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Hermione opened the door to the teachers’ lounge just far enough to hear that Minerva had already started her morning announcements. She carefully scanned the room, searching for an empty chair that would allow her to make an unobtrusive entrance. Her forehead thumped against the door, a resigned sigh escaping her as she realized her predicament.

Of course.

The only available seat was next to the man who’d kicked her out of his hospital room two short months ago. He’d barely recovered enough to speak at the time, and yet he’d managed to convey in no uncertain terms that he hoped never to see or speak to her again. Any foolish hopes that she would find a friend and intellectual equal in the potions master died after the exchange, but her unfortunate attraction to him never quite left her.

She slipped into the room as stealthily as she could manage, but her attempt to close the door quietly behind her was met with boisterous applause and wolf whistles. Her cheeks burned as she rounded the table and took the seat next to Severus. She pulled her parchment and quill from her satchel, trying to ignore the fact that every eye in the room was on her.

Minerva glanced at her over the rim of her glasses, her fond look belying her stern tone. “Hermione, in future, please remember that our faculty meetings begin promptly at seven o’clock on Saturdays.”

“A ridiculous hour to be awake on the weekend,” Filius grumbled, but Minerva continued as though she hadn’t heard him.

“The students will be arriving tomorrow evening, and we’ll want to set them a good example.”

“Of course, Minerva.” She looked around the table sheepishly. “I do apologize for being late.”

Pomona scoffed at the far end of the table. “Don’t let her bother you, Hermione. Minerva slept late and missed her first class in her first year of teaching.”

Filius nodded agreement. “And that’s to say nothing of the time she got pissed at the faculty Christmas party and missed the faculty meeting entirely because she woke up naked in the middle of the Forbidden Forest.”

“I remember that,” Rolanda cackled. “I’ve never seen Firenze blush until he carried her back to the castle gates.”

Minerva cleared her throat. “That’s enough of you lot. I’ll remind you that we have serious work to do.”

Hermione tried to avoid acknowledging Severus and the inevitable awkwardness that would follow, but when she felt the edge of a parchment sheet nudge her pinky, she could no longer ignore him. His page listed all of the announcements she’d missed, and as he nudged her a second time, she took the silent hint, scribbling the notes on her own parchment.

Hermione was surprised by the simple show of kindness. The fact that he hadn’t stormed from the room the moment she entered it was far more civility than she’d expected from him, but perhaps he was just being practical, preferring to share his notes rather than prolonging the meeting by having Minerva repeat the information she’d missed. By the time she finished copying his careful notes, she’d finally worked up the nerve to look at him.

His dark eyes observed her vigilantly, as though he were intensely interested in what she would do next. She scrambled for a way to distract herself from the discomfort of such scrutiny, mouthing a silent “thank you” for his notes.

He glanced down at the table, his pinky flicking over the margin of her paper. 

Are you ill?

For a moment she assumed that he was ridiculing her, but when their eyes met again, she saw nothing to suggest that he was mocking her. Her fingers gave a minute twitch, adding her answer to his parchment. 

I’m quite well, thank you. Just running a bit late.

He looked surprised for a moment before responding.

When did you pick up wandless magic?

Her index finger stroked down the corner of his page, her neat script following in its wake.

Since I broke Harry’s wand when we escaped from Godric’s Hollow. He needed to use my wand most of the time, and I didn’t want to be defenseless.

She refrained from elaborating further when she felt Minerva’s eyes on her again. “For the first time in over two centuries, the Board of Governors has approved the admittance of apprentices to Hogwarts. Please take a moment to welcome Pomona’s apprentice in herbology, Neville Longbottom, and my own apprentice in transfiguration, Hermione Granger.”

The room erupted in clapping and cheers. Hermione felt a strange sort of relief when Severus didn’t join in the applause. His quiet tolerance of her so far was shocking enough, but she wouldn’t have known who he was anymore if he’d given either of the apprentices a gesture of open approval.

Minerva waited for the din to subside before continuing. “As part of their training, our apprentices will observe the classrooms of several professors to give them a sense of different pedagogical and disciplinary approaches in the classroom. Neville, you will be a guest in Filius’ classes the first week. Hermione, you will be observing Severus’ classes.”

Hermione turned to look at him, expecting him to argue with the headmistress, to remind her that he never agreed to have an apprentice in his classroom, much less the very witch he’d sworn never to speak to again. His head tilted slightly as he peered down at her page again.

Don’t look for me to complain. I’m just glad I won’t have to worry about my visiting apprentice blowing up a cauldron every five minutes.

She was still for a long moment before replying, carefully considering his acceptance thus far and wondering how he would respond to her teasing or criticism.

You’ve always been too hard on him.

His fingers flexed for a moment as though he’d flinched before his index finger swiped over the page. 

Perhaps.

She was just marveling at the fact that he hadn’t hexed her when his question appeared.

Are you sure you’re alright? I’ve never known you to be late.

She balked at the question. Her fingers went still not from nervousness or fear, but  rather because she wasn’t sure how to answer the question. She could hardly account for her odd behavior. She woke with ample time to get ready for the faculty meeting, but when she attempted to perform the simple task of making her bed, everything seemed to fall apart.

Her bed had looked entirely wrong. It was far too simple and too rigidly organized. “Barren” was the word that instantly came to mind. She idly wondered if she could ask the house elves to bring her more pillows before realizing the absurdity of the thought.

When she folded her quilt and draped it neatly over the end of her bed, she quickly realized that she hated the position of it. She changed it so that the blanket was running diagonally across the bed, but she quickly determined that the blanket shouldn’t be folded at all.

The quilt was promptly unfurled and thrown in a series of rumpled waves over the bed, but no sooner had she placed it correctly than she realized that it smelled wrong. The mild smells of detergent and her shampoo left her feeling unsettled, as though she needed to find something to add to it to make it right. She might have spent the entire morning fussing over her bedding had a tempus charm not reminded her that she was running late.

Her fingers flicked casually over his parchment. 

I had problems in the bedroom.

She realized the implications of the statement too late, looking up in time to see Severus’ eyebrow rise nearly to his hairline.

“Hermione,” Minerva’s tone barely concealed her amusement, “we were just discussing night patrol duties, and since you and our resident potions master seem more interested in passing notes than in paying attention, the two of you will have night patrol this weekend and the first two weekends of term. As that is our last order of business, you are all dismissed until the Welcoming Feast tomorrow evening.”

The pronouncement was met with delighted applause around the table. The first two weeks of the terms were always the most difficult as teachers and students alike struggled to adapt to a strict schedule after the extended summer break. As much as many of the faculty doted on Hermione, they were more than happy to offload the night shift to the new apprentice.

Severus turned as though he meant to say something to her, but Pomona’s crowing interrupted his thought. “Notes? The two of you are looking awfully cozy over there. What exactly were you passing notes about?”

Filius snickered at the comment as he and Pomona exchanged a knowing look.

“What Hermione and I are discussing is of no consequence to you, Pomona.”

A shiver worked its way up Hermione’s spine. It was the first time she’d heard him speak since he was in St. Mungo’s. His voice was rougher than it used to be, a hint of gravel in his usual suave drawl. She flinched when pinpricks flared over the nape of her neck. She rubbed her hand over the back of her neck to see if she’d been stung or hexed, but she felt no obvious changes.

Roland snorted. “And here I thought surviving having your throat torn out would make you less surly.”

“You thought no such thing, you incontrovertible busibody.”

Pomona laughed. “Well, if nothing else, that vile serpent’s venom has certainly improved your sense of humor.”

Severus slid his chair back from the table. “If the two of you have nothing useful to say, I have brewing to do for Poppy before patrol this evening.”

Hermione watched his retreating form. The painful stinging subsided as he turned at the end of the corridor to return to the dungeons.

***************

Hermione paced awkwardly in front of the Great Hall, waiting for Severus and trying to ignore her increasingly feverish state. She’d spent the entire afternoon resting in an effort to allay her symptoms, but when she woke from her nap, a swollen lump roughly the size of an egg had developed on the nape of her neck. She seemed to be having some sort of immunoresponse, but she had yet to identify the source, and Poppy wouldn’t return until Monday morning.

Her pacing stopped abruptly as Severus entered the atrium. She’d always found him striking, but this time his long-legged strides made her flush hotter. The scent of thyme washed over her even though he was still some distance away. 

She breathed deeply, trying to take in more of his scent. She nearly swooned at the musky, sylvan scent of him. He was the Forbidden Forest, her parents’ garden, and the British Library’s rare books collection all wrapped in wool and begging to be plucked apart. 

She was shocked by her train of thought, but she couldn’t seem to control it: Since when had the man smelled so fucking good?

The corner of Severus’ mouth turned down, and at first she thought he was glowering at her. It was only when he drew nearer that she could see he was frowning, his brows drawn together in concern. She suddenly understood the source of his unease when she realized that her head was tipped back, her nose scenting the air like an eager puppy.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Hermione. I had a challenge with one of the potions I was making. That’s also why I smell so strongly of valerian.”

“And English thyme, parchment, pressed linen, and silver birch wood smoke,” she added before she could stop herself.

His eyes narrowed, appraising her with the same alertness a doctor might show for an ailing patient, but the intensity of his gaze felt anything but clinical. She felt his desire to slip into her mind, to find the cause of her reactions, but he fought the impulse. He held out a hand, muttering for her to lead the way.

She took off down the corridor toward the kitchens and the Hufflepuff dorms. They spent the first several minutes in near silence. Their echoing footsteps and the occasional crackle from one of the wall torches were the only sounds as they wandered the lonely corridors. 

Hermione was the first to break the silence, her mind casting about for a safe subject as they approached the barrel-lined entrance to the Hufflepuff dormitories. “I always thought that the security measures for the dorms were abysmal.”

Severus hummed distractedly, which she decided to take as encouragement. “Slytherin and Gryffindor are protected by passwords that could easily be shared. Hufflepuff is protected by a rhythm challenge, which is essentially just another password, and honestly, Ravenclaw is the worst.”

“In what way?” he asked, still obviously half listening to her chatter.

“If we take it at face value, the assumption appears to be that no one except a Ravenclaw could solve a riddle, which is ridiculous. I’ve always concluded that the security measures were meant to promote solidarity within the houses rather than provide any real protection. I wonder–”

She stopped her train of thought, not wanting to offend him by referring to his time as headmaster. “You’ve worked in the castle for a long time. You must know it’s magic well.”

“Your thoughts on the matter are correct in this case. Hogwarts knows who has been sorted into each house and provides its own protection to keep out intruders.”

Hermione snorted. “Unless you brew polyjuice potion and sneak in.”

Severus turned to look at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“When I brewed polyjuice potion in my second year, Harry and Ron used it to sneak into the Slytherin dormitories as Crabbe and Goyle. We thought that Draco was the Heir of Slytherin.”

His nostrils flared as he sucked in a sharp breath, and Hermione couldn’t quite tell if he was furious or amused. “The castle’s magic takes intention into account, no matter how idiotic the premise.”

“So because they snuck into the Slytherin dorms to protect the students, Hogwarts allowed it?”

“That and the castle must not have regarded them as much of a threat.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed as she considered the implications, forgetting all of her initial nervousness. “Then why did it allow the Chamber of Secrets to be created in the first place?”

“Salazar Slytherin thwarted Hogwarts’ magic, twisting it to his own purposes in the same way that Tom Riddle corrupted Rowena’s diadem and Helga’s cup.”

Hermione closed her eyes as the truth dawned on her. “He murdered Muggleborns to create it, didn’t he?”

“We don’t have absolute proof, but it’s likely that he did.”

“Did the Chamber survive the war after we raided it for basilisk fangs?” she couldn’t quite hide the anger in her voice.

“Yes, but none of us wanted it to stand, considering it was a symbol of everything we fought against. Minerva insisted that it be destroyed as part of the castle’s reconstruction.”

She immediately understood his meaning, making no effort to hide her excitement. “Brilliant man! You did it, didn’t you? You destroyed the Chamber of Secrets?”

He flushed under the unexpected praise, a development she found oddly endearing. “Minerva reached out to me after I was released from St. Mungo’s. I was in no state to assist with the larger reconstruction efforts, but Bill Weasley and I were able to dismantle the spellwork that served as the magical scaffolding for the Chamber. I can hardly take all the credit given that everyone else did the heavy lifting.”

Hermione beamed at him, her thoughts caught up in the rush of affection for the taciturn man: Severus had protected them for years. He devoted his life to fulfilling his promises. He would always protect her.

Her breath hitched in alarm at the last thought, and she instantly chided herself. She had no claim on Severus, and had assumed that he hated her until that morning. What could she possibly be thinking?

She cleared her throat in an effort to distract them both. “I wonder what other changes you’ve made. The castle still feels familiar, but it somehow feels like I scarcely know it at all.”

“Indeed,” Severus’ eyes glinted in the torchlight. “It has changed dramatically since you and Potter last used that vile Marauder’s map to escape punishment.”

Hermione took the jab in stride. “If only I had a guide to show me all the new places the students will go to escape the wicked potion’s master who’s always determined to ruin their snog.”

Severus huffed a laugh. “If only snogging were the extent of their activities.” He gestured for her to follow. “Come along. I’ll show you some of my favorite snake pits.”

She turned to follow him as he strode toward the dungeons. “A bit of a traitor to your snakes, aren’t you?”

“I said some, Hermione. I’m not going to leave my students without a few places to slither away from Minerva’s know-it-all apprentice.”

In spite of his relentless teasing, Severus was true to his word. He showed her the tapestry-covered nooks and shadowy alcoves created during reconstruction. He preened as he showed off the updates to his potions classroom and private lab. He snickered as he showed her the plush velvet seats and tibetan quartz crystal balls that Trelawney had insisted her classroom needed after the war.

Hermione started to feel strangely giddy as the night wore on. Every circuit they made of the castle seemed to put more distance between their current position and their former roles as teacher and student. 

It was only as they approached Gryffindor Tower at the end of their shift that the air seemed to grow thick between them, the weight of unspoken words demanding their attention. She could sense him watching her vigilantly in his peripheral vision, so she wasn’t surprised when his fingers brushed her elbow to slow their progress.

His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “I meant to say something to you this morning, but our gossiping colleagues interrupted us.”

She nodded encouragingly, afraid to speak lest she disrupt the unexpected goodwill he’d shown her all day.

“I apologize for my horrible treatment of you when I was hospitalized. I didn’t expect to survive the war, and when I did, I was terrified that I’d survived it only to be sentenced to life in Azkaban.”

Hermione’s temper flared, loosening her tongue in spite of her determination not to interrupt him. “You should have known that we, that I wouldn’t let that happen to you.”

“I know that now.”

“Why would I show up every day and lecture the healers about taking care of you if I planned to let you rot in Azkaban? Why would I try so hard to get to know you if I didn’t care about you?”

“I didn’t trust anyone. Every show of compassion felt like a mockery.”

She acted on impulse, taking his hand and lifting it to her cheek. “Does this feel like I’m mocking you?”

She nuzzled his palm, breathing in more of the musk and sylvan scents she longed for. Instantly overwhelmed, she once again relied on her instincts. Her nose dragged over the inside of his wrist, her tongue darting out to lap at his pale skin. 

Severus sucked in a sharp breath, his voice strained as he struggled for some semblance of control. “Hermione, tell me what happened this morning. I know it sounds like I’m prying, but it’s important.”

She released his hand, the sudden change of subject pulling her out of her daze. “It’s nothing of consequence. I was just making my bed like I do every morning, but no matter what I did to the blankets and pillows, I couldn’t get it to look right. I couldn’t–” she paused for fear of how he would respond.

“Go on.”

“I couldn’t get it to smell right, and then after the faculty meeting, I had a very visceral reaction to your voice. I’ve always appreciated your voice, but this was different. When I woke up from a nap this afternoon, the back of my neck was swollen and itchy. I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Severus took a step closer, and she had to resist the urge to lean into him. “May I examine the back of your neck?”

She slowly pulled her hair over her shoulder. Every nerve was on edge. Even the light touch of her wayward curls dragging over her neck was enough to make her shiver. He crowded closer still, looming over her shivering frame.

She lurched forward, scrambling to grip his shoulders the moment his calloused fingertips grazed the swollen flesh. His free arm wrapped around her waist to steady her, pulling her firmly against him.

“Sev’rus.” His name came out a broken whimper.

“Shhhhhh…it’s alright Hermione. Let me help you. Tell me how this feels.” 

He gently squeezed the taut skin of her nape, plumping the egg-shaped gland between his fingers. Her knees turned to liquid, and she would have slumped to the flagstones had he not supported her. Every rhythmic pinch of his fingers sent a jolt down her spine, tugging on the bundle of nerves between her thighs. She clung to him as she writhed, a helpless marionette.

He stooped down to smell her hair, a growl rumbling in his chest. Hermione’s hand slid into his hair, her fingers clutching the raven strands and trying to pull him down to her. 

The act seemed to pull him out of his trance. His long fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she instantly mourned the shift in his attention. He pulled her hand roughly away from him, taking a step backward.

“No, Hermione.”

“What?”

“I said ‘no.’ I will not act rashly…not with you. We need to talk about what you’re experiencing.”

Her entire body went numb. Even the stinging pain on the back of her neck subsided to a dull prickling in the wake of the rejection. She’d had feelings for him for years, and he said ‘no.’ The word echoed in her mind. 

He didn’t want her.

She took a step back, nearly tripping over her cloak in her haste. An embarrassed flush stained her cheeks as turned on her heel. She ignored the sound of her name in his sultry voice. The sound of his footsteps behind her sent her into a panic. She sprinted to her rooms, just managing to close the door behind her before succumbing to a strangled sob.

***************

Hermione managed to avoid him most of the following day, staying close to Minerva when she emerged from her chambers. She was still responsible for helping the Headmistress with last-minute preparations for the transfiguration students, and hence found it easy to avoid being alone with the potions professor. She was seated safely between Filius and Minerva for the Welcoming Feast, conveniently delaying the awkward conversation.

She begged off her Sunday night patrol shift, citing fever and fatigue. The claim wasn’t quite a lie given that the throbbing at her nape and the sweltering heat of her skin had never resolved. Pomona had kindly taken her shift, allowing her one last night to lick her wounds before facing Severus again.

When Monday morning came, she waited until all of the students were in the classroom and working at their brewing stations before entering. She found the prospect of a scolding for being late far preferable to risking a private conversation and being reminded of his rejection. Every head turned to look at Severus as she entered the room, bracing themselves for the scathing lecture that was soon to follow.

Severus was helping a Hufflepuff student with the proper technique for crushing moonstone and did not immediately acknowledge her. When he did finally look up at her, his expression was neutral. “Are you ill, Miss Granger?”

“No, Professor. I apologize for being late.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the tension in the air palpable as the students waited for his caustic tongue to strike, but the vitriol never came. “The students are brewing amortentia this morning. Please assist me in observing their process and correcting technique when necessary.”

Without another word he turned his attention back to helping the Hufflepuff with her moonstone. The class seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, though some of the Slytherins were obviously a bit disappointed that their Head of House passed on the opportunity to reprimand the Golden Girl.

Hermione was relieved that his first class was sixth-year students. They were competent enough not to cause a disaster, and sufficiently interested in the subject to ask questions and welcome suggestions. She crossed the room to speak to a Ravenclaw whose brow was furrowed in concentration. She watched as the girl carefully sliced her rose petals into even, velvety strips.

She waited until the girl returned her knife to the tabletop before addressing her. “You have superb knife skills.”

The girl smiled at her shyly. “Thank you. Do you have any tips?”

Hermione pointed to the rose petals. “The petals will be more effective if you crush them between your fingers before adding them.”

The girl frowned in confusion, her eyes flitting over the page in front of her. “But the book only says to slice them.”

“That’s true. The textbook is a good place to start to learn fundamentals, but there are so many subtle factors that impact how effective a potion is. Changing something as simple as the brewing time, which variety of a plant is used, or how an ingredient is processed can change the properties and efficacy of the resulting potion.”

The girl leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think he’d be angry if I experimented a bit? I have a theory about the pearl dust I’d like to try. We always use saltwater pearls, but I think freshwater pearls might actually be more effective.”

Hermione smiled. “I suspect that he would encourage your interest. He spent the better part of my education reminding me to take risks and not to cleave to textbooks.”

“Indeed,” Hermione jumped when Severus appeared at her elbow, “if you go to the storeroom, Miss Bowen, you will find a modest supply of freshwater pearls produced from abalone on the third shelf to the left. You may use them to test your theory. Apprentice Granger will supervise your progress.”

Her face lit up as she stepped around her station. “Thank you, Professor.”

As soon as the student was out of earshot, he stooped until his lips hovered near Hermione’s ear, his voice all velvet and heat. “You continually find ways to surprise me, Hermione.”

Goosebumps erupted over her skin as his fingertips brushed the small of her back. “You can’t avoid me forever. I will hunt you down, little one.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, the gland on her neck throbbing insistently, but before she could make any sort of reply, he left her side, crossing the classroom to help a Gryffindor student adjust the flame under his cauldron. Miss Bowen appeared with the jar of freshwater pearls, and Hermione spent the next quarter hour helping her crush them.

The girl looked around the room anxiously. Most of her classmates had already finished their potions and were chattering about how their amortentia smelled of chocolate or perfume or leather, and in the case of one Hufflepuff boy, tires and paint. A few of the more disinterested students had already decanted their potion for grading.

Hermione placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let them rush you. Research often requires patience, and you’re doing wonderfully.”

Miss Bowen looked up at her gratefully as she tipped the pearl dust, the final ingredient, into the brew. The moment she stirred the resulting potion, Hermione could tell that something was amiss. The pearlescent sheen came as no surprise, but the mixture was glossy in a way that reminded her of nail polish. The steam rose in characteristic spirals, but the columns spun around each other in a bizarre double helix.

Hermione had just enough time to grab the edge of the work table when the scent hit her. Silver birch wood smoke filled her nose as strongly as if a bonfire had blazed to life in the middle of the classroom. Thyme and sage followed close behind it, settling on the back of her tongue until she could taste them. 

She’d just caught the barest hint of linen and parchment when her knees finally buckled, her palms smacking loudly against the flagstones as she tried to break her fall. The nape of her neck burned mercilessly. Even the feeling of her cold hands on the swollen gland wasn’t enough to ease the pain.

“Professor!” Miss Bowen called, crouching down next to her. “I think something’s wrong with Apprentice Granger!”

Before Hermione could protest that she was alright, strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her trembling form to her feet. He tugged her roughly against him, one arm supporting her waist while the other kept her cheek pressed to his wool coat.

In spite of the general din, his voice was remarkably calm. “Class dismissed. A foot of parchment due next class on legislation governing the ethical use of amortentia on human subjects.”

The students groaned at the extra homework, but they were eager to take advantage of the early dismissal to find a good seat for the mid-morning Quidditch match. Most students deposited their potions on his desk and fled before their professor could change his mind, but two of the Slytherin boys lingered, their nostrils flaring and pupils dilating as they stalked toward Hermione.

Severus flicked his wrist, stunning both of the students as though he were batting away a fly. Miss Bowen was crying as she turned off the flame under her cauldron with shaking hands. Hermione was surprised when Severus placed a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“This is not your fault, Miss Bowen.”

“I poisoned her,” she sobbed.

“You did no such thing. Your potion is stronger than the usual amortentia, but it isn’t inherently a danger to anyone. Miss Granger has a medical condition that makes her more sensitive to smells and other stimuli.”

“So–so I didn’t hurt her?” she sniffled.

“No, you didn’t harm her, but I do need your help. Use the floo in my office to go to the infirmary and ask Poppy to bring two suppressants for the students I stunned. Then find the Headmistress and tell her that the symptoms I expressed concerns about are indeed what I suspected. She will know what that means. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir!” She rose and sprinted for the floo.

Severus waited until he was sure she was gone before turning his attention to Hermione again. “We need to get you to your rooms, Hermione.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I think you need to go too.”

His grip on her tightened. “Are you mad, witch? Why would I leave the woman I want to be my omega alone during her first heat?”

Omega.

The word rang a distant bell for Hermione. She’d learned more about strange pureblood practices during her desperate search for information about horcruxes than she had during her entire first six years at Hogwarts. Alphas and omegas were a result of a genetic mutation, one that occurred more frequently in pureblood families because of their tendency to marry within the Sacred Twenty-Eight. 

“I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“There are substances that can cause genetic changes. Maledictus venom is one of them. I told Minerva that I suspected that Bellatrix’s blade had been dipped in it when she attacked you.”

“Does that mean Arthur Weasley–”

“No. He received the antivenom quickly after Nagini attacked him.”

“So…you’re an…alpha.”

The word felt like syrup on her tongue, and she felt the odd urge to repeat it.

Long fingers gripped her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. “Your alpha, if you would have me.”

Her temper flared, temporarily overruling her body’s demand to press herself against him. “Do you expect me to believe that when you rejected me two days ago?”

A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you didn’t want to behave rashly, as though the only way that you would ever be with me was if you did it on impulse. Better to avoid a decision you'd no doubt regret.”

He huffed angrily. “That is not what I meant. I didn’t want to act on my own desires at your expense. I wanted you to understand what was happening to you before you decided if you wish to accept my offer.” 

He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “Don’t you understand, Hermione? I’ve missed you.”

Her voice trembled, unable to hide the note of betrayal in her voice. “You didn’t reach out to me over the summer. I thought you hated me.”

“I’m sorry. I was ashamed that I’d pushed you away, and I was afraid that I’d ruin my chance at any sort of relationship with you if I contacted you too soon after my abominable behavior. I thought it best to wait until I could speak with you in person. I’d intended to take my time with you, to show you support and friendship before I made you aware of my affection, but when you started showing signs of presenting as an omega, I decided to confess.”

“Confess what?” she whispered.

“That being near you was what kept me going in St. Mungo’s when my future was so uncertain, that the moment you sat next to me in the faculty meeting was the first time I’ve felt content in months, that I want to court you, to woo you–”

He crowded her space again, purring in her ear. “To mark you, to claim you, to stuff your little cunt full with my knot until your belly is swollen with my child and all of our students and colleagues know that Minerva’s little apprentice is getting right and properly fu–”

His confession ended in a muffled groan when Hermione climbed him, wrapping her legs around his waist and pressing her lips to his. His fingers dug into her arse as he stumbled to the fireplace, nearly knocking over Miss Bowen’s amortentia in the process. He locked his classroom with a flick of his wrist, leaving the floo open behind them for Poppy to tend to his two immobilized Slytherins.

Hermione was already clawing at his shoulders by the time he stepped through the floo into her sitting room, her nose nuzzling his ear. “Severus…Alpha…”

He spared an admiring glance at her library before carrying her to her bedroom. She looked at her unmade bed in panic when he placed her on her feet. “It’s not ready. I could never get it to smell right.”

“It’s alright,” he crooned softly. “We’ll make it alright. We’ll build it together.”

He unbuttoned the two buttons of his teaching robes, chuckling when she batted his hands away to take up the task herself. He pulled his arms from the sleeves, allowing her to tug the billowing garment off his shoulders. He loosened the buckles of his boots, placing them neatly next to her wardrobe. 

Hermione gave a contented sigh as she tangled his robes with her own quilt and sheets. 

“Better?” he asked behind her.

She rushed back to him, her deft fingers plucking the buttons of his frock coat open. “Better, but still not ready. I need your linen.”

He gave her a puzzled look as she stuffed his frock coat haphazardly between layers of throw pillows. “My linen?”

She returned to him again, burying her nose in his dress shirt and stroking the bit of chest hair that peeked over the collar. “Yes. I want what you keep hidden beneath all these layers, that subtle smell of starch and lavender.”

“I iron them myself every week. I suppose I’ve never paid much attention to the smell.”

“Well, I’ve been smelling it every time I’ve been near you, and it’s taken everything in me not to peel off all your layers until I found the source of it.” She gave a sharp tug, sending his buttons skittering across the floor. He shucked off the shirt to join the rest of his garments in their makeshift nest.

Once she’d tucked his shirt under her pillow at the head of the bed, she turned to face him, almost shy now that she was ready to receive him. “I–I think it’s ready.”

He flicked his fingers, sending his trousers, along with her jumper and leggings to her wardrobe and leaving them both bare. He smirked smugly. “Now it’s ready.”

The smirk quickly fell away when she turned her back to him, moving her curly mane over one shoulder and exposing her neck. A strangled moan tore from her throat as he hauled her back against him. He nibbled teasingly at the throbbing gland at her nape.

“Is this what you want, Hermione? To be my little omega? To let me breed you like a good girl?”

She reached behind her, tangling her fingers in his hair. “Yessss,” she hissed. “Please, Severus!”

The beak of his nose dragged teasingly over the swollen flesh. “Last chance…”

She gave his hair a hard tug. “Are you going to claim me this time, or were those just hollow words?”

A keening cry pierced the air as his teeth crushed her gland. Blood poured over her neck and down her back. She slumped in his arms, a pained whimper escaping on every exhale. He lapped at the back of her neck, cleaning up the blood and soothing the wound. 

When the sounds of her discomfort subsided, he stooped down to whisper in her ear. “Up on the bed now, my little omega.”

Hermione scrambled to follow his instructions, instinctively positioning herself on her hands and knees. The mattress dipped as he knelt behind her. His fingers curled around her ribs, stroking up her sides before gripping her biceps.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Hermione, but I need you more like this–”

He pulled hard on her arms, pulling her down until she was on her elbows, her face pressed to the pile of pillows and garments. She sucked in a breath, their combined smells overwhelming every other sensation until she felt Severus’ hair tickling her arsecheeks. His thumbs pressed her labia wide, and she heard him suck in a sharp breath.

“Severus?”

“You’re being such a good girl for me. Try to hold still for me now while I bring your slick.”

Her brow furrowed at the unfamiliar term, but she had precious little time to consider the matter before Severus’ tongue was dragging through her drenched folds. He gave her one long lick before he zeroed in on her clit. Her fingers dug into their nest as the tip of his tongue battered her clit.

“Alpha…please…”

She squirmed against him, desperate for more pressure, but her writhing stopped the instant he delivered a sharp smack to her arsecheek. “I told you to hold still, omega. I’m going to feast on this little cunt until you give me what I need to fuck you properly.”

She turned her head in an effort to see him over her shoulder, her temper holding her lust-addled thoughts at bay long enough to glare at him. “I’m wet enough. You’re just being a tease now.”

Her mouth fell open, a guttural groan clawing its way up her throat when he slipped two fingers inside her. He hooked his fingertips down, stroking vigorously as his tongue returned to her clit. A cramp-like pressure built low in her belly, fear rising at the unfamiliar feeling. She fought to stave off her orgasm, the strange bubble threatening to burst if she gave into her pleasure.

“Severus, I think something might be wrong. There’s pressure–”  

“Nothing’s wrong, Hermione. Let it come.”

He wrapped his lips around her clit, suckling on the abused bud until she shattered beneath him. She trembled as slick surged from her body, bathing Severus’ chin and dripping onto the sheets beneath them. An embarrassed flush crawled up her neck, but Severus gave a hum of approval.

“Look at the mess you’ve made for me.”

She squeaked in surprise when he flipped her onto her back. He reared back on his heels, pulling her across the bed until her arse was perched on his thighs. “Eyes on me, witch. I want to look at you while I knot you.”

A second wave of slick poured from her at the sight of his heavy cock nestled between her thighs, his glistening glans dripping precum into the thicket of her pubic hair. He took himself in hand, stroking his already erect shaft until the skin was pulled taut over the prominent veins. His dextrous fingers dragged over her cunt, coating himself in her slick.

Her mouth fell open, her fingernails digging into his forearms as he pressed inside her. “Alpha…”

“I know, my little omega. I know it’s uncomfortable being stretched over my cock, but you can take me. You can take everything I have to give you, can’t you?”

Her lip trembled. “Yes…”

He surged forward with a snap of his hips. She reached for him, needing to feel him against her as her body struggled to adjust to the burning stretch. He rested his weight on his elbows as he rocked against her, his clever tongue distracting her from the painful intrusion. She wrapped her arms around him, stroking his shoulders and down the length of his back.

He shivered with pleasure under her touch, his gaze turning ravenous as he fought the urge to rut mindlessly. “When I left St. Mungo’s, I promised myself that when I saw you again, I’d give you everything…anything you wanted.”

“I want you, Severus.”

He chuckled darkly. “You already have me. What else?”

She bit her bottom lip. “Your knot, Alpha. Please…”

His languid thrusts found purpose at the breathy plea, the pace increasing until he was pistoning into her. Her head tossed and turned, her bushy mane thrashing over the pillow as he bottomed out with each thrust. The feeling of her pebbled nipples dragging over his chest and the lewd, squelching sound of her slick as she offered herself up to the brutal pounding urged him on, the telltale swelling of his knot beginning at the base of his cock.

Hermione seemed to realize the development as well. “Breed me,” she barely managed to choke out through the litany of her stuttering whines.

He growled, his restraint in tatters as his knot swelled, flooding her with his cum before the bulbous knot stoppered her completely. She wrapped her arms around his neck, locking her heels at his back as he shuffled them under the covers. He arranged her so that she was resting on top of him. 

They lay quietly for several minutes as they recovered. Severus’ bark of laughter finally broke the silence when Hermione’s hand slipped between them, her eager fingers skating over the place where his knot protruded beneath her skin. His mirth quickly morphed into a groan when she squeezed around him, milking more of his cum from his captive cock.

“Insatiable minx,” he muttered.

 She tilted her chin, grinning up at him cheekily. “You did offer me everything.”

He glanced down to where her fingers were still stroking over his knot. “I did, and I don’t regret it.”

Her grin widened to a bright smile. “Nor do I.”

She’d just dropped her head to his chest drowsily when the prowling cat of Minerva’s patronus entered the room, taking a seat at the end of her bed and staring at them imperiously. “I really should have anticipated this would happen the moment I saw the two of you passing each other notes like smitten teenagers.”

They could hear the barely concealed mirth in spite of her scolding tone. “As happy as I am for the two of you, if you think this development gets you out of your night patrol, you are sorely mistaken. Pomona, Filius, and I will cover your classes and patrol this week, but the two of you will have the pleasure of the evening rounds every weekend for the entire term.”

Hermione groaned as the glowing tabby bounded from the room. “Patrol for an entire term? That hardly seems fair,” she complained.

He reached down to squeeze her arse. “Just look at it this way. You’ll have the distinction of being the only witch to be knotted in every single alcove in Hogwarts.”

She looked up at him wide-eyed. “All of them? But you showed me dozens of nooks.”

He gave her a leering grin, his gaze turning distinctly predatory. “I did promise to give you everything.”