This is not supposed to exist, like at all. But last night I couldn't sleep and this was born after word sprints. There's a lot of it written already, and if it seems to update slowly, I know. But I'm letting you know at the very beggining that updates might be slow. It's Alpha/Beta/Omega without creatures, so that being said, all of the things that come with it: mating cycles, knotting, etc. they're all here. Not yet obviously, but soon.
Canon divergence - Voldemort died in the first Wizarding World. That's all you need to know really. No triggers. Leave me what you think for when I wake up! As per normal with my smut stories, the cover is on my tumblr at mrsren96 because they would definitely ban my account.
She hated it, every last sodding bit of it.
Here she was, dubbed the Brightest Witch of Her Age after graduating from Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with top honors. If it weren't cruel enough to be singled out for her blood status, she found herself at the bottom of yet another totem pole. A fucking omega as her awful luck would have it. It wasn't impossible to hide her designation.
No, they had suppressants for that, handy medications called blockers to block your heats. Yet when she had presented at sixteen in Hogwarts, there had been no way for her to know why it felt like she was catching fire from the inside out. There was no magical register for someone to have sat her down and explained to her that this wasn't changeable.
There were three tiers in this hierarchy, one that she had a million objections to. Who were the Fates to decide that should be a perfect woman to bare the children of an Alpha? No, fuck that. Hermione wanted to scream as Madam Pomfrey had sat her down, giving her the proper medications.
The designations of her classmates once they presented, were common knowledge. Unsurprisingly, Harry was an Alpha, and Ron, a Beta. It was another thing that had caused a rift between them. Hermione could pass as a Beta, albeit a small one, but no one inside of Hogwarts had realized what was right under their noses for months.
Until again, Madam Pomfrey stuck her nose where it didn't belong. The school's healer claimed that Hermione dosage was much too high. There wasn't an Omega in recent history that would have been provided the level she had, and so Hermione had trusted the woman.
It was a fucking mistake. Her heat hit her within two weeks, and every hot blooded Alpha inside the castle knew. Harry's invisibility cloak hadn't given her enough cover as she crept back to Gryffindor Tower one night. The wispy fabric was ripped right over her head, and she feared the worst as heat pooled in her knickers. Coming face to face with a blinking Neville Longbottom - her friend, the remnants of her self control snapped.
Neville was her friend; he would undoubtedly keep her safe, and as she latched onto him, sending them tumbling into the wall of the corridor, he hadn't complained. His arms were strong around her and she hadn't even minded the mindless thoughts, and later words spilling from her lips of "Alpha, Alpha,"
Looking back, she was still a bit mortified, but nonetheless, he'd gotten her through the heat that threatened to burn her alive. Headmaster Dumbledore had concocted a lie on the spot, revealing to the students that there was an extremely dangerous plant in the Herbology classroom, and that the pair of them had been rushed to St. Mungos for treatment. When the truth of it all was that he fucked her for three days straight in the Room of Requirement.
By the time she had revealed her designation to Ron, and Harry, she was quickly approaching the beginning of her relationship with Ron. Graduating Hogwarts together, it had seemed like her world was looking up. Until the next heat, which followed in eight months. It was painful to think about: how Ron had tried to please her, but now that she knew what it was like with an Alpha, there was no comparison.
It was the day he'd blasted the kitchen of the Burrow nearly to bits, the day he'd learned that her virginity had been taken by their friend, and it was also the day they broke it off. Hermione hadn't wanted the Weasley family to know her designation, but it was hard to avoid when they stood in the sitting room while a war raged between their youngest son and herself.
It had been a year since then, and for better or worse, her friendship with Ronald Weasley was strained. At most functions he could barely stand to look at her, and he still wouldn't speak to Neville. Another thing she'd taken upon herself to apologize profusely for. It didn't matter to Ron that Neville was married, and mated to Luna Lovegood, who was also an Omega.
Ginny couldn't understand the woes of her designation like Luna could, but Hermione loathed being around the blonde too much. She always offered her husband up on a silver platter and Hermione shooed her out of her flat before her primal instincts could consider it.
Her heat would be soon, likely within two weeks, and after giving her boss a discreet notice Hermione flooed home from the Ministry. "Ginny?" She asked, stepping out of the green flames. Her hand had flown to the spot over her heart. "Merlin, you scared me."
The redhead grinned while sitting comfortably on the edge of her sofa. "Sorry about that," she replied, scratching the back of her head. "I just got done with the Harpies, and I wanted to talk to you before I went home. I haven't been here long."
Hermione tugged her scarf from her neck, draping it over the chair across from Ginny. "A floo call would have sufficed. You didn't have to come so far out of your way." Hermione kicked her heels off, sinking into the plush chair. "Well, what did you want to talk about?"
"Well," Ginny broke off, looking away. "I don't want you to get mad at me because I just want to help." Hermione nodded. "You mentioned that you would be taking a leave in two weeks. I assume that it's because of, ah," a red tinge rose to her cheeks.
Hermione pitied her. "Yes, my heat is coming up. I'm going to lock myself inside my flat, and fuck myself until the miserable time ends." She didn't even bat an eyelash during that sentence.
"Okay," she rose her hands in mock defense, which was comical because he quidditch gear would deflect most spells. "I know what you're going to tell me."
"Oh? You do? Then help me understand why you're trying to discuss my heat with me, Ginny. It's not exactly at the top of my list to talk about with anyone. It's my business." Hermione finished hotly, crossing her arms.
"Have you heard about what Luna is doing?" Ginny blurted, letting her arms down. "She's started a matchmaking business, and from the looks of things, it's going rather well. The charms she's set in place are-"
"Are you trying to tell me you'd like to visit a matchmaker?" Hermione scoffed. "Absolutely not. Ginny, I know that you want to help, but I-"
"It's not just a matchmaking service, Hermione." She chewed on her bottom lip. "There's another face to the operation, but it requires more discretion. Luna is an Omega as well, so she knows how difficult it can be. The other service it strictly for Omegas to find a compatible match in an Alpha, so they can get through their heat."
"I'm sure she'll have a very lucrative business, Omega designation or not." Hermione bit out. "I don't want to just hook up with some arsehole Alpha so I can get fucked, Ginny. I hate being like this, and there's nothing I can do to change it. The least I can have it the peace of mind knowing I'm not going to beg someone to mark me as their own."
"Hermione, it's nothing set in stone. You don't even meet your match right away. Luna has owls that are used to deliver letters between the two of you, strictly for this so they can't know who you are. Just..just give it a try. Luna can come here to perform the spell, and it's already been tested,"
"I would hope so!" Hermione cut her off.
"So, you wouldn't have to worry." Ginny finished.
And that's the story of how she was coerced into what was basically an Alpha/Omega dating service. Which if she wanted to be truthful, and she so rarely was, it was the beginning of everything.
The first letter she sent was extremely simple, and to the point.
If you are receiving this I assume I don't need to explain myself. A dear friend of mine convinced me to do this when I didn't want to, but my heat is in roughly a week. If you are the stereotypical Alpha, need not reply to this. In fact, burn the letter and I can pretend this isn't happening at all.
The x seemed like too much, but given the harshness of her letter, and that she wouldn't leave her name, it remained and she sent it with a snowy owl. She watched it flap away from her window sill. Settling into bed, she didn't expect for a reply at all, but half an hour later, the same owl pecked at her window.
She padded across the floor of her bedroom, opening the window, and letting Tink inside. Hermione opened the letter carefully, sitting at the foot of her bed while crossing her legs.
Well, hello to you then.
If by stereotypical Alpha, you mean I'm possessive, then yes. I suppose that comes with the territory - no pun intended. I'm well in control of my faculties however. You said your heat cycle is nearly on you, so I can't help but wonder why you're so abrasive? I would think one would be looking for a solution.
That fucking letter warmed her, and she could smell cologne on his letter. He smelled of a fireplace, and of musk. Hermione imagined a man, faceless of course, sitting in front of a roaring fire. In her imagination that already sprinted away from her, she envisioned someone dressed in nice trousers, and a white button up shirt while his sleeves were rolled up to expose his forearms.
Whoever this Alpha was, he was intelligent, and the careful wording of his letter was more than she had expected at all. Hermione plucked a quill from her bedside table, laying on her stomach while writing on the table.
I didn't expect a reply.
So if my 'abrasive' attitude hasn't put you off yet, maybe you're worth talking to afterall. I know that the service will stick closer to my age, perhaps a year off, or two. It's safe to say that you've graduated Hogwarts. So forgive me, sir, because I was afraid that this sham of a service would pair me with Cormac McLaggen.
It's clear that you aren't him. Why would I not beg you to take me on every single surface in my flat? Because I never wanted this, to be an Omega, to be a the perfect baby conceiving machine. Is that so hard to believe? My solutions thus far has been my own fingers, and that's how I plan to get through this heat. Just like all of the others.
Satisfied, Hermione slipped the letter beneath the owl's fluffy wing, and sat at the edge of her bed once more. She had the inkling that Tink would be back shortly, and the first warning sign should have been that she was willing to stay awake.
Yes, I would be rather appalled if Cormac McLaggen had been your match. You seem too intelligent to be a match for him. He'd need someone he could see as beneath him, and that wouldn't be you.
It's not hard to believe. I'm not surprised that you loathe it so. Your fingers though? They can't possibly reach deep enough inside of your swollen cunt to give you the release you crave. Only I could do that, love. How many heats have you gone through like that?
Have you ever had an Alpha fuck you? Have you ever felt his knot?
Forgive me, I suppose I'm abrasive as well.
She should have trashed the letter, but she set it inside of her bedside table. Hermione should have been horrified, but no. That hadn't been her reaction at all. This man, whoever he was, had caused her to ruin a perfectly good pair of knickers from a measly paragraph. Hermione should not have replied, but she stayed awake under the lit candle and wrote a reply.
I presented at sixteen, and I'm twenty two now. I've only had one heat with an Alpha, and it was my first. It was uncontrollable at the time. I typically have two heats per year, so that would be nine heat cycles I've spent alone?
There's never been anyone. I had a boyfriend, but after having an Alpha, it was harder to be with him during my heat. He dumped me after he learned who I'd slept with, and it's been like this ever since.
Yes, I felt his knot, and when I did, I begged him to mark me.
And that's why I hate being an Omega; I can't control what I say. If it were you, this stranger I've barely met, would you have done me the same courtesy? Or would you have claimed me as your own Omega?
Rest assured, that I will never mark an Omega unless we've discussed it. It's as binding as marriage, and far too serious of a choice to make when I'm quite literally fucking you into the mattress while you try to muffle your screams.
So, no, even if you did beg me while sweet whimpers fell from your lips, I'd never lay a hand on you in such a way. I'd fill you with my cock and my come.
And if an Alpha has ever tried to claim you without your express permission, please direct him to me and I will handle the rest.
I would rather hex him into oblivion myself, actually. I might not be handy in a physical altercation, but I assure you that my wand work is probably better than the poor soul's who decided to mark me.
Tell me, do you talk to each Omega you meet like that?
Not that you can see me, but I'm laughing. The only time I have spent only conversing with an Omega is right now, with you. I've been with only one, and it was out of necessity. A close friend of mine couldn't make it through on her own, and her parents chose her partner. It was awkward for both of us.
You intrigue me, and I can't help but wonder how my words affect you. Are you wet? Are you rubbing your thighs together? You're completely in your right state of mind at the moment, aren't you?
Do I make you uncomfortable?
Hermione's chest rose and fell with each shallow breath. This wasn't her heat; no, this was something else entirely. Tugging her shirt over her head, she lied across her bed with her nipples rubbing against her cool sheets. She hadn't put another pair of knickers on, and hesitantly, she slid her fingers through her folds, rubbing her clit just barely. Her cunt was soaked for him, from a few letters and she wanted to scrawl her address. It was terrifying.
No, but you should.
Of course I've been attracted to others, just to be clear, but you..you pull reactions from me that are more than just because of our designations. That worries me, but uncomfortable? Not in the sense that I want you to stop.
More like I'm uncomfortable waiting for this fucking owl to bring me letters because I feel like I might die of anticipation. And that, that has never happened to me.
I suppose Lovegood, or Longbottom, whatever she chooses to go by now, did promise a perfect result. Perhaps that's it, because all I know is that the smell of you is all over this letter. And it drives me fucking crazy.
You smell of vanilla and sweat, and the sweet scent of you makes me yearn to know what you would taste like if I spread your legs, if I lowered my mouth to your pussy. I'd love to have you trembling around me while you're begging me to take you. I just want to bury myself inside of you.
So I supposed we're both out of our comfort zones, because I never felt this strongly about my friend. During yes, there's nearly no controlling that, but after? I couldn't get away from her fast enough.
The body wash I use is vanilla. I'm sweating because it's almost as if the cooling charms in my flat are broken. I can't stop sweating, and I've had to shuck my clothes. It might be your fault, because I'm dripping.
Slide your fingers into your cunt, sweetheart and rub your fingers across the letter. I want to taste you.
With trembling hands, Hermione rested with her back against the headboard, and slid her hand down her stomach, dipping her fingers between her folds. She nearly backed out, her cheeks flaming at what she was doing, but she did as he had told her.
It wasn't because he was an Alpha though, she told herself desperately. It wasn't that at all.
I don't know how I taste, but what I do know is that I'm completely fucked. I've never needed to come so badly in my life. What the fuck have you done to me? Did you bewitch me as soon as I opened your first letter?
If I knew who you were, I would fuck you until you forgot your own name, love. You taste fucking sublime. All I can think of is your legs over my shoulders while I eat your cunt.
Make yourself come for me. Take your fingers, and rub your clit. They're too small to be mine, but imagine yourself with your back to my chest while I stroke your sensitive nub, my other arm locked over your chest while you writhe against me. I want you to come over your pretty fingers, and I want you to scream.
No matter who can hear you. And while you do that, I'll stroke my cock while I wonder how tight you would feel while my cock split you open. Gods, I hope you want to feel your pussy stretch around me.
Don't reply until you've come for me, and let me taste you once you have.
It didn't take much, only a few swipes of her fingers as Hermione imagined a man, caging her with his own body, his rough fingers sliding inside of her while she begged for more. It was the fantasy of straddling him, of impaling herself on his cock that made pushed her over the edge. She shrieked, her hand staying firmly on her breast even though she wanted to cover her mouth.
Sliding her fingers across the paper, she sat anxiously for what would return.
I know you must have been going to bed when you owled me, so I want you to go to sleep. When you wake up, there will be a letter from me. As I seemingly can't wait to talk to you again.
When you dream, dream of me thrusting into you. With you pinned to the wall, from behind while I grip your hips.
If there's a chance for me to earn the chance to take care of you through your heat, I will do everything in my power to make all of these words your reality.
Hermione fell asleep, dreaming of a man that she couldn't see, but could feel every inch of as she rocked against him.
And she wondered if somewhere in England, this man went to sleep thinking of her, and the taste of her on his lips. It was her hope that there would be a letter waiting for her tomorrow morning.