
Potter sucked in a breath. “I’m not a werewolf, that much I know. I—I came here because I need to talk to a Healer who knows about creatures—all types of creatures.”
“And you found him,” Draco said softly.
Potter crossed his arms. His chest was rather broad. “I didn’t expect it to be you.”
Draco gave a fluid shrug. “Would you like to be transferred to another Healer with my speciality? I’m not the only one, you know. Though, we are a bit uncommon. I do believe the closest one is up North—”
“No,” Potter said, teeth gritted. “I just need your word that you’ll keep my secret. I need to believe I can trust you.”
Draco felt his expression go soft. “Of course I will keep your secret, Potter. You’re my patient and I’m bound to a code of ethics.”
Potter snorted. “Yeah, sure, but you’re still Draco Malfoy.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You used to hate me. Did everything you could to bully me. Unsuccessfully, of course.”
Heat flooded Draco’s face. “I was a stupid child, Potter. We both know that.”
“You’re not a stupid adult, then?”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “No, I am not.”
Potter smiled a little. “Good.”
Draco tried not to stare too much. Potter’s smiles had always been intoxicating, even the small ones. He cleared his throat and took out a quill and a fresh sheet of parchment.
“Right, so let’s dive in. Please describe your symptoms to me. Don’t leave anything out.”
Potter gulped. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, almost squirming. “My symptoms… Well. They are explicit, to say the least.”
“Go on.”
Potter dragged his gaze away. Staring at the wall behind Draco, he gritted out, “My sexual appetite is out of control. My needs make me go mental. Most of the time, I can barely remain in command of myself.”
Draco’s breath hitched. He didn’t mean for it to happen. He despised himself for letting it happen.
Potter heard the hitch. It made his gaze snap back to Draco’s face. The emerald darkened.
“Go on,” Draco repeated softly.
A second passed before Potter responded. He was inspecting Draco thoroughly. “It used to not be like this. Even when I was a randy teenager, I was able to remain in control of myself. It wasn’t until a year or so ago that I started experiencing all this shit. Hermione—you remember her, right?—she did a bit of research for me. Said I was probably turning into something of a creature. Said most creatures came into their inheritance at puberty but mine was probably delayed or suppressed or whatever on account of me having a bloody Horcrux lodged in my forehead.”
“Not all of them,” Draco said gently. He was thinking of himself. “Trauma can delay an inheritance, too. Genetics as well. Sometimes we just don’t know why it takes some people longer to develop their symptoms.”
Potter speared him with a dark look. “What the hell is wrong with me, Malfoy?”
Draco smiled. “Absolutely nothing.”
A look of outrage came over his face. “I knew it was useless to trust you! You’re not taking me seriously!”
Draco continued to smile. He was doing his utmost to remain calm. “I am taking you seriously,” he said gently. “I believe you. Of course I do. I’m just saying there is nothing wrong with you.”
“But there is! I can’t fucking control myself! I’m a threat to everyone I come in contact with!”
“You feel that way only because all of your symptoms are new. You haven’t learned to control yourself. That doesn’t mean that what you are is wrong.”
Potter slumped back in his chair. “Oh, you’re talking about self-acceptance.”
“Yes.”
He snorted and crossed his arms again. “That’s like asking a murderer to accept himself. Or a bloody violator.”
“Have you killed anyone?” Draco asked so gently. “Other than the Dark Lord, obviously.”
“NO! What the fuck? Of course not!”
“I wouldn’t turn you in, Potter. To be clear. I would just need to know so I can understand exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Potter breathed heavily. “I wouldn't be sitting here if I’d killed someone. I would have taken my arse right to Azkaban if I had.”
“That says to me that you do have control of yourself. Lots of it.”
Potter shook his shaggy head. “I want to screw every bloke I meet. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter if I even fancy him or not.”
Bloke. Draco’s breath hitched again.
Potter went so still in his chair. He white-knuckled the armrests. “This isn’t going to work,” he gritted out after a tense pause.
“It could,” Draco said.
Potter gulped several times. A few drops of sweat escaped down his face. He was squeezing the chair so thoroughly that the wood gave a few warning cracks.
Draco wrote down several lines of notes. Then he set down his quill to observe Potter quietly.
Potter let out a pant. Then another one.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” Draco said gently. He added a quiet “Please” so Potter knew he wasn’t trying to be dominant.
Squeezing his eyes closed, Potter said, “I can smell you.”
Draco felt himself go pink. “That is unfortunate.”
Potter inhaled deeply. A noise of pleasure rumbled in his chest. “Fuck me, you’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re one of the special ones. I want to bugger everyone, sure, but sometimes I get a whiff of a bloke who really, really turns me on. Thank Merlin you lot are rare because fucking hell.”
Draco trembled. He tried to hide it. “I am a person with a creature inheritance, yes. My inheritance was delayed as well. I blame the war.”
Potter leaned forward in his chair. “What are you?”
“I’m—Well. I rather not say, if you don’t mind. It’s rather personal.” He took a deep breath and straightened his back again. “And anyway, this appointment isn’t about me. It’s about you.”
Potter leaned forward even more. He looked as if he wanted to pounce but was stopping himself. “It was a mistake to come here. And shit luck. It was a struggle to even make it to St Mungo’s. There are too many people in London. And I smell them all. It’s too much. And—and I don’t know if I can handle going through it again.” His voice cracked over his last words.
Draco ached for him. Truly. He was desperate to help him. No one deserved to suffer like this, especially not Harry Potter.
“I realise now I shouldn’t be your Healer,” Draco said gently. “My presence is obviously impacting you negatively.”
“Yes,” Potter gritted out.
“But I can still help you. I can run a blood test. Confirm with you exactly what inheritance you have. And I can connect you with other resources. Other Healers. You won’t carry this alone, I promise.”
Harry stared and stared. A beastly glint was in his eyes. “You fancy blokes, don’t you?”
Draco was utterly caught off guard. “Sorry?”
“I smell it on you. And I hear the changes in your breathing. And—and I think I can smell your arousal.”
A shock went through Draco. “Don’t be inappropriate.”
Potter bared his teeth. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
Draco grabbed his wand and stood. Potter jumped up, too. His whole body went tense as if he expected an attack.
“I shall draw the first blood sample from you, with your consent,” Draco said. “Then, after 24 hours, you will need to return for me to draw the second sample. After that, we should know the results immediately.”
Potter’s features twisted in anguish. “I can’t return to London. Not so soon. You don’t understand how difficult it is for me.”
“Okay, then I shall come to you,” Draco said. “I’m not averse to making house calls.”
A visible shudder went through Potter. “I live in Hexhamshire. It’s a bit of a trek for you.”
“That’s brilliant news!”
“How?”
Draco beamed in excitement. “It means the other Healer is a convenient choice for you!”
“I did do a bit of research, Malfoy. I don’t remember seeing anybody with your specialisation near me.”
“Still. This means you needn’t return to London if you don’t want to. Look, I’ll run this test for you. Even travel all the way to Hexhamshire to get that second sample. And tonight, I will generate some potential resources for you. Put you in the right direction. Does that sound like a proper plan?”
“It sounds like you might already have an idea about what I am,” Potter said.
“Just an inkling. Nothing concrete.”
“And you’re not going to tell me?”
“I wish to wait for the test results.”
Potter sighed heavily. “Okay. Whatever. So you need a sample from me today, then another one tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Potter offered up his arm. “Take it, then.”
Draco stared at him, a bit stunned. Right. He needed to get closer to Potter to draw his blood. Somehow, he’d forgotten about that part.
Ducking his head, Draco went to his medical cabinet to retrieve the necessary vial. He took a deep breath before he turned around. Then he lifted his chin and marched up to Potter.
“Your wrist, please,” Draco said gently.
Potter stood too close. He gave Draco his wrist. Before touching him, Draco cast a Barrier Charm on his hands. He didn’t want to contaminate the sample.
“You will feel a small pinch, that’s it,” Draco murmured.
Potter hummed. He was too busy nosing at Draco’s hair. Draco, shuddering, did his best to block him out.
“Parvum Cut,” Draco said, hovering his wand over Potter’s wrist. When the blood droplets began to appear, Draco quickly used his magic to capture them and put them in the vial. He then healed the tiny incision with a quiet, “Sana Vulnus.”
Potter was still humming. In fact, he was nearly purring. His nose was now brushing Draco’s throat.
“Don’t,” Draco murmured.
“Did you get your sample?” Potter murmured back.
“Yes. As you can see.”
“Good.” Then: “Go on a date with me, Malfoy.”
Draco jerked away. He put several steps between them. “Control yourself, Potter. I urge you.”
Potter blinked at him, almost drunkenly. “You’ve changed since school.”
Draco raised his chin again. “I know.”
“I like it. A lot.”
“It’s time for you to leave.”
“Is that an order?”
Draco had to lock his knees to remain standing. It took everything in him to give a firm answer. “Yes, Potter. Leave now. You may send me the coordinates to your home in the morning.”
Again, Potter’s eyes flashed. He took a step forward, his hand reaching out, but then he visibly stopped himself. He let out a heavy exhale. “Okay. I will leave.”
Draco went back to his desk, pretending to be focussed on his next task. Potter went to the door, hovered for a moment, then fled.
When his office door closed, Draco slumped forward and buried his face in his hands. He was trembling all over. His heart was beating rapidly. And he felt a wet patch in the bum of his underpants.
Merlin, what had just happened?
*
Draco lived in a lonely flat in London. When he opened the door, the first thing he spotted was his cheap Christmas tree, twinkling in solitude. All his curtains were drawn, so his lounge was rather dim.
Sighing heavily, he set down his satchel and took himself to have a shower. He was desperate to wash the day off. He could still smell Potter on his skin.
In the shower, he did his best not to think about Potter, but it was a losing battle. Alphas always had the ability to sink in deep, and Potter was no different.
Draco had always been drawn to him. Even before meeting him, he’d been desperate for Potter to be his friend. He’d fantasised about it. He and Harry Potter holding court in the opulent Slytherin common room. Holding court and sitting close. So close.
Then Draco had actually met the Boy Who Lived, and well, he’d ended up hating Draco. Despising him, really. It seemed as if Potter had hated him from the moment he laid eyes on him. He’d hated him before Draco had even opened his mouth.
Damn him, Draco thought, his hands absent-mindedly moving the soap over his body. It’d been almost twenty years, but the rejection still hurt.
Draco knew he’d been a mean eleven year old, but perhaps things could have been different if only Potter had given him a chance…
Groaning, Draco covered his face with his hands, trying to hide away from his own thoughts. It was all so embarrassing. And pathetic. What had happened between them didn’t matter, not anymore, especially not after what happened during the war.
Draco had almost killed people, but it was Potter’s rejection that stuck with him. Draco had done what he could to redeem his actions, but Potter had barely cared…
No, Draco told himself sternly. You are done thinking about this.
After his shower, he still felt wound up. Wrapped in a fluffy dressing gown, he poured himself a splash of whisky and fried himself some bangers on the hob. He wished he had a cig. He was dying for one. He used to be a smoker but not anymore. He had to consider his health… for some reason.
Draco sat down to eat his sad dinner at his desk. He spent over an hour compiling a list of resources for Potter. He was diligent. He wanted his work to impress Potter, even though Potter didn’t know enough about the field to recognise the value in what Draco was creating for him.
Still…
Draco was still hunched over his resource books when there was a tapping at his window. It was a lovely black owl.
Draco opened his window and let the gorgeous owl dance along his desk for a few moments. He fed it a few treats and even gave it a stroke on its sleek head before untying its note.
The note was from Potter. Draco held it to his nose, taking a deep breath. Somehow he could smell the Alpha on the parchment. It was intoxicating. His hand trailed down to stroke himself through the gown. He groaned. Fuck.
Then he looked up and realised the owl was still there, just staring at him with its bright yellow eyes.
“Oi, don’t judge me,” Draco said. “Now off with you, off, off!”
The owl gave him one last look before flying away. Sighing, Draco shut his window and latched it.
The note was short, but Potter’s handwriting was charming in its messiness.
Dear Draco,
Thank you for speaking with me today. I apologise for my behaviour. It was inappropriate. You are my Healer, not a handsome bloke I’ve run into at the pub. I promise to act properly tomorrow. You needn’t worry.
I’ve included my coordinates below. I live in a big ugly house. Difficult to miss.
See you tomorrow. I’ll be home all day, so come around whenever you want.
Sincerely,
Harry
He read the note about a dozen times. It made him breathless.
Dear Draco.
A handsome bloke.
Sincerely, Harry. Not Potter, but Harry.
Trembling, Draco used his wand to shut off his lights. Then he took himself to bed. It felt as if he would combust if he didn’t lie down.
It was another hour before Draco fell asleep. His bed felt empty and cold. His tiny flat felt cavernous, as if there were a chance Draco could get lost within its shadows and never found again.
His cock was still tingling. He had to clench his teeth and clench his fists so he wouldn’t reach down to fondle himself. And he was getting wet. Potter’s note made him that aroused. Just his polite, apologetic words written in ink. Just the ghost of his Alpha scent lingering on the parchment.
Fuck.
*
The next day, Draco groomed himself thoroughly. He even cast a few spells on his arse. Not because he expected to be shagged, of course not. It was merely to give him confidence.
Nothing more.
Before he departed, he gulped back his dose of suppressant. He was so used to the taste now that he barely grimaced. It tasted like a strange mix of thyme and lilac.
Then he Disapparated.
Hexhamshire was alarmingly overcast. At the horizon, a massive storm was brewing. Draco shivered and pulled his collar closer. The temperature was dropping quickly. It was probably a snowstorm that was coming.
Draco walked down a long, winding path as his wand led him to the exact coordinates. Large English Elms did their best to hide the darkening sky from him.
When the house came into view, Draco had to bite back a snort. Potter lived on an estate that was comparable to the Malfoy grounds. And the house wasn’t some dingy cottage. Oh, no. It was a stately home, probably built in the Victorian era judging by its gothic accents.
A towering gate blocked Draco’s progression. He hesitated, not knowing if it would be safe to try to open it himself. The Manor’s entrance had possessed some nasty curses for unwanted visitors.
Taking a deep breath, Draco reached out with his wand, ready to tap its tip against the cold metal, but the gate popped open before he made contact.
“Convenient,” Draco murmured, and strode across the threshold.
Potter’s house only got larger the closer Draco drew. Somehow, Draco found himself becoming intimidated. He had grown up in a manor that was much older. He had grown up around wealth. Why was this any different?
His feet came to a stop when he spotted Potter waiting for him at the grand front doors.
Potter raised his hand in greeting. “Hello!” he called out, sounding casual, friendly.
Draco gathered himself and forced his feet to move forward. His heart was already beating faster.
“Good day,” Draco said once he reached the front steps.
Potter stared down at him fondly. It was rather unnerving. “I see you got my owl.”
“I did.”
“And do you accept my apology?”
Draco smiled. “No apology was necessary, Potter. I understand you are managing the best you can.”
Potter stepped aside, offering up the open doorway. “Won’t you come in?”
Draco nodded and mounted the steps. Potter watched him come closer. His gaze was very intent. It made Draco’s insides tremble.
Inside, the great house was cast in shadows. There were no portraits on the walls, which was surprising. Where were all the magical items?
Potter led him into a cosy drawing room. A fire was lit. Draco didn’t know what he’d expected but he hadn’t expected to encounter sagging settees and holey blankets. It looked as if Potter had cleaned out a charity shop to furnish the room.
“I’ve got hot tea in the pot and pumpkin bread on the tray.”
“Pumpkin bread?” Draco asked with a tiny smile.
Potter grinned as he poured them their tea. “Yeah… I got the recipe from Molly. That’s Mrs Weasley, if you remember.”
“I remember,” Draco said, taking the offered tea. He hadn’t said that he wanted some but Potter had still poured him a cup. He was charmed by his hospitality.
“Milk? Sugar?” Potter asked, offering over the little pots.
“Yes. Both.” Draco avoided Potter’s intent gaze as he fixed his tea. He inhaled the steam. Bergamot. Cornflower. It was Earl Grey.
“I appreciate you coming all the way up here for me,” Potter said gruffly.
Draco shrugged. “You aren’t as far as Scotland.”
“You visit Scotland often?”
“Yes and no. I like either taking the train or riding my broom up there a couple times a year.”
“You still enjoy flying, then?”
“Oh, yes. Do you?”
Potter gave him an easy smile. “Yes.”
Draco found himself staring back at Potter, unable to look away. His eyes were so, so beautiful. The green almost looked supernatural. As if they contained a curse.
He’s an Alpha, Draco thought, shuddering.
Something like desire flashed across Potter’s expression. He dragged his gaze away, instead staring down at his black tea.
“I feel like an utter knob for asking you on a date,” Potter said.
Draco sneaked a glance at him. Potter still had his gaze lowered. “Like I said, it’s okay. I understand. You are struggling to control yourself.”
“It’s a lot easier to contain myself when I’m in my own home,” Potter said. Then he grimaced. “Not so many scents I need to navigate.”
“Not as many fit blokes you want to bend over and mount, you mean,” Draco said, keeping his tone light. He was playing with fire saying something so… inappropriate, but the words had come out before he’d managed to consider the consequences.
Potter growled low. “Only one.”
Draco’s breath caught. His teacup trembled in his grasp.
Again, they stared at one another, then Potter visibly forced himself to look away. He took a deep breath, as if to calm himself, but then his expression screwed up. The deep breath had not been calming.
“I think you should take your second sample now,” Potter said roughly. “I—I’m not feeling so well.”
“Yes, of course.” Draco set aside his tea and cast another Barrier Charm on his hands. He produced a vial from his pocket and carefully knelt before Potter, asking quietly, “Your arm, please.”
Potter was shaking in his chair. Still he offered up his wrist. Draco performed the incision spell again. Both men watched in silence as Draco captured his blood in the vial.
Draco stood and went over to the open table. He put his back to Potter as he combined the two samples in a new, uncontaminated vial. He did this all via his magic. For some reason, it took a few attempts for his spells to take hold, but then the two samples began to whirl inside the glass, first as two separate liquids then combining as their whirling quickened.
Draco studied the samples closely, his gaze narrowed. He saw when a bright yellow light emerged from the blood. It was so bright that it was as if the blood had turned into a tiny whirling sun.
His breath caught.
“What is it?” Potter asked, suddenly right behind him.
Turning around, Draco directed the vial to float between them. “Do you see how your blood has turned a vibrant yellow?”
“Yes.”
Draco licked his lips. “It means you are an Alpha.”
Potter frowned deeply at him. “And that is—? I thought you were about to tell me I was part wolf or something. Or some beastly creature that only comes about when one’s had a Horcrux lodged in his head for seventeen years.”
“No, no,” he said softly.
Potter was still frowning. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Will you have a seat, please? My response might be a bit lengthy.”
Nodding, Potter lowered himself back into a chair. His gaze tracked Draco’s every move as he set aside the glowing vial and also sat down.
Before beginning, Draco attempted to centre himself. It was quite the task. “Have you ever heard the term, Alpha?”
“I mean, sure, but only as like a way to call a bloke strong or whatever.”
It was Draco’s turn to nod. He was pondering a great many things. “You were raised by Muggles, weren’t you?”
“What does that have anything to do with it?”
“It would explain your ignorance. And you are technically a Half-Blood, are you not?”
“Why are you talking about blood status right now?”
Draco sighed. “I don’t mean to be offensive, only that Pure-Blood families all know about Alphas and Omegas—and Betas.”
Potter blinked at him. “I’m not following.”
“It’s a condition that many Pure-Bloods believe is related to blood purity. The more pure the blood is, the more likely one will develop the symptoms.”
“So a Muggle can’t be an Alpha or whatever?”
Draco almost laughed. “No.”
“It’s just a condition then? Can it be treated? Cured?”
“No, it cannot be cured. For treatments—Well. It depends on which Healer you ask. Some Healers take a negative stance and others, like myself and my mentor, take a positive stance. Being an Alpha or an Omega is nothing to be ashamed of. And I wouldn’t prescribe a treatment because it is not necessary.”
Potter was almost glowering at him. “I’m a danger to society, Malfoy.”
“Are you really? Or have you just not learned proper coping mechanisms?”
“How can I cope with this! You don’t understand. When it’s really bad, I’m virtually feral. I’m unmanageable. I’m—I’m savage!”
Draco sat back in his chair and folded his hands. “When I was growing up, I prayed that I would become an Alpha. It was my greatest wish.”
Potter’s mouth dropped open. “What? That’s mental! Was it because you wanted to emulate your father or something?”
Draco let out a quiet chuckle. “Oh, no. My father was a Beta. It brought him deep shame. I wanted to be an Alpha because I knew it would make him proud of me.”
“So, there’s a hierarchy here that I’m not getting?”
“Sort of.” He closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to organise all the information bobbing about his head. “There are old-fashioned ideas held among Pure-Bloods that idolise the Alpha. Especially for males. Especially for first born males.”
“Are you saying women can’t be Alphas?”
“Oh, they definitely can.” Draco laughed. “My mad aunt Bellatrix was an Alpha.”
Potter blinked rapidly behind his glasses. “No one ever said anything to me. It never came up in my lessons. Not even Hagrid mentioned it… you know, when teaching about creatures.”
“We are not technically creatures. I might use the description from time to time merely due to a limited vocabulary on the subject. And, we grew up in a different time. These things aren’t usually talked about amongst polite society. And they are definitely not discussed around children.”
“Why not?”
Draco lowered his gaze. “Because, at its core, the condition is about sex.”
“No shit,” Potter muttered darkly.
“It’s about mating, too. Companionship. It’s also about creating enduring familial units. And nurturing the next generation in these protective units.”
“Mating…?”
“Yes, Potter.” He took a deep breath, feeling his face grow hot. “Look, the next bit that we need to discuss is graphic. Explicit. I may stop now and let you speak to someone else about it if it makes you more comfortable.”
“No, go on,” Potter said roughly.
“Your penis. Does it grow a knot when you near orgasm?”
Potter jerked forward in his seat. He even growled low in his throat. After a moment, he forced out, “Yes.”
Nodding professionally, Draco did his utmost to ignore the effect his words were having. “It does that for mating purposes. Thousands and thousands of years ago, when witches and wizards were wild, there was a good chance that Omegas would be abused by Alphas. Kidnapped from their familial units. Forced to copulate when they didn’t want to. And, like other knots found in the animal kingdom, its purpose is to ensure the success of fertilisation. It also possesses claiming objectives. In many instances, to knot one’s mate is to claim them. The knot also removes other sperm that might be present in the vagina or anus.”
“Why am I attracted to other males then?” Potter blurted out. “If this is all just about procreating?”
“Because,” Draco said softly, “male Omegas can get pregnant, too.”
Potter was suddenly looming over Draco. His gaze was very hot. “You’re an Omega, aren’t you?”
Draco did his best to remain calm. He was blushing so thoroughly that his face felt on fire. “Like I said yesterday, I prefer not to say.”
Potter grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him to his feet. He buried his face against his throat, breathing deeply. He was almost snarling as he did it.
Draco gasped and tried to squirm away. Potter was so very strong. “This isn’t appropriate,” he whispered.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Potter said, not moving. “I need to let you go.”
“You do, Potter.”
“You’re an Omega, I just know it. And you want to be impregnated, don’t you?” Potter pressed himself against Draco as he spoke. He was hard.
“Please let me go,” Draco whispered, his mind clouding over.
“I don’t know if I can.” Potter was now panting against his neck.
“You can, Potter. I know it. Just let me go. Find the strength. You must release me.”
“I want you, Malfoy. Fuck, I couldn’t sleep last night because of it. The ache. Merlin, the way you smell. It’s like fucking heroin injected straight into my veins. I bet you don’t even know what that is. Fuck. I need you, I need you.”
“I know what heroin is. I watch Muggle programmes on the telly.”
Potter laughed shakily. Then, quivering all over, he released Draco and stumbled back, back until nearly the entire room was between them. “You should go,” he croaked.
“Yes,” Draco said, Summoning his things to him. He staggered to the door, his mind spinning. He was wet. Soaked. His arse was just so desperate for a knot. Potter’s knot.
Stop it, he growled to himself, staggering toward the front doors. When he emerged outside, he found a curtain of snow blocking his way.
“Oh, no,” he whispered, his breath fogging up.
“Will you be okay? Potter asked from the doorway.
“Yes, I believe so,” Draco said with an unconvincing laugh. “I am a wizard, after all. What’s a little snowstorm?”
“A little snowstorm…” Potter glanced up at the sky in worry. “These clouds look massive.”
“I’ll just Disapparate, no effort needed.”
Potter nodded slowly, his arms crossed over his chest. “Sure. Okay. You’ll need to do it outside the entrance gate. I’ve got Wards up. Virtually the only magic on this property.”
“Yes, of course,” Draco said, gathering himself. He wished he had worn a thicker coat, but no matter. He had his magic to keep him warm. “I’ll be in touch soon, Potter. I promise to help you find a more compatible Healer.”
“Sure.”
Draco spun around and marched off into the snow. He felt Potter watch him all the way down the path until the falling white obscured him entirely.
Draco let out a sigh of relief when he passed through the gate. It was snowing so hard that he could barely see an inch in front of him.
Taking a deep breath, he did his best to calm himself, to dispel all thoughts of Potter and his knot from his mind. Then he turned and Disapparated—or made the attempt.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, he tried to Disapparate again, then again. None of it worked. Panic began to set in. His teeth were chattering, his fingertips beginning to ache. He muttered a Warming Charm—and nothing happened.
Oh my god, I’ve lost my magic, Draco thought, the panic feeling like a hot dagger plunged right through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening.
Draco stumbled into the cold white abyss. He wasn’t thinking. His thoughts felt like soup in his head. The snow was so thick on the ground that it was already tripping up his feet.
He walked and walked, then fell to his knees. He stood, his trousers tore in places, but the cold numbed the ache.
I might die like this, Draco thought, almost laughing. The idea of a wizard dying because of the weather was hilarious. Impossible! Magical folk had conquered Mother Nature a long, long time ago.
Still, Draco trucked on. It was as if he moved within an icy, pure white bubble. He knew there were trees all around, but he couldn’t make out their shape. He knew the sky was above his head, but it felt as if it could have been the ocean. With dangerous, thrashing waves. Did he even know what was up or down? Right or left?
Then he heard a voice above the howling wind: “Malfoy!”
Draco spun in place. He cried out, “Please help me! I need help! I don’t know—my magic—!”
“Stay there! I’m coming for you!” Potter bellowed above the wind.
Draco complied and didn’t move. The wind was so violent that it felt as if people were taking turns trying to shove him over. The snow hitting his face felt like tiny little stings.
Then Potter was touching him, pulling him close. He was so very warm. Draco, not thinking, utterly clung to the other man.
“Thank Merlin,” Draco said, shuddering, his hands burying in Potter’s coat.
“There’s a bloody tornado coming our way,” Potter said.
Draco laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“There is, and we’re in mortal danger. We must get back to the house, we must, we must—”
“No, I must leave!”
“Your magic isn’t working, is it?”
“No, but—”
Potter shook him a little. “Don’t you understand? Something’s wrong. My magic isn’t working either, and I have no way to protect you from this bloody snow cyclone.”
“There’s a snow cyclone too?”
“No, no, it’s the same thing. I just—Fuck, come on! You must come back to the house with me. I’ll figure something out, I promise.”
Draco was shaking his head, even though he was still pressed so thoroughly against Potter. “No, I need to leave, you know nothing about the ramifications—”
Potter framed his face, forcing his gaze up. He stared hard into his eyes. “You will die, do you understand me? You don’t have your magic anymore. This weather will kill you.”
Draco shook his head, still unable to process it, still unwilling to believe it. “But—my potion—”
“Sod it! Come on.” Potter picked Draco up and carried him.
“This can’t be a good idea!” Draco yelped, now clinging to Potter’s neck.
“Hush, or you’ll distract me.”
Potter marched them through the blinding snow.
*
Back inside Potter’s stately home, Draco perched on the charity shop settee, wrapped in a blanket, his hands curled around a hot cup of tea.
“You don’t understand,” Draco said, his teeth chattering. “I need my potion.”
“We’ll need to wait for the storm to pass, then—”
“My potion cannot wait. Please, I must get back to London tonight.”
Potter stared at him, face full of anguish. “Malfoy—our magic isn’t working. And outside there’s a bloody snow tornado doing its utmost best to run over this house.”
Draco just shook his head. His thoughts were muddled. He couldn’t compute what was happening. “My potion—I need my potion—”
“What sort of potion are we talking about here? Are you diabetic or something? Epileptic? Deathly allergic to Gryffindors?” Potter attempted a smile.
Draco stared gravely at him. “You were right,” he said softly. “I am an Omega.”
The change in Potter’s expression was breathtaking. He bared his teeth. “You shouldn’t have said that.”
“But it’s true!” Draco cried. He chucked his cup aside and stood, his blanket slithering off his shoulders. “I’m an Omega, and I will go into heat if I don’t get my potion—”
Potter jumped to his feet, too. “What do you mean? What is a heat?”
Draco groaned and hid his face. I can’t believe this is happening. Still, he mustered the ability to respond: “After puberty, an Omega goes into heat when they aren’t mated. These heats grow in frequency the longer they remain un—un—”
“Unfucked?”
Draco shuddered hard. Just hearing Potter use the word fuck made him get wet. “This is a dangerous situation we’re in,” he croaked.
“Besides the snow apocalypse outside, you mean?”
Draco dropped his hands. He glared at Potter. “Don’t you understand? Without my potion, my hormones will send you into a heat as well. You think you can’t control yourself now? Just wait. Just bloody wait!”
Potter paled. He took a step back. “Are you saying I might—I might violate you?”
Draco tore his gaze away. He could no longer look at the other man. “I wouldn’t use that particular word to describe it.”
“Why not? I’ll force myself on you, won’t I? Without your consent?”
“You will have my consent. I will be too bloody desperate to say no.”
Potter grimaced. “That’s not really consent, is it?”
“No, I suppose it’s not,” Draco murmured, still looking away.
There was a long, painful pause. Draco could feel the self-hate radiating off Potter. He hadn’t a clue what to say to make him feel better about their predicament.
Potter cleared his throat. His tone was stern when he spoke. “Luckily, this house is big enough for the both of us. I shall stay on my side—I’ve taken up most of the west wing—and you may stay on your side.”
“I’m not sure if that will be enough—”
Potter sucked in a breath. “It will be enough for me. I promise. I would rather chain myself up in the cellar than ever hurt you.”
Draco didn’t raise his eyes. He felt a flood of guilt. He didn’t want Potter to be in pain because of him. No, no no.
Potter continued: “I think it’s best if you take your leave now. Find yourself a bedroom to sleep in. I recommend the one near the toilet—with the green and red duvet cover. I believe the pattern is plaid. The electricity should work. The lamps and stuff. There is also a wireless and a few books.”
Taking a deep breath, Draco said, “Okay, I will find it. Thank you.”
“Check the wardrobe for some pyjamas. I’ve also got extra shirts and trousers in there. Underpants too if you see fit. New underpants, of course. Um. If you’re hungry, you should take this pumpkin bread. I’m not sure if the tea will keep without magic. You might want a hot water bottle.”
“A what?”
“A rubber bottle filled with hot water. It will help keep you warm during the night. The heat in this place isn’t very good. And, you know, without spells, there really isn’t another way for you to keep yourself comfortable…”
Draco stared blankly at him. Yes, he had a flat in Muggle London, but needing a bottle of hot water to keep himself warm seemed… barbaric. Did Potter mean for him to be tortured in this house?
Potter shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll prepare one for you and leave it outside your door. Totally up to you whether you want to use it or not.”
“I don’t have a toothbrush…”
“I’ve got some disposable ones you can use. Still in their packaging. You’ll find them in the bathroom.”
“Brilliant,” Draco muttered.
After a pause, Potter said, “I’ll pop to the kitchen to get you that bottle. You should find yourself a bedroom. Please.”
“Yes, okay.” Feeling as if he were a ghost, Draco wandered out of the drawing room, down a very dark corridor, toward the east side of the house. The shadows grew colder the farther he walked.
Draco mounted a grand staircase, the walls bare, the storm thrashing against the windows. On the second level, he found the bedroom with the plaid duvet.
On the bed, Draco sat down and stared in shock. Was he really trapped here? And for how long? He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he would wake up tomorrow and not have his dose of suppressant. A terrified shudder went through him. It had been a long, long time since he’d navigated the world without it. And tomorrow he would have to do it while living under the same roof as Harry Potter.
There was a knock on the door. Stupidly, Draco rose to answer it. The success of their whole plan was their commitment to staying away from each other, and Draco had eagerly opened the door for Potter.
“Err—here you go,” Potter said, offering up the rubber bottle.
“Thank you.” Draco took it, enjoying how its warmth seeped into his fingers.
“First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll do some investigating of the grounds,” Potter said. “I’ll do everything I can to find you a way out of here.”
“Thank you,” Draco repeated softly, his gaze lowered.
“You should lock your door,” Potter said gruffly. “Perhaps even barricade it.”
Draco sneaked a glance at his face. “Are you already sensing my potion wearing off?”
“No, not yet. Just as a precaution.”
“Yes, of course. Good night to you, then.”
“Yes, goodnight,” Potter responded, still gruff.
Draco shut the door and locked it. The act felt so strange to him. An Omega didn’t shut the door on an Alpha. It went against an Omega’s instincts.
Crying a little, Draco collapsed on the bed, pulling the duvet over himself and curling around the bottle. His tears were hot and sticky. He was quivering. And his prick desperately, desperately wanted to be hard.
No, he told himself sternly. He shut his eyes.
*
In the morning, Draco woke up to the sound of snow thudding against the window. It was still coming down hard outside. The snowflakes had weight.
For a few minutes, he lay in bed, ignoring the pressure in his bladder. How was he feeling? Could he smell Potter even from across the house?
He still felt in control of himself, thankfully. His mind was clear. He felt rested. And his senses weren’t tuned to Potter.
Good, very good.
Groaning, he rose from bed. Without thinking, he reached for his wand and attempted a Refreshment Spell on himself. He’d slept in his clothes and he felt icky.
The spell didn’t work. Right.
What in the world was going on?
With no other options available, Draco sneaked out of the bedroom. He found a cosy bathroom with toiletries that appeared to be for guests. He found the new toothbrush that Potter had mentioned.
As his heartbeat picked up pace, Draco locked the door and turned on the shower. He undressed, feeling like an idiot. He told himself it would be okay. Of course he was safe enough to have himself a shower.
Once under the hot spray, most of his anxiety melted away. He relaxed, enjoying the heat of the water on his back, in his hair. Merlin, he had been carrying so much tension within himself.
The shampoo and conditioner smelled of sandalwood, then the body wash smelled of bergamot and peppermint. It was refreshing and left Draco feeling so clean.
After his shower, he stood in front of the mirror with a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist. He shaved himself carefully with a disposable razor and a moisturising cream. It was a bit awkward to shave without the assistance of magic.
Thank you, Potter, Draco thought as he concluded with brushing his hair and cleaning his teeth.
Grooming himself had always put his mind at ease. He looked presentable now. Well, for the most part. He still needed to figure out what he would wear.
Draco was thinking about the big wardrobe he’d seen in the guest room as he stepped out into the hallway. He looked up, expecting to still be alone, but he instead encountered Potter.
“MERLIN!” he screeched, jumping back, one hand going to his towel, the other clutching his chest.
Potter was just standing there. He hadn’t been doing anything.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on your side of the house?” Draco snapped, still trying to calm down.
Potter’s gaze dragged up and down Draco’s body. His eyes were very dark behind his glasses. “I heard you,” he murmured, still not moving. “I wanted to speak to you.”
“Our plan isn’t going to work if you don’t follow it! We should come up with a way to communicate—” Draco fell silent.
Potter was stroking himself through his jeans. He stared at Draco’s towel as he did it.
“Potter,” Draco gasped, stumbling back.
“Hmm—?”
“For Merlin’s sake, stop wanking!”
He didn’t immediately respond. Then, licking his lips hungrily, his hand now tugging on a clear outline of an erection, he murmured, “I meant to leave and go for help. I tried to. I was hoping the storm would’ve passed by now but it hasn’t. I got to the gate when I realised how stupid I was being.”
“You must stop wanking,” Draco cried, his thoughts clouding over. He was beginning to smell Potter’s arousal.
“I came back inside, and I dunno… I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you got some breakfast in you. And I wanted to see you. That's the real reason. I wanted to see you. Smell you. I spent all night thinking about you. Barely got any sleep. Then I came up here and I—I heard you taking a shower. Bathing yourself. And—I dunno. I’ve been frozen in place ever since. You were naked behind that door. And you’re naked now… in just a towel…”
Draco was getting hard. And wet. It took all his self-control not to stare at Potter masturbating. “You need to let me pass,” he said quietly. “Let me get back to my room. Let me put some clothes on. We must come up with a better plan. Once my suppressant leaves my system completely, all of this will get much, much worse.”
“I think I already can smell the difference in you,” Potter said hoarsely. He stroked himself harder. Behind his glasses, his eyes rolled back. “Oh, God, Draco.”
Draco bolted. He expected to be grabbed, to be manhandled onto the floor and forcibly mounted, but he made it past Potter without being touched.
At the guest room, he slammed the door shut behind him, and went for his wand. He tried desperately to perform a Locking Spell on the knob, whispering the incantation over and over.
Again, nothing happened. He was such an idiot for trying.
Shaking, he went to the wardrobe. Inside were trousers and shirts and jumpers and underpants. The underpants and trousers were a bit too big. So was the jumper he chose. There was a saying on the jumper: Weasley for Life. He made a gagging noise when he realised what he was wearing.
A knock came on the door. “Draco?” said Potter, sounding anxious.
“I’m okay! I’m fine! Please go away now!”
“You need to eat, don’t you?”
“No, thank you!”
There was a pause. “I’ll make you something and leave it outside the door. How does that sound?”
“Please don’t concern yourself with me! It isn't necessary!”
Draco held his breath as he listened for Potter to move away from the door. He felt how his heart was pounding in his chest. He also felt how his palms were growing clammy.
Merlin, calm yourself, he thought.
Finally, Potter murmured, “I’ll make you a toastie. I’ll add some crisps, too. Have you ever heard of Robinsons? I’ve got their orange squash. It’s rather tasty, I promise. I’ll bring you a bottle.”
“Potter,” Draco said.
Potter walked away instead of responding. Draco flopped down on the bed and did his best to fight back the panic. What was Potter doing? Why wasn’t he leaving him alone?
A few minutes later, Potter returned. He knocked gently and set a few things on the floor.
“Don’t worry, I’ll leave right away,” Potter began. “I’ve made you that toastie and included some extras. I’ve also scrounged up more books for you. You’re a reader, aren’t you? You seem the type, at least. I’ve got them out here, too. I just don’t want you to get bored in there.”
“Thank you,” he said stiffly.
Again, Potter hesitated. “There’s a library… not sure if you’ve seen it. Just at the foot of your stairs. If you need anything, leave me a note on its desk. I’ll make sure to check periodically. And—well—if it’s an emergency, then please come find me. I spend most of my day in that drawing room area.”
Draco moved carefully from the bed to the door. “We just need to wait out the storm,” he said through the barrier.
On the other side, Potter inhaled deeply. “Yes,” he said, voice rumbling in his chest.
“I just hope one of those blasted snow tornadoes doesn’t hit your estate directly,” Draco said, unsure why he was still talking.
“It’s not my estate. I just bought the place.”
Draco snorted and crossed his arms, even though Potter couldn’t see him. “Whatever you say.”
Still, Potter lingered. “I want you to know that I like you, Draco. I like you a lot.”
“It’s the pheromones talking, don’t pay them a bit of attention.”
There was a slight thud against the door, as if Potter had leaned his shoulder against it. “I feel such a connection to you. Perhaps I always have. Are you saying you don’t feel it like I do?”
Draco frowned. “I’m not sure if I do.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re not even a bit interested in dating me?”
“Fucking hell, Potter! We are in a very serious predicament here. I can’t bring myself to think about dates during a moment like this.”
“Why not?”
Draco sputtered. “Why not? You were the one talking about consent last night!”
Potter sighed heavily. “Yes. I was.” He moved away finally. “I’ll leave you now. Please do eat. And please communicate with me if anything comes up.”
“Yes, Father,” Draco sneered under his breath.
“I heard that,” Potter called from down the hall.
Draco let several minutes pass before he opened the door to retrieve the meal and books. He did his best not to breathe too deeply as he did it. He could still pick out traces of Potter’s scent in the air.
After locking the door and lodging a chair under the knob, Draco ate next to the window. The toastie had gone cold but it was still tasty. The crisps were salty. And the orange drink was nice but he wished it was pumpkin juice.
The snow was still falling heavily. It looked like a white impenetrable wall stood just outside the windows. His hands were cold. He wished Potter had made him a pot of tea.
Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Draco left the table and crossed back to the bed. He would have himself a kip.
I shall read one of the books when I wake up, he thought as he drifted off.
*
Draco slept for so long that it was nighttime when he opened his eyes again. A kip my arse. He’d probably slept another eight hours!
Then he felt it: the change. There was something wrong inside him. Something terribly, terribly wrong.
A sound came from just outside his bedroom door. It made him freeze beneath the duvet. Somehow he knew Potter was out there. He was out there, waiting.
“Potter?” Draco said, voice nearly a whisper. “Are you there?”
“Yes.” The word was purred.
“You were supposed to stay in the drawing room.”
“I know.”
Draco pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. It was damp with sweat. “I’m not feeling well. I feel the change in me. I—”
“I smell you,” Potter whined, voice so close to the door.
“Please go away, please, please.” It was a hushed plea.
“I’m not sure if I can,” Potter said. Then: “You’re wet for me, aren’t you?”
Draco’s breath caught. Of course not! he wanted to snap, but then he shifted against the bed and realised how slick he was between the cheeks.
“I—” He hadn’t a clue how to form the lie.
“You are,” Potter purred, his tone so deep. “Are you hungry again? I bet you are. Open this door and let me feed you. Let me worship you. Open this door and I’ll put my mouth on your cunt and eat it until it's all dried up.”
“I don’t have a cunt,” Draco snapped.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Merlin, fuck, please go away!”
“Draco.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. He was trembling all over. “Please don’t beg. Please, please.”
“I’ll do more than beg, Draco. I’ll grovel. I’ll kiss your fucking feet. I’ll get on my hands and knees and crawl to you—”
“Get a hold of yourself, damn you!”
A warning growl came from the other side. Potter sounded so dangerous. It made Draco’s toes curl.
“I don’t like it when you bark orders at me, Draco. I don’t like it all. Do you realise how flimsy this door is? Hmm? Do you realise how easily I could break it down—”
“Are you actually threatening me right now?”
Potter fell silent. He was silent for so long that Draco almost thought he’d left. Then: “I’m sorry. I—I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“It’s the pheromones! Please. Go away. Lock yourself in your bedroom. Don’t come out until this storm passes.”
“Yes. Okay. I will try. I promise. I will do my best to leave you alone.”
“Thank you,” Draco said.
Finally, Potter left, and Draco huddled beneath the duvet, trembling, his head spinning. His skin felt tight and hot. His bollocks were aching. And, Merlin, he was so, so wet. He was uncomfortably wet.
After an hour or so, Draco’s bladder forced him to get up. It was so bloody cold in his room. He kept reaching for his wand to warm himself, but of course it didn’t work.
Ugh. The entire situation was madness.
Draco found a thick dressing gown and even thicker socks in the wardrobe. He pulled them on hastily, then went to the door. He pressed his ear to the wood and held his breath, hoping to hear only silence.
Draco opened the door, peered left then right, and then scurried down the hall to the toilet. He shut the door and locked it.
As he pissed, he realised he needed to change his underpants. Everything was too drenched. He needed to change his underpants and clean himself between the cheeks. Yes. Right. It was all something he could do without Potter barging in… he hoped.
Draco turned on the shower and eased off his clothes. He bathed quickly, only getting the bottom half of his body wet. He made sure to scrub his arse thoroughly. He just didn’t want to feel sticky anymore.
He stared at the door the whole time. He kept imagining that he heard rough, demanding thumps against it.
Once he was all clean, he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, and he hurriedly dried himself off. He then yanked his clothes back on, trembling from both the cold and the nerves.
Please, please, don’t be in the corridor, he thought desperately. Still, he mustered his courage and opened the door. He looked around and only saw empty darkness. Good. Very good.
Draco scurried back to his bedroom. He locked the door and put a chair against it, and fell back onto the bed, gasping in relief. He spent several minutes like that, waiting for his lungs to calm, waiting for the trembling to subside.
His eyes had fallen shut, but they snapped open. Oh, fuck, I forgot the underpants!
Draco had left his soaked pants on the sink in the bathroom. He’d planned to scrub them down or something, but he didn’t have a clue how to wash clothes. He’d always had a spell or two to do it for him.
I can’t let Potter find them! It was embarrassing. And also too enticing. The pants were covered in his arousal. In an Omega’s pure essence. Potter would be drawn to something like that even if he were miles away.
“Fuck, fuck,” Draco muttered, jumping out of bed again. He shoved away the chair and opened the door, then dashed back down the corridor. He was too desperate to be quiet.
In the bathroom, Draco switched on the light. He cried out in shock.
Potter was crouched on the floor, trousers and pants shoved down. He was wanking furiously, violently. He had his face buried in Draco’s underpants. He was breathing them in. He was also licking them.
“Oh, God,” Draco whispered, frozen in place. Potter’s Alpha scent was crashing into him. His arousal. It was turning Draco on. A lot. So much so that he felt his slick begin to drip down his thigh.
Then Potter noticed Draco’s presence. He dropped the underpants and turned toward him, still wanking, still on his knees.
“You want me,” Potter purred, shuffling closer.
Draco wanted to flee, he did, he did, but his body wouldn’t move. His cock was so stiff now.
“I—” Draco began. He gulped thickly.
Now whimpering, head bent, Potter closed the space between them, never getting to his feet. He pressed himself to Draco’s legs. He was radiating so much heat that it felt as if he could burn Draco.
“Please,” Potter whispered.
“It was an accident,” he managed to say.
“I’m hurting. I need you. It’s agony, agony…”
“It was an accident,” he repeated, nonsensical.
“I taste it on you, I smell it on you… You need to be bred, don’t you?”
“Oh, Merlin, shut up,” Draco cried, but his hands went to Potter’s hair, his lovely, lovely hair. He buried his fingers in the thick, wild locks.
Growling his approval, Potter opened his mouth to his clothed erection. He dragged his tongue over him. Then he buried his nose right against his prick and inhaled deeply.
“We can’t do this,” Draco said, even as his fingers carded through his hair, even as if he felt how his tip leaked precome.
“Just let yourself be mine,” Potter said, muffled, his tongue now stroking Draco’s shaft through the fabric.
“It’s not right,” Draco whispered. “You didn’t agree to this, not really. You are being utterly controlled by other forces right now.”
“I agree now,” Potter growled. “I fucking want you. Now. That’s my consent. I need to breed you. I need to put my baby in you—”
Crying out, Draco used his last shred of control to yank away. He stumbled back. “Take the underpants,” he whispered. “Use them. Do whatever you need with them. Just stay away from me!”
Draco turned and dashed back down the corridor, his feet tripping. Behind him, he heard Potter scramble out of the bathroom, still on his hands and knees, but then he stopped and let out a ghastly sound. It was full of desperation and anguish and longing.
“Draco,” Potter called out, nearly howling. He made the desperate sound again. It was a hoarse cry.
Harry Potter was crying for him.
Back in the guest room, Draco locked the door and then hauled the table across the room to shove it against the door. He stacked several chairs on the table and around it, doing his best to reinforce the barrier.
Need pulsed through him. He wrapped a hand around his erection, getting in a few desperate tugs, before he realised what he was doing and forced himself to stop.
No, he couldn’t masturbate right now, not in this house, and especially not with a feral Potter damn near howling in the corridor.
He couldn’t do that to Potter. The poor man’s control was barely hanging on.
Damn near cracking up, he laid back down and pressed his hands to the bed, not letting them move. He closed his eyes. He was desperate just to go to sleep. That was what he needed. Sleep, sleep, sleep…
If he was asleep, he needn’t worry about his mounting arousal, his muddling thoughts, his frantic need for Potter to touch him…
When he opened his eyes, it was daytime, and he was confused. Very confused. Where was he? Why was the door barricaded?
And where was his wand?
His memories came back to him slowly. Oh, yes. Right. My wand isn’t working. And that door is blocked because Potter is an Alpha and I’m an Omega, and I would never want my presence to hurt him… to violate him… Yes, yes…
Then, just as he thought he’d regained full command of his situation, the need flooded through him. It was hot and pulsing. It was overwhelming.
His Alpha was near. He was, he was. The man who was meant to impregnate him. Breed him. Own him.
The man Draco was made for was near.
Gasping, Draco fell out of bed. He crawled to the wardrobe, several different thoughts warring in his head. I must get away. Now. No matter the cost. No matter the danger. I cannot give in to the temptations. And: I must find my Alpha. Now, now. He is waiting for me. He needs me. Just as I need him. Now! Now!
Draco changed into thick trousers and a baggy jumper (sans any Weasley bullshit this time). He also put on faded boots and a big winter coat. There were scarves, tons of them, so he wrapped them around his neck as if they were jewellery.
There were no gloves, but it didn’t matter! He had pockets, didn’t he?
What are you doing? Your Alpha doesn’t need you in clothes!
Draco cupped his hands over his ears. Don’t listen, don’t listen, he told himself.
Draco grabbed his wand and tried to use a spell to move everything out of the doorway. For some reason, even though he knew it wouldn’t work, he was just so bloody angry when his wand didn’t respond. He almost chucked the damn thing out the window.
Growling under his breath, he pocketed his wand and then manually moved all the furniture out of the way. He threw open the door and marched into the corridor. He accidentally trampled a plate of food in the process.
My Alpha made me breakfast. Oh, how lovely of him…
No, no. Draco couldn’t let himself have those thoughts.
Draco meant to head for the stairs, but instead he went to the bathroom again. He had to make himself presentable for his Alpha, didn’t he?
No, he told himself sternly. He was only stopping at the bathroom to relieve himself, nothing more. Once he was out of the house, he had no idea when he would be able to use a toilet again.
After answering nature’s call, he still spent several minutes in front of the mirror. He brushed his teeth, then gave himself a quick shave. Then he even wet a flannel and scrubbed himself between the cheeks. He stared into his own eyes as he did it.
You are an utter fool, he told himself. Now he was glowering at his reflection.
He was being ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. And he was deluding himself. Would he really be able to leave? Would he?
He saw the steel enter his eyes. He’d survived becoming a Death Eater. He’d survived almost being chucked into Azkaban for his entire life. The Dark Lord had wanted him to become a murderer, but he’d held out.
And after the war, he had the strength to keep going when his parents had died, when the Malfoy lineage had crumbled, when it had seemed everything in this blasted world would be out of reach for him.
What had he done? He’d persevered. He’d had the bravery to become what he wanted to be: A Healer. Someone who helped others. Someone who was intelligent and giving.
He’d found the strength to ignore the crushing shame and become someone who protected.
It was time for him to show Harry Potter exactly who he had become.
Draco threw the flannel into the bathtub with all his might. He yanked up his pants and trousers, then buttoned everything up. All his scarves looked ridiculous, but it didn’t matter. He was either going to freeze to death out there or survive long enough to get help.
Yes.
Draco burst out of the bathroom and charged down the corridor, then down the stairs. He rushed through the house, not letting himself think, no, no. He held his breath. He would not let Potter stop him—
He was almost to the front doors when his feet halted. He was at the cosy drawing room. The scent of his Alpha seemed to seep into his very pores. It was as if he’d walked into a bubble of it.
His head spun. He really needed to take a breath.
Then, without making the decision, Draco strode into the drawing room. It was a disaster. All the furniture was overturned. There were weird bits of white fabric everywhere. It was as if Potter had torn apart a shirt or a—It was Draco’s underpants. Somehow he knew it. Potter had torn apart his wet underpants, his need being just that great.
GET OUT OF HERE! Draco yelled in his head.
Right.
Fuck.
Right.
Draco needed to leave. Right now. He needed to return around and just walk out—
Gritting his teeth, Draco forced his body to move, one step at a time. He had begun breathing again, gulping in air, and his head spun. He was getting wet.
Come on, come on, he told himself, trembling, forcing each step. He was reaching for the front doors, sweat spilling down his face, his arousal seeping into his underpants, when he heard pounding footsteps.
“DRACO!” Potter roared, dashing around a corner.
Draco froze, one hand on the knob. He told himself to not turn around, but of course he did. His Alpha was calling his name.
“I must leave,” he said, but the words fell away when he saw Potter.
Potter had obviously been bathing. Water dripped down his bare chest. He’d yanked on a pair of jeans but they were barely buttoned up. He was broad and muscular and his skin was a lovely dark gold. He was radiant.
“You can’t leave,” Potter said darkly, moving closer.
“I must.”
“You can’t, Draco. Don’t you hear the storm? You’ll die out there without your magic.”
Tears spilled down Draco’s face. “I must leave! I must, I must!”
Potter shook his shaggy head. His wet hair dripped into his eyes. “Come away from the door. Come to me.”
“I can’t!”
“Stop fighting this, love. I smell your need for me. You want someone to take care of you, don’t you? And you are aching for a knot—my knot. I know you are. Come here and let me give it to you. Let me protect you. Let me put my baby in you. Darling, don’t you know that I love you?”
Draco fled. Behind him, he heard Potter’s roar but it was quickly swallowed up by the violent storm.
Draco dashed across the grounds, running so fast that he didn’t even feel the cold. The winds battered him from all directions. There was howling in his ears but he didn’t know if it was Potter or not.
There was a large brick structure. It must have been the gate. Good, very good. He was now properly off Potter’s grounds.
His feet sped on. The snow was so thick that it nearly covered up the entirety of his tall boots. The sky was black with clouds.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He just needed to get away.
Harry Potter would never, ever say that he loved Draco. It was preposterous. It was madness. If Draco gave into him, he would be committing a violation. His Omega pheromones threatened to entrap Potter. He didn’t deserve it. Neither of them did.
Draco was slowing down, his lungs beginning to ache. He suddenly felt the chill in his fingers. His wet fingers. He hadn’t properly dried his hands before dashing out of the bathroom.
The world was closing in on him. It wasn’t a gradual thing. The dark sky seemed to rush down at him. It felt as if it meant to flatten him.
Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, he heard Potter call out his name: “Draco!”
“No!” Draco bellowed over his shoulder. He commanded his legs to hasten, but the snow was so heavy. It was too heavy. His muscles quivered in exhaustion.
“Draco, Draco!” Suddenly, Potter was right behind him, grabbing for him. Draco tried to run away, but all he accomplished was to make himself trip.
Potter grabbed him and pulled him close. “Draco.”
“Let me go!” he bellowed, pounding his fists into Potter’s solid chest.
“Jesus, stop it. You’re freezing. Let me take you home.”
“No, no!”
Potter buried a hand in his hair and yanked his head back. Then he kissed Draco. It was a commanding kiss. It was possessive.
Draco went weak. His Alpha was kissing him. And it felt so, so good. It felt right.
“Please,” Draco sobbed, so conflicted. He meant to say two things at once: Please let me go and Please don’t stop.
“Hush,” Harry murmured, brushing his hot mouth against his lips. “I’ve got you now.”
Draco tugged at the front of his coat. There were icicles in Potter’s hair. “You’re not wearing a hat.”
“Neither are you.”
“My hair isn’t wet!”
Potter dropped a kiss to his nose. “Let me take you home, Draco. Please. I can’t let you die out here.”
Draco buried his face against his throat. He took a deep breath of his Alpha. He nodded mutely.
Potter moaned lowly. Then he swept Draco up into his arms, cradling him close.
Yelping, Draco clung to him. “You’re going to drop me!”
“No,” Potter said. “Never.”
Draco buried his face again and didn’t say anything. He was too tired to speak. Exhaustion spilled through him.
Potter held him tightly and marched back to his stately home. Somehow, Draco managed to calm down enough to fall asleep—or maybe it was the panic that made him fall unconscious.
When Draco woke up, he was lying in a bed that smelled intensely of Potter. A fire roared on a nearby hearth.
Draco was naked.
Draco lurched up but Potter came into view. He was lying beside him in bed. He rested a warm palm on Draco’s bare chest.
“None of that, now,” Potter murmured, urging him to lay back again.
Sighing, Draco let himself fall back against the very comfortable bed. Potter loomed over him, his hair no longer caked in ice.
“You stupid man,” Draco murmured. “I can’t believe you ran into a snowstorm with wet hair. You’re going to fall ill.”
Something hot flashed in Potter’s eyes. “I don’t like it when you call me names, darling.”
Draco sighed again. Darling. Ignoring the warning in Potter’s voice, he shut his eyes. He was just so tired. He ached. It was more than the side effects of running through a snowstorm. The anxiety of the past few days had depleted him. The fear. The need.
“You can go back to sleep, I don’t mind,” Potter murmured, his hand carding through Draco’s blond strands.
“Don’t fuck me when I’m out,” Draco murmured back.
“What? Of course not.” Potter sounded indignant.
“I don’t mean any offence. I just know how difficult it is for our kind during a heat.”
“I can control myself, I promise.”
For some reason, Draco felt disappointment. He was so bloody confused right now. He did want to wake up with Potter’s cock buried in his arse?
Yes.
No.
Sighing again, Draco rolled over and buried his face against Potter’s chest. He breathed him in, letting the scent of his Alpha relax him. He felt safe. So, so safe.
Potter pressed a kiss to his forehead and held him close.
An hour or so later, Draco woke up again. He was alone in the bed. Frowning, he sat up and looked around for his Alpha.
Potter was pacing the floor in front of the bed. He was quivering from head to toe. There was a notice bulge in his jeans.
The sight made Draco ache. He didn’t like seeing his Alpha so distressed.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
Potter made a choked noise. His hands went to his wild hair, tugging. “I promised I wouldn’t touch you and so I didn’t. But, Christ, it was difficult. I’m fucking cracking up over here.”
Draco crawled to the edge of the bed. He was still naked. Gulping, he said, “You can mate with me now, Alpha. I want you to.”
Potter was suddenly looming over him again. He cradled Draco’s face with a quivering hand. “Truly? You want it?”
Already Draco felt his slick dripping from his arse, getting his bollocks wet. “Yes, I want it. Of course I want it. I will always want it. Whether or not we should is a whole other question.”
“Sod the consequences,” Potter growled. “What are you so worried about? Ruining your career? Me harming you in some way, unable to stop?”
“I’m more afraid of me hurting you.”
Potter dragged his rough thumb over Draco’s cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he murmured. “How could you possibly hurt me? I’m the Alpha, aren’t I?”
Draco blinked back tears. “We don’t know each other, Potter. Not really. Before you walked into my office, we hadn’t seen each other in years. And now you want to breed me. Start a family with me. You are saying you love me. Don’t you see what I’m doing to you? I’m making you insane.”
Potter kissed him. His lips were full of affection. “I’m not insane for wanting you,” Potter whispered, their mouths still touching.
“You are Harry Potter.”
“So what?”
Draco squeezed his eyes closed. “And I was a Death Eater.”
“I don’t care!”
“I care!”
Potter gave him another gentle kiss. “Why, love?”
Now the tears were escaping down Draco’s cheeks. He worked his mouth, trying to control the emotion. “You are so new to all of this. You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
Potter wiped away his tears with his thumbs. “Then tell me.”
Draco shuddered, his eyes still closed. He couldn’t say the words out loud. He just couldn’t. I think we are mates. The ramifications of them being bonded for life was just too much to handle.
And it would destroy Draco if his mate broke his heart—if he rejected Draco.
Potter waited for a long moment, then he said, “You won’t say, will you?”
Instead of answering, Draco threw his arms around Potter and kissed him. Potter growled in approval.
They kissed and kissed, and Potter, smirking a little, let Draco control it. Then, head spinning, Draco reached down to touch his erection.
Potter snatched up his wrists. “No, damn you.”
Draco whined. “You don’t want me to touch you? Put my mouth on you?”
“Not now. I need your arse. I need to finally taste it. And then I’m going to give you my knot. Can you handle that?”
Draco nodded weakly, his vision already blurring. “I might faint.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure that you aren’t hurt if you do.”
Draco rubbed his face against Potter’s. “Please, Alpha. You may do anything you want to me.”
Growling again, Potter manhandled him onto his stomach, head down, arse up. He parted Draco’s cheeks. They both moaned.
“Fuck, just look at you,” Potter murmured darkly. “Your arsehole… it’s—it’s—fuck me.”
“I know. I can feel it. It’s so open for you, isn’t it?”
“It’s the muscle… I dunno. It’s softened up. It looks so, so fuckable now.” Potter was panting.
“PLEASE!”
Groaning, Potter put his mouth on his hole, licking it. Draco cried into the pillow. He was now gushing slick. He felt how Potter was sucking it all down.
“Fucking hell,” Potter whispered, sounding drunk. “You taste like heaven. Utter heaven.”
“It’s the pheromones!”
“Shut up,” Potter said dangerously. “No more talk of that. Do you understand me? No more.”
“Yes, Alpha.”
Potter went back to eating him out. It took no effort at all to get his tongue inside Draco.
“Oh, God!” Draco gasped.
Potter growled his approval as he drove his tongue in and out, in and out. He was fucking him with it.
Draco continued to gasp. He squirmed and cried and tried desperately not to come. Draco was so fucking hard. He was dripping from the tip as well. He felt how it smeared against the bedding.
“Fuck, I just want to crawl inside you,” Potter said, moaning, his words wet.
“Harry!”
“Yes, Draco, say my name. I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you cry it.”
“Harry, Harry!”
“Are you ready for me to mount you? Finally?”
“I’ll come, Harry. I’ll come, I’ll come!”
“Good.”
Potter undid his jeans and shoved them down. Draco pressed back, wanting to feel his bare cock for the first time, but Potter grabbed his hips to stop him.
“No, don’t move,” he said darkly. “I don’t want you to move a fucking inch.”
Draco shuddered thoroughly. His Alpha sounded so, so strong.
Then, with one hand still planted on his hip, Potter poised himself at Draco’s hole. He felt warm and thick.
“I’ve been dreaming of this,” Potter murmured.
“PLEASE!”
“I’ve been dreaming of this—of you. Wanting you. Needing you. Even before I walked into your office. Ever since I started feeling this way, I’ve been aching for the one. Do you understand? Do you?”
“YES! Please!”
“Good, good, now take me, my baby, my darling,” Potter said haggardly, almost reverently. “Take everything I’ve got.”
Potter thrust inside. He was gentle about it, so gentle. He was shaking all over. Draco, unable to help himself, pushed back, needing him so much deeper.
Potter growled and grabbed his hips again. He was all the way inside now. He was throbbing. “Fuck.” Then: “Are you in pain?”
“No!”
“Good, that’s so bloody good. Fuck, you are so wet for me. So, so wet.”
“Please fuck me! Please, please!” Draco said, blabbering, his entire self lost to the sensation. “I need you, Harry. I need my Alpha. I need your knot. I need—”
Potter smacked a hand over his mouth. “No more talking,” he growled. Draco nodded desperately, whimpering into his palm.
Then Potter began to pound him, and the world shattered. Over and over, Potter drove into him, one hand on hip, the other pressed to his mouth. He was such a strong, competent lover. He was everything an Omega needed.
His knot was forming, the base of his cock catching on Draco’s rim.
Draco screamed, the sound muffled, and his eyes rolled up. He’d spent years and years dreaming of being knotted, of feeling so commanded—protected—used. He almost couldn’t process that it was actually happening. Finally. Everything was going hazy.
“You’re leaving me, aren’t you?” Potter gasped, his thrusts stuttering. “I’m about to come inside you. So fucking deep inside you. I’m about to give you a baby and you won’t even be with me when I do it.”
Draco attempted to respond, his words a slurred murmur. He curled his hands into the bedding, trying to hang on physically as he tried to hang on mentally.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Potter gasped, shuddering, his knot swelling to the point it locked them in place.
Draco screamed again, unable to handle the ecstasy. He was also orgasming, his cock emptying itself, but he was barely aware of it as he fell unconscious. He was drifting, just drifting. He felt so, so safe.
When he woke up, he found himself lying on his side, Potter still buried deep in his arse.
“Oh, hello,” Potter said, sounding pleased. He nuzzled Draco’s throat as if to greet him.
Draco squirmed, moaning. It was so arousing to wake up full.
Potter worked his hips slowly, watching Draco’s face. “Do you feel it? My knot?”
“Of course!”
Potter chuckled, then dragged his tongue over Draco’s cheek. He reached down to play with Draco’s hardening cock. “Do you think I can make you come again?”
“Yes, Alpha, yes.”
Potter worked inside a little quicker, his knot utterly stretching Draco’s hole. “I’m not hurting you too much, am I?”
“No, it’s—it’s brilliant.” Draco was stuttering over his words.
“Good, good,” Potter said, nuzzling his throat again. He wrapped a fist around him and began to stroke with intention.
Gasping, Draco arched into him. His arse was utterly soaking Potter’s knot. Potter moaned deeply.
“Are you about to come? I think you are.”
“Yes!”
“You’re not going to faint again, are you?”
Draco shook his head desperately. He tried not to stutter as he said, “No, no, I’m not, I’m not.”
“Look at me.”
The command made Draco cut his head to the side and catch Potter’s hot gaze. His burning gaze.
Potter stared into his eyes. He fucked him harder, his knot softening. “I want you to come for me, my darling,” Potter said. “Come for me but don’t you dare look away.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Draco cried, staring into Potter’s beautiful eyes.
Potter’s strokes increased in speed. His fist was making a wet sound. “I feel how close you are, darling. I feel it in your shaft. Your pretty, pretty dick. I want to feel it come in my hand. So do it. Please me, baby. Do it.”
Draco’s mouth dropped open as he began to spurt. His eyes were desperate to roll back but he didn’t let himself look away. He stared into Potter’s eyes as he emptied himself. He felt how his arse squeezed around the knot.
Potter’s expression was utterly transformed. It smouldered. There was danger in his features. Power.
I’m yours, Draco wanted to cry, but he couldn’t form words, not anymore.
Once Draco calmed down, Potter captured his lips in a deep kiss. Draco whimpered weakly, letting himself be devoured. He was already falling back to sleep.
“It’s all right,” Potter purred. “You can let go now. I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Thank you, my Alpha,” Draco sighed into the kiss. The next moment, Draco was asleep.