Chapter Text
Tension settled at the base of her shoulders. Hermione unfastened the gold clasp of her burgundy cloak, laying it across the back of her chair before sitting. She only had to survive one more class before the students left for the holiday break. The last week had been a test of every one of her nerves. She had taken hundreds of points from all the houses, a disappointing amount from her own Gryffindors in the process.
The third year Ravenclaws and Slytherins set to work on the reading she had assigned for the lesson. She was too exhausted to bother trying to teach anything of substance after learning in her first year of teaching that the week before the holiday break was a lost cause.
Two Ravenclaws chatted the entire time, growing louder and pulling in a small group of others with them.
“Miss Harwood,” Hermione hissed, channelling her inner McGonagall. “Five points from Ravenclaw. Return to your assigned task for twenty more minutes. Soon, you will all be free from me for a few weeks. So, I beseech you to complete your work as assigned in the interim.”
“Sorry, Professor,” the petite blonde squeaked, hiding her crystal eyes.
Hermione stifled a sigh, flicking her wand at the chalkboard, erasing her lesson from earlier. Truth be told, she also craved the break. She adored Christmas; it was her favourite time of year. As much as she loved teaching and her students, she equally enjoyed the break from most of them to revel in the holiday cheer that only Hogwarts could bring.
While a few students lingered each year, it was always a small handful. And the majority of them were well-behaved and kept to their common rooms. Which meant she was free to spend her holidays as she saw fit. While watching the class read silently, she brought a mug of hot chocolate to her lips, blowing softly over the steaming liquid. The heat of the sweet cocoa warmed her, making a slight smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
Leather shoes clicked along the stone floor. Hermione’s tired gaze drifted up, finding Draco Malfoy strolling into her classroom with an air of bravado that made her insides swoop in an unfortunate way. He combed ringed fingers through his slightly dishevelled silver strands, his eyes twinkling with something when they locked on hers.
Bloody hormones.
Whenever Draco entered a room, her Omega perked up, almost clawing in desperation to break free and drop to her knees in his presence—their first year at Hogwarts together as staff had been tenuous. Hermione had barely come into her Omega, and Draco was one of two unmated alphas at Hogwarts.
The Headmistress worked with Hermione to provide a safe, secluded space for her to endure her heats every four months. It turned out that the Room of Requirement became her refuge while Minerva agreed to cover her classes in her absence. The room provided her with the necessary nesting materials and toys and mimicked the same wards a mated alpha would provide to an omega in heat.
Overall, it worked. Hermione had zero interest in mating just because she was expected to do so as an omega. The pressure on all omegas to mate and bear children immediately was overwhelming. Luckily, she was sheltered from most of the press while locked away at Hogwarts.
Whether she wanted to admit it out loud or not, Hermione was a bit of a romantic, finding refuge in tales like Pride and Prejudice and Gone With the Wind. She didn’t want to mate with any alpha only to produce magical children.
She wanted to fall in love with someone despite her designation.
She understood the pool of eligible partners was limited to that of alphas. After she presented, she disastrously attempted to keep her relationship with Ron, who had turned out to be a Beta. They were both miserable and quickly ended their partnership. He could never satisfy her or truly protect her from determined alphas who wanted to claim her.
In the end, Hermione was hopeful she would find someone who checked most of her boxes but reluctantly accepted that it may never happen.
That was, until Draco Malfoy inserted himself into her life. During their first year, they cautiously tiptoed around the other, neither knowing what to say. Her Omega was drawn to him immediately. Which, of course, meant Hermione ran and hid.
Eventually, she couldn’t avoid him anymore, regularly spending evenings together in companionable silence in the staff common room. His scent soothed her. It was a mix of apples, cinnamon, and cedar, reminding her of her childhood home and her favourite time of year. Soon, they found common ground, and she surprisingly enjoyed Draco’s company. He was bright, thought-provoking, earnest, and unfathomably fit.
Even if Hermione refused to admit how attracted she was to the git.
It was simply her Omega craving his Alpha.
It certainly wasn’t Hermione Granger falling for Draco Malfoy.
The children bristled at the chilly Potions Master’s arrival, nearly as afraid of him as they were of Hermione. Draco was a brilliant potioneer and professor, if slightly intimidating to the students.
“Professor Granger,” he greeted with a slight bow and a smirk that made her weak.
“Professor Malfoy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Sorry to interrupt, Professor,” he hummed, his silver eyes piercing. “May I borrower, Mr. Goyle, please?”
The son of Gregory and Millicent Goyle froze, the colour draining from the young Slytherin’s face. Beads of sweat slicked off his brow, which he hastily tried to brush away, feigning being engrossed in his text. Hermione flicked her gaze back to Draco, her eyes narrowed and her mouth pursed.
“Of course,” she hummed. “May I ask as to why this couldn’t wait twenty more minutes, however?”
She was more curious than anything. Draco had never come to pluck one of his students from her class before, although he did have a flair for the dramatics. He gave her a bright smile before collecting himself and masking his face in cool indifference. Draco turned, palming her desk as he leaned into the wood. Hermione stifled an inappropriate noise at the sight of Draco’s arse pressed against the soft oak. Merlin, save her. His trousers tightened along his thighs, the muscles in his forearms rippling.
She wondered if he did it on purpose. Tucking her hands into her lap, she rubbed her wrists together, trying to ease the ache in her glands.
“As his Head of House, I wish to discuss why Mr. Goyle believed it was appropriate to refer to his Transfiguration Professor as Professor Mudblood?”
Garrett Goyle paled, his eyes blinking rapidly as his throat bobbed.
Hermione straightened, smoothing her hands over her robes. That word did not bother her as it once had, nor did she hear it often anymore, rarely, in fact. However, she was shocked to learn that the son of Gregory Goyle had called her that. She had been the one to save his father in the Room of the Requirement during the Battle of Hogwarts. Greg Goyle had been quite enthusiastic in his appreciation and apology to Hermione, nearly breaking her ribs with how hard he had hugged her in the aftermath.
“I wish to escort him personally off the train to have a conversation with his mother and father,” Draco said, his voice glacial and foreboding.
“Please, Sir,” the young boy said, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean it; I was just trying to…” his voice trailed off.
“Enough,” Draco bellowed, making every student's head in the class turn back to their textbooks. “Come.”
“Go,” Hermione urged with a dismissive wave of her hand. The young boy rose, refusing to look at either of them. “Mr. Goyle,” she called, making Garrett turn to look at her, his face a morose mix of apprehension and disappointment. “Tell your father I said hello.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he sniffed, following Draco from the room.
“None of you were paying attention before, and you certainly aren’t now. Class dismissed,” she called, too tired to try and reclaim their attention for the final ten minutes.
Cheers broke out among the students. They shoved their books away, the loud patter of their feet following them as they swept from the halls. Hermione gathered her cloak and other belongings before making her way to the staff quarters on the fourth floor.
Manoeuvring through the corridors, she ignored the half a dozen out-of-uniform students along the way. Finally, she arrived at the entrance to the staff common room, exhaling when the wards rippled and parted for her. She closed the heavy oak door, pressing her back into the wood and sliding onto the floor, blowing her curls off her face.
“Cheers, Hermione,” Aurora Sinistra chuckled from her armchair, raising a glass of merlot in her direction.
Hermione nodded, her head thudding against the door. After a minute, she hauled herself up, disappearing into her private quarters. The staff rooms were rather impressive, considering how old the castle was. She had a tiny kitchen and dining area, along with a well-sized bathroom. A balcony that overlooked the Forbidden Forest was attached to her bedroom, and her sitting room came with an oversized fireplace, desk, homes for all her books and fluffy armchairs. Overall, it had everything she needed. She shrugged out of her robes, rushing through a shower before changing into muggle leggings and an oversized jumper.
While she planned to have dinner in the Great Hall, the dress code was lax during the holidays, with most students gone. Usually, she was free to wear whatever she wanted in the staff-only areas of the castle. However, she was expected to defer to robes when teaching and in the student common areas.
She tossed her hair into a haphazard bun atop her head, tucking her wand there as she made her way to the Great Hall. The Hogwarts Express departed about an hour ago, leaving the castle eerily quiet, save for a few portraits who were already sauced.
Garlands of holly and mistletoe adorned the walls. Strings of twinkling fairy lights cast a warm glow over the stone steps. Fir wreaths clung beneath the portraits, many of them donning festive hats while they toasted glasses of something to Hermione as she descended to the main entrance.
A massive, towering Christmas tree was anchored by the centre of the large double doors that marked the entrance to the Great Hall. Its branches were laden with hovering ornaments and shimmering baubles. The air was thick with the scent of pine needles, roasted chestnuts, and spiced cider, a potent concoction that made her lips twitch.
The glands in her wrists throbbed, and she huffed an indignant noise, frustrated that her biology refused to allow her a moment of indulgence. Instinctively, she rubbed her glands together, staving off the constant reminder that her heat was less than a month away. Her magic would swell in the coming weeks, the surge of it powerful, even if it left her incredibly vulnerable.
Being an omega was one of the most conflicting things Hermione had ever had to reconcile herself with. In the few days leading up to her heat, she would become one of the most magically powerful beings in the wizarding world while simultaneously succumbing to her most primal and basic needs.
A captive to her desire to mate and produce pups.
She pushed open the intricately carved doors to the Great Hall, smiling at the snow-covered grounds bathed in the soft light of the setting sun beyond the oversized glass windows that lined the walls. The lake shimmered like a frozen sapphire, and the distant mountains were dusted in a pristine layer of white.
Never-ending garlands woven with sparkling silver ribbons festooned the mantels above the massive roaring fireplaces, their vibrant green contrasting with the warm stone they sat on. Two dozen Christmas trees stood proudly throughout the room, each adorned with flickering candles and ornaments that twinkled like starlight.
Hagrid had outdone himself.
In place of the usual house and staff tables at the front of the room, a large circular table sat in the centre. Golden plates and goblets gleamed against the crimson tablecloth, filled with piles of roast turkey, puddings, and candied fruits.
Hagrid pulled her in for a tight hug, kissing the top of her head.
“Where are the students?” Hermione asked, scanning the room for the usual handful that stayed behind.
“None remained this year,” Hagrid said with a shrug before getting pulled into a conversation about bowtruckles.
Hermione shuffled into an empty seat, laying a cloth napkin in her lap. The enchanted ceiling twinkled with the scene of a thousand stars while soft white flakes of snow fell around them, dissipating before they could accumulate. She giggled a quiet laugh, her cheeks hurting the breadth of her smile.
Everything was perfect. The fires crackled in the enormous fireplaces, making shadows dance across the stone while filling the Great Hall with the aroma of woodsmoke and cinnamon.
“Hello, Hermione,” a grating voice hummed.
Her nose twitched as Ernie Macmillan sat in the empty chair beside her. She didn’t attempt to hide the groan that bubbled up her throat. Ernie had joined Hogwarts as the Flying Professor and oversaw the Quidditch matches after Madam Hooch relocated to Norway following the war. Along with Draco, he was the other unmated alpha on the grounds. Her Omega hissed at his presence, his cloying scent of smoke and patchouli making her want to gag.
“Hello, Ernie,” Hermione said with a grimace.
His fake saccharine smile made her insides twist. Ernie had put her on edge since her first year teaching together. He had never done anything untoward, but he continued to pursue her. If only to say that he claimed the most sought-after omega, Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl. He didn’t even try to hide it.
“What plans do you have for Christmas?” he asked, trying to curl a loose strand of her hair around his finger.
Abruptly, she shifted back, rolling her shoulders. He merely grinned at the motion, not bothering to apologise.
“Reading,” she said flatly, trying to give him a hint when she turned her attention to the delicious food on her plate.
“That can’t be all,” he huffed. “I meant for the alumni ball in a few days. Someone as pretty as you can’t attend alone. It would be a travesty,” he said, clutching his chest like the idea pained him. “Besides, it would be unsafe for an unmated omega to attend an event like that alone. Not all alphas are as honourable as me.”
Audibly, she snorted, rolling her eyes. Most alphas could control themselves around an unbonded omega, at least one that wasn’t in heat. And no omega would ever put themselves in a situation where they may enter a heat surrounded by unmated alphas.
“I’ll be fine, Ernie,” she answered, stuffing a forkful of turkey into her mouth.
“How about we attend together?” he asked, sidling in closer, draping an arm around her shoulder.
“No,” she answered flatly, plucking his arm and dropping it unceremoniously. “I’m not interested.”
“C’mon, Hermione. The hard-to-get routine was tired two years ago; just say yes. I promise you’ll enjoy yourself.”
When she was about to drop the pleasantries and turn crass, Draco appeared behind her, his warm, looming presence at her back a welcome comfort. She sighed in relief, allowing his soft cinnamon and apple scent to drown out Ernie’s rotten one. His rough, calloused palms brushed over the wooden back of her chair, not close enough to touch her, unfortunately.
“Macmillan,” Draco huffed, his voice cold.
“Malfoy. Sod off. I was here first, and Hermione and I were talking before you interrupted,” Ernie bit back, puffing out his chest.
Gods, she abhorred all the alpha posturing nonsense; it was completely uncalled for. It was not as if one of them could piss on her and drag her back to their cave, no matter how much some alphas may want that.
“Hermione,” Draco said, his tone a soft caress in her ear. “Would you like Macmillan and me to leave you alone to enjoy your dinner in peace?”
“You can stay, Draco,” she said, fluttering her lashes, knowing it would irk Ernie.
And secretly wanting to spend time with him.
“Fine,” he said, standing up and disappearing from the room with little fanfare.
Slowly, Draco lowered into the chair beside her, offering her a devastating smile before digging into a plate of food. Minerva eyed the pair of them from under her spectacles before bringing a glass of wine to her lips. A faint blush coloured Hermione’s cheeks under the discerning gaze of the Headmistress. Her wineglass refilled itself, and Hermione downed half of it in one gulp, relaxing slightly when Minerva finally looked away.
“Macmillan’s an arse,” Draco asked. “Are you alright?”
“Peachy,” Hermione said, ignoring how dry her throat went around him.
He looked like the Gods poured him into his trousers. The rich, expensive wool clung to his muscular thighs, daring Hermione to peel it away with her teeth. An onyx jumper hung from his shoulders, highlighting the cut of his jaw and his alabaster skin. His silver hair framed his face, the longer pieces on the top hanging artfully over his stormy, grey eyes.
She licked her lips, pushing her food around with her fork while drinking him in.
“See something you like?” Draco teased, and she nearly choked on a piece of carrot.
“Um. Gods,” she blushed, covering her face. “Draco. Sorry. I wasn’t. I didn’t mean. I…”
“Easy, Hermione,” his deep voice soothed, thick and sweet like honey.
His palm splayed across her thigh under the table, gently squeezing it. At that moment, she believed she would expire. Heat suffused her cheeks, and a rush of arousal went straight to her knickers. She would have squeezed her legs together if his thumb hadn’t been rubbing circles there.
Her Omega purred like a contented kitten, stretching out and exposing her belly for Draco’s Alpha.
No one nearby appeared to be paying them any attention. Minerva was in a deep conversation with Aurora while the other staff chatted amongst themselves. Flakes of snow continued to fall around him, gathering in her wild curls before melting into nothing. She pushed her plate away, too full to eat another bite and too distracted by Draco’s fingers caressing her.
Something inside her begged for Draco’s hand to drift a little higher, to rub that spot between her legs. She wanted to believe it was her Omega in the haze of her impending heat, calling out for an alpha to take care of her. But in reality, Hermione was completely lucid, and it was she who wanted Draco to touch her there – not her Omega.
Nibbling her lip, she refused to look anywhere but at the individual threads of the tablecloth.
“Do you plan to attend the holiday ball?” Draco asked, his voice calm and unassuming while he continued to stroke her thigh.
“Oh, yes,” she grinned, catching snowflakes in her palm, happy to have something else to focus on. Draco smirked as he watched her admire the magicked snowflakes. “Harry is coming with Luna, and Ron will be here with Daphne. It will be fun,” she beamed, finally daring to look up at him.
Even sitting beside her, he was so bloody tall. All alphas were tall, but Draco dwarfed most of them, the top of her head barely hitting his chest when they were standing.
“Are you coming?” she prodded, angling her body toward his. “Don’t you usually return to the manor for the holidays?”
Draco nodded, pushing the fringe off his face. “Mother is in France for the season this year. I’ll be staying at Hogwarts and attending the ball. As you mentioned, Daph will be here with that redheaded menace she calls her boyfriend.” Hermione swatted at his chest playfully, trying not to read too much into how his eyes flared with heat at the contact. “Blaise is also planning to attend with Pans. And I believe Theo convinced Charlie to spend a day off the reserve.”
When she tried to pull her hand away, he covered it with his, holding it there. His heart thrummed in his chest, beating a steady, soothing rhythm that made her eyes flutter shut. A low purr hummed in his chest, and Hermione smiled, the sound lulling her.
Was he intentionally purring for her? She liked to believe so. Alphas and omegas both could purr. It was something that was usually reserved for their mates.
Eventually, the sound of her name from Minerva’s lips popped the bubble around them. Frantically, they pulled away from each other like a pair of teenagers who had been caught snogging in the stacks by the Headmistress.
They got pulled into a conversation about the merits of redesigning the N.E.W.T. curriculum for the rest of dinner. At some point, Hermione retired to the staff common room, curling up by the fire with a well-worn copy of Little Women. Staff filtered in and out throughout the night, disappearing into their private quarters with a curt nod in Hermione’s direction as they passed her. Her thumb traced over the words on the page. She had arrived at one of the Christmas scenes where they played the piano and sang Christmas carols. She tucked her feet under her, pulling a throw blanket over her shoulder.
No one in her family had ever been musically inclined, not that that ever stopped her mother from singing off-key while her father tried and failed to play the piano. She blinked away a stray tear, the memories as sweet as they were painful.
“Granger,” Draco said, dipping his chin. “May I join you?” he asked, indicating the empty chair beside her.
She smiled, closing her book, blinking away the remnants of her silent tears. His silver eyes pierced into her deep chocolate ones, and she almost gasped. “Draco. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Hermione?”
Around their students, he always called her Professor Granger, which was expected. In privacy, he usually called her Granger, except around Ernie. Around the other alpha, he always called her Hermione, her name a seductive purr on his lips.
“At least once more,” he beamed, pushing up the sleeves of his jumper to his elbows.
Her mouth fell open.
It was indecent.
He was bloody indecent, and she was falling apart.
Beautiful artwork covered his pale forearms. It was a colourful litany of flowers, Celtic symbols, and Latin phrases she could never get close enough to decipher.
It did horrible things to her knickers.
It made her Omega growl like a caged animal inside her, begging her to crawl into his lap and lick at the gland on his neck.
“Of course,” she eventually squeaked out, remembering he had asked a question.
“Thank you, Hermione,” he purred, lowering himself gracefully into the overstuffed chair beside her.
Merlin, she was fucked.
Bloody ruined, and there was no way to stop it.
Why couldn’t Draco Malfoy be the selfish, spoilt prat of their youth? Why did he have to be unfairly handsome, intelligent and smug? Her Omega caved a year ago, and Hermione wouldn’t last much longer if he kept looking at her like she was the stars in the sky.
“What are you reading tonight?” Draco asked, crossing an ankle over his leg.
“Little Women,” she said with a soft smile. “Have you read it?”
“Once,” he grinned. “Don’t think I could do it again, though. I don’t think I’ll ever reconcile Beth’s story.”
Hermione nodded along. It wasn’t an easy part of the story but an unfortunate, necessary reality.
“You know, you were quite adorable earlier,” he began, his lips quirked in a half-smile. “Laughing and catching snowflakes. I can’t remember the last time I saw you so carefree. Imagine what the students would think if they saw stern, heartless Professor Granger giggling like a schoolgirl.”
Her curls spilt over her shoulders, the bun from earlier a foregone conclusion—pink coloured the tops of her cheeks.
It was no secret that most of the children were somewhat afraid of her; she steered into it. The only person who was more terrifying than Professor Granger was Headmistress McGonagall. Except when it came to the Slytherins, they were slightly more uneasy around their own Head of House, Professor Malfoy.
The backs of his knuckles ghosted over the hinge of her jaw. She forced down the trilling whimper that rattled in her throat. The gland in her neck ached with him so close. She wanted nothing more than for him to lean in and lick the raised skin there.
Instead, he gently tucked a curl behind her ear, smiling when her gaze found his. In the last few months, Draco had been more open with his sweet words and tender touches. At first, she thought she imagined it, but now she was certain.
Draco Malfoy was besotted with her, not just her Omega. And Merlin help her; she felt the same way.
“What about snowflakes made Professor Granger melt like cold snow under a warm flame?”
“It’s my favourite time of year,” she shrugged, placing her book on the end table beside her wand, giving Draco her full attention. “I love Christmas. The memories it provokes, the comfort it provides, the warmth it gives. It reminds me of simpler times, of baking with my mother, signing carols with my father, decorating the tree together.”
Her voice wavered at the end, and Draco didn’t miss the slight tremor in her words. Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes, and she quickly flicked them away, offering him a half-hearted chuckle.
“Hermione,” he said, gently cradling her face in his hands. She wanted to purr, to ease the concern in the creases around his eyes, but stopped herself. She wasn’t his. He wasn’t hers. “What’s wrong?”
The pads of his thumbs swept under her eyes, wiping away the remnants of stray tears that fell despite how hard she tried to stop them.
“Nothing,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Just thinking of my parents.”
“Why aren’t you spending the hols with them? Why don’t you ever if it’s so important to you?” he continued.
She hated how persistent and observant he was.
“I don’t exist,” she said plainly, leaning into his touch. “I erased their memories of me before the war. They don’t know they have a daughter. I couldn’t fix it. No one could. Hermione Granger – Brightest Witch of Her Age – did the spell too completely. They are happy and safe as Monica and Wendell Wilkens in Australia, and that’s enough.”
The words fell from her lips like a mantra, a shield to protect her from her grief that was only ever a breath away. She had protected them, kept them safe. All the heartache was worth it if it meant Voldemort never found them. And he didn’t. They were safe. They were alive.
Tears slid down her cheeks unbidden, and she didn’t bother to stop them. They were alone; everyone else had retired for the evening. The warmth of Draco’s touch disappeared from her face, and she almost sobbed at the loss.
“Hermione.”
Her name fell from his lips like a broken prayer or maybe a plea; she wasn’t sure which. Soon, his arms wrapped around her waist, and he tugged her into his lap. Her entire body sagged against the hard planes of his chest. Her face fell into the crook of his neck. She inhaled deeply, a sad smile curling on her lips.
Cinnamon, apples, and cedar. His scent was the strongest so close to his gland. Her emotions wreaked havoc inside her chest, the knot behind her sternum tightening until it was hard to breathe. So close to heat, her Omega pushed her, begged her to suckle on his gland, to mark him as hers.
Slowly, he rocked her in his arms, his hand rubbing a soothing trail along her spine. Hermione didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Eventually, his hand burrowed into the curls at the base of her scalp, holding her against him.
“Shh, sweet girl,” he whispered.
That’s when she recognised it. Draco Malfoy was purring, heavy and low… for her. The soft sound was the sweetest of symphonies around them as his chest rumbled against hers. If she hadn’t already cried all her tears, more would have stained her cheeks.
She stayed like that until she fell asleep, letting Draco Malfoy’s alpha purr soothe a lifetime of sorrow.