Chapter Text
Despite Severus Snape’s attempt to discredit Harry, Hogwarts went on as normal.
The first task neared, and everyone was buzzing with excitement, the cloak of anticipation shrouding the students with burning enthusiasm for the upcoming trial between the two most powerful Slytherin alphas of their year.
Draco Malfoy, the heir of House Malfoy, pureblood, handsome and an extremely desired bachelor.
And Tom Riddle, a dark genius who excelled in every subject, said to be the greatest student Hogwarts had ever seen since Albus Dumbledore.
Harry found himself smiling madly as he headed towards the Alphas’—and male betas’—Dormitory. Marcus Flint, a Prefect of Slytherin, didn’t stop him when they crossed paths, merely giving him a foxy greeting and a sly smile.
“Mornin’, Potter,” Flint said. “Off on a morning visit today?”
“Yes—I hope you don’t mind.” Harry shot him a timid smile, making sure he looked as bashful as possible. “I have something to tell Tom—”
“Of course not,” Flint quickly added. “Just make sure Farley doesn’t see you. That girl is a lot less lenient—” Then he asked Harry if he needed directions, but Harry had swiftly refused his help because he already knew where it was. Flint had given him a suggestive smile, as if he knew why. (Pansy had told him as an off-hand remark when she had complained about how Daphne refused her offer to sneak her in because of how much their room reeked. Tom was in the same dorm as Corvus Lestrange, Felix Rosier, Alexei Avery, and Antonin Dolohov—engraved with a silver ‘1’ on its door—, while his dearest brother was in another with Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Lucian Mulciber and her, Pansy Parkinson—But Marcus Flint didn’t need to know all of that.)
Harry swiftly found his intended target, the corridors quiet and empty from the early morning.
He unlocked the door with a wandless ‘Alohomora’ and kicked it open, waking up its bleary resident and barely giving the alphas in the room any time to appropriately dress themselves before throwing himself on Tom’s bed.
Everyone stared at him, shocked, including Tom, who looked at him with the same wide eyes as his peers. Harry thought the expression looked charming on him.
Tom, with his hair sweetly tousled from sleep and his cool figure stripped of its usual frigidness, was the first to recover. He blinked at Harry suspiciously before begrudgingly giving him some space on the bed, a space Harry happily took. (It wasn’t as if it had been the first time regardless.)
“By the look in your eyes, I know you’re dying to say something,” Tom said, his voice scratchy and nearly guttural. Despite himself, Harry found himself flushing, a delightful shudder shooting through his spine. It was a natural reaction, of course. What omega would be immune to an alpha who sounded like that ?
“Aww, you know me so well, Tommy boy! I’m flattered.” Corvus snorted, but quickly shut his mouth when Tom shot him a glare. “I know what the first task is—you have to retrieve the egg of a basilisk.”
Tom looked at him dubiously, still frazzled by his surprise visit. “Do I want to know how you know this?”
“Viktor told me early this morning,” Harry explained eagerly. “Karkaroff shared it with him last night.”
“Does your little boyfriend know you’re spying for the enemy?” Tom drawled.
Harry smirked at him. “Darling, if you think he doesn’t, then you’re an idiot,” he said, wrapping a hand around Tom’s bicep, hard muscles rippling beneath the sleeve. “You should never underestimate the enemy.”
“So, he told you with the intention to let me know?” he said, his tone almost indulgent. Harry would like to believe it was. “His opponent ?” He hummed—though, it was nothing more than a deep rumble that blossomed from his broad chest. “If there’s an idiot in this school, it is him.”
“You’re so full of yourself, Tom,” Harry purred. “What makes you think he sees you as a threat? What if he simply sees you as the Mudblood weak link? What if he’s simply being kind by offering you an olive branch?”
It was a bait. An obvious one. Harry barely hid it. And they both knew it. Because of course Tom knew; he wasn’t a bloody idiot. If he had been one, Harry would have long broken him.
So, Tom didn’t rise to it.
“Ah,” he hummed. “I see now—this was never about me.” His lips quirked into that handsome, devilish smirk of his. “It seems your lover is just desperate for your attention once more.”
“Jealous?” Harry teased.
Tom scoffed, entirely unimpressed. “ Sweetheart .” He tugged at Harry’s ear. “We both know that when it comes to it, you’d choose me .”
Harry stilled, his breath hitching and his traitorous heart even skipping a beat. He could feel his cheeks burn.
Harry nuzzled against Tom’s shoulder, rubbing his nose against the exposed skin there until he knew Tom probably reeked of him.
Oh, how Harry wished to tear him limb from limb, pick his entrails apart and pluck his eyeballs from its sockets like the delicate petals of a flower. His blood would taste so sweet on his tongue.
(He fucking hated how he couldn’t even refute Tom’s claim.)
“Awww, you’re learning!” Harry squealed, shoving himself closer to the (his) alpha’s side until no one could separate them from one another.
Thrill dug into his skin, setting his fingertips and feet on fire until he was burning with the urge to ruin Tom Riddle for everyone else. He was playing with hellfire and the fool didn’t even know it.
(Just how he liked his alphas.)
Tom sighed, but he didn’t push Harry away, completely oblivious to the calamity before him. “Merlin, save me.”
A week passed, then two, yet only silence greeted Hermione. It was a soft quiet, it wasn’t an uneasy stillness nor threatening hush, just a gentle lullaby to lull a baby to sleep. Days came and went with neither peep nor sound from Harry, as though that disastrous night had only happened in her head, as if she could conjure up something so vitriolic.
Every time she woke up in the mornings, she had half-expected for Lavender, Parvati, Katie or Kellah to jump at her throat for managing to attract the Draco Malfoy’s interest, when not even their more ‘prestigious’ blood could stir a hairsbreadth of interest. Every morning as she broke her fast and caught sight of the Weasleys’ infamous red hair, she would shrink, expecting to see betrayal in their eyes. Every class the Gryffindors shared with the Slytherins, she expected the serpents’ ridicule and contempt… but there was nothing but the usual sneer besetting their features whenever she came their way. Ron still came to her side every day, ranting and complaining about something, be it school or Slytherin-related. Ginny, with Luna in her arms, still beckoned her closer when she sat alone. Alphard still scowled at everyone who commented on Hermione’s ‘dirty blood’.
Hermione saw Harry Potter often—more than she would have liked. They shared many classes, but Harry barely gave her the slightest cursory glance, his green eyes unseeing and his soft but elegant features uninterested. Exactly as normal. It was almost like he had said nothing, his warning like a menacing ghost hanging over her.
However, despite it all, as the Triwizard Tournament’s First Task neared, Hermione found comfort in the unknowing silence, stealing away most midnights to meet with Draco and throwing cheeky glances at him when she knew nobody was looking. And for a moment, everything went back to what it was… but of course, she should have known better than to trust the calm before the storm.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was one of the many subjects Hermione excelled at, and one of the few she greatly enjoyed. Professor Lupin was an excellent teacher and an even better person. He was strict when needed, never tolerating bigotry and shutting down any insult the purebloods might throw at her. But most of all, he was fair and kind. Hermione could see where Alphard inherited his compassion from.
The Gryffindors had shared DADA with the Slytherins since her first years, and they would share it again with them next year too, no doubt about it. Hermione had never minded. Since her first year, she had learned how to ignore them, their jeers, their vile smirks, their mocking stares. And as years passed, as their interest waned, it became all too easy to just not care. That was, of course, until…
“Granger,” a smooth voice beckoned, lilting and pleasant, like a siren’s song. And Hermione froze almost immediately, her every movement almost robotic as she turned towards the monster in her nightmares.
Harry patted the empty seat on his right. As always, he was immaculately dressed, his black hair unruly in a way that made him look cute rather than messy, his poison green eyes like acid on her skin and his mouth quirked in a small genial grin. To everyone else, the smile crossing her cupid’s lips was perfectly friendly, sweet even. But to Hermione, the sweetness was too saccharine; it made her teeth ache.
Her stomach dropped to her feet.
From behind her, Daphne came striding in and deliberately knocked her shoulder against hers.
“Hey!” Ron called out, always in Hermione’s defense. “Watch where you’re going!”
Daphne barely spared him a glance, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a slow, disdainful smirk as she turned to Hermione. “It’s rude to let a pureblood omega heir wait, you know, Granger .” Daphne spat out Hermione’s name like it was a curse on her thorn-bred tongue, something foul that tainted her barbed mouth just by speaking it. Then, with a low whisper, she said, “You’ve been ordered, so obey it, mutt.”
“Shove it, Greengrass,” Harrison cut in, elbowing her away from Hermione.
Daphne’s lips curled into a sneer. “Snape,” she greeted with a scoff. “You’re an omega too—regardless of how Quidditch you insist on; one would think you’d stand with your own people.”
“What people?” Ron said, “You’re all just a bunch of elitist snakes.” He gave Harry a glare. “And Hermione can sit wherever the hell she wants, she doesn’t have to take orders from—”
“Oh, darling, you weren’t invited to this conversation,” she said, her tone sickly sweet but without the subtlety beneath Harry’s own. “If I wanted a knotless beta’s opinion, I would have asked.” Milicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis tittered and giggled behind her.
Ron bristled, features almost as red as his hair, his raised shoulders ready for a brawl. But Hermione quickly grabbed him.
She shook her head. “It’s not worth it, Ron,” she said with a helpless sigh before making her way towards Harry, ignoring all the curious eyes and Daphne’s delighted grin dogging her. Harry’s lips were still curled into a smile, unflinching and unflappable.
Ron gaped at her as she took the empty seat beside Harry. Hermione didn’t dare meet his eyes, couldn’t find it in herself to even give him a look of reassurance nor the briefest glance of acknowledgement.
She could feel the way his—and Harrison’s, Alphard’s, Neville’s—eyes bored into the side of her head, urging answers she could never give unless she wanted to be all alone, all over again. Hermione was happy, really, at how easily her friends came to her rescue without any hesitation. But it was her that Harry wanted, her in this hellish life, her in a secret affair with Draco Malfoy. And it was only the three of them who knew what had transpired that night.
She couldn’t drag the others into this.
She couldn’t let them know .
She couldn’t let them find out how often she yearned for Draco—his hands, the burn of his scorching skin, his lips, his tongue, his scent…
She couldn’t let them know how she had betrayed them.
She couldn’t be alone.
Not again. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
Professor Lupin mercifully started the class soon after, yelling for the students to stop dawdling and take their proper seats.
He had thrown Harry and Hermione a peculiar glance before he had begun, pausing ever so briefly before turning his attention back to the blackboard behind him with a slight smile.
Like Alphard, Professor Lupin never outright favored Harry over anyone else, expecting the same effort from him as he expected from the others. But Hermione knew that, when it came down to it, Professor Lupin would be hard pressed to choose her over Harry unless he had done something particularly unpleasant. And that had been the problem, wasn’t it? She had seen Harry weave through students and professors alike, most blind to the venom in his words.
If something were to happen, Hermione would have to take the fall for both of them. Whatever rapport she had painstakingly built with the professors for the past six years would be laid to waste.
“You have quite a loyal group of friends,” Harry said lowly, gaze trained forward where Professor Lupin began the day’s topic.
If it had been any other day, she would have already opened a piece of empty parchment, an inkwell poised to the side, quill scratching out words and sentences until she had to open another roll of parchment. But this was not just any other day.
Hermione couldn’t focus, Professor Lupin’s usually magnetic voice a distant murmur, drowned beneath the restless churn of her thoughts. The words on the blackboard blurred at the edges, their meaning slipping through her grasp like sand through parted fingers.
“It’s endearing, really . Adorable even.”
Hermione almost thought she had imagined it, but she couldn’t misread the omega’s mistakable cadence.
“I—what?” she said, and Harry turned the full weight of his attention to her, green eyes falling like a heavy rock on her shoulders.
He hummed. “It’s heartwarming,” he said, “delightful how they defend without so much as another thought.” Scorn shadowed his brilliant eyes, his voice a soft purr. “I wonder, do they know about your… extracurricular activities you do with my baby brother?”
Hermione’s breath hitched, unable to meet his gaze any longer.
She threw a glance over Harry’s shoulder and recoiled almost instantaneously.
The snakes were looking at them—no, not at them , at her , waiting for a chance to strike and sink their venom into her flesh and blood.
Don’t rise to it , she told herself, don’t rise to his jabs. He wants a reaction. Don’t give it to him.
Don’t react.
“Cat got your tongue?” Harry’s claws dug into her skin.
Don’t react.
“You look terrified.” They dug deeper.
Don’t react.
“Why is that?” Deeper.
Don’t react.
“How dry.” Deeper, until blood began to drip, drip, drip . “Most people would tear each other apart for a chance beside him, yet you don’t even give me a single word?”
Hermione took a deep breath. “Where is Riddle?” she finally managed to squeak out, drawing an enigmatic smile from Harry.
It was a genuine question, however. Unless Harry was with Daphne and her posse, Tom Riddle was always by his side. Yet, Tom was nowhere to be found.
Harry cocked his head to the side. “Slytherin prefect duties,” he said easily. “How convenient, no?”
Hermione relaxed her shoulders, unlocking her jaw from where she had set them so tightly they were hurting.
Don’t react. Just breathe.
The only thing that could end her here and now was herself .
“You’re so stiff, Hermione—oh, can I call you that? We are friends , after all, are we not?”
Hermione gritted her teeth. “Of course,” she said tersely, unable to completely eliminate the tenseness that had long lived beneath her skin.
“No, but, really , you’re so jittery,” Harry said, the way his grin contorted into a gnarled smirk betraying his barely hidden amusement. Whatever false concern he had was torn in pieces, his fangs and claws in full view. “One would think you have something against me.”
Don’t react—
“I can’t imagine why,” Hermione couldn’t help but say, her tongue dry and her throat like a desert.
She regretted it the moment the words left her lips. Reckless. Tactless. If only she was not a Gryffindor.
An unsettling silence fell between them like a thick blanket, stretching and lasting for what seemed like eternity. Hermione’s chilly fingers shook, her lips tapping restlessly against the floor as her heart pounded furiously in her chest. Then, suddenly, Harry laughed. Quiet enough to not disrupt class, but loud enough for all the Slytherins to be staring at her in complete bewilderment, just as when they all had expected her downfall.
“You do have a sense of humor!” he said, then a whisper, “and here I thought my brother has ruined you for all you are worth.”
Hermione’s hands curled into fists, but she caught herself before she could say anything she would have regretted.
Don’t react.
Merlin.
“Has anyone told you that you’re rather funny?” he said. “How about this…” A sly, almost conspiratorial smile twisted his lips. “What if I told you what the First Task is?”
Hermione nearly stopped breathing.
“Piqued your interest, didn’t I?” Harry grinned. “The First Task… well, let’s just say a basilisk might be involved.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Hermione finally said, half-whispering.
“Why not? I accidentally sabotaged your plan to make my dearest brother Hogwarts’ true Champion,” he said all cheerfully, as though there wasn’t a beast hiding beneath his skin. But Hermione could practically hear the serpent’s hiss in each spoken word. “It’s only fair, don’t you think?”
Fair . As if there was anything in the world that was fair .
Hermione’s eyebrows narrowed. “What do you want, Potter?”
“What I want?” Harry said, “you’re a smart girl. I just…” A slight smile crossed his lips. “Gave you a push to the right answer. So, I’d wager that you should ask yourself that, Hermione. What do you want?”
Harry didn’t linger the moment class ended, throwing a mercurial smile at her as the other snakes scrambled to be the first one at his side.
Hermione wasn’t an idiot. Really, she had two choices.
Assume Harry’s honesty and pass the information along to Draco, with the added benefit of Harry’s deceptions.
Or.
Assume trickery and not give Draco the unsecure information, and possibly fall into what could only be Harry’s real plan.
Which meant she should tell Draco regardless.
I’d wager that you should ask yourself that, Hermione. What do you want?
“‘Mione!” Ron called out to her, blue eyes dark with weariness and that same-old anger he held right before Hermione had willingly put herself in the maw of the beast. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear if—”
Neville quickly jumped in. “Calm down, mate,” he said hurriedly, though that did nothing to assuage Ron’s indignation. “If Potter had hurt her, we would have seen it.”
“Hermione,” Alphard started, unbothered by the other two, his grey eyes bored into her. “What did you do?” Hermione stilled, his heart hitching to her throat.
“Why are you asking her that ?” Ron barked defensively “That Potter bi—”
“Ron, you’re my friend, but if you finish that bloody sentence, one of us will be sent to Madam Pomfrey’s doorsteps and it won’t be me,” Alphard growled, Ron’s tie in his vice grip.
There was a reason why Alphard Black-Lupin was one of the most sought-after alpha heirs in the entire school, spoken in the same breath as Draco Malfoy and Corvus Lestrange despite his ‘blood-traitor’ ways and ‘dirty blood’. He was dark, tall, handsome; he filled out his Gryffindor robes in all the right places. He was the Captain for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, too smart for his own good, too powerful for even the most cunning Slytherins to touch and the sole heir for House of Black’s many— many —Wizengamot seats, one of the most powerful British wizarding families. Despite Sirius Black’s clear allegiance to the Light, most Dark families still respected him heavily, even when they sneered at his name when his back was turned.
But one thing that distinguished Alphard from the likes of Parkinson, Lestrange, Rosier and Mulciber, was that he never used his status as alpha to intimidate nor to cow others to obedience, never coerced betas to their knees, never forced other alphas to bare their neck in surrender. If Corvus Lestrange got on his nerves, Alphard would humiliate him during Quidditch tournaments. If he saw Lucian Mulciber attempting to frighten ‘weaker’ students into submission, Alphard would only step between them, smile ominously enough for Mulciber to reconsider his choices—often, it worked, but sometimes, it devolved in a fist fight that always ended in Mulciber being thrown in detention by Professor McGonagall ( “It wasn’t me who started it, Professor,” Hermione had once heard Alphard say, “I was only protecting little Colin Creevey here.” He had said those words with such cunning that Hermione found herself wondering why Alphard ended up in Gryffindor and not in Slytherin). He never postured, always able to catch himself and only retaliating when a punch was thrown.
He never used his secondary sex to assert dominance—he never needed to—but the hard lines of his shoulders and frowning mouth made it clear he wasn’t bluffing. Yet… yet , one mention of Harry Potter’s name was enough to send him teetering on the edge of restraint.
Sickly, green envy twisted in her gut.
The tension in the air thickened, magic humming in the space between him and Ron, daring anyone to challenge it. Ron’s jaw clenched, but he swallowed back whatever insult he had been about to hurl. His hands curled into fists at his sides, yet he didn’t make a move to retaliate, merely lowering his head. Surrender.
Alphard, satisfied but not relenting, released his grip and straightened Ron’s tie with a sharp tug before stepping back, a withering glare replacing his scowl.
“I can’t say I always know what goes through his head, but despite what you think, Harry always has a reason for everything he does,” he hissed, his alpha unperturbed by the beta before turning back to Hermione. “Which means, you’ve done something, Hermione. Something to arouse his interest.”
Did Alphard know something?
No.
If he had, he wouldn’t have asked, and Harry had made no indication of having ever revealed what had really transpired that night, nor had he even hung it over her head, not verbally anyway. If anything, he just seemed content to play with the knowledge, her (for now).
Hermione could never tell him anything. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
She swallowed. “Does it matter?” she said, unable to completely lie, not when she knew Alphard would be able to see through it.
The alpha frowned at her answer and then sighed before shaking his head.
Later, much later, Alphard dragged her into a dark corner of an empty hallway.
“I have no idea what you’ve done to end up in this situation;” he said, “and you don’t have to tell me, but Merlin, Hermione. Be very fucking careful.” His grey eyes were bright in the darkness. “Because Harry will eat you alive if you let him.”
Harrison didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. And frankly, he would probably regret this later, but guilt, shame had crippled him.
His father had refused to speak of what happened between him and Harry’s mother, curling his lips at even the slightest mention of Lord Potter’s name, bitter hatred raging in his darkened gaze. When he had owled his mother about it, even she seemed to sidestep the issue; Lily Snape who never backed down from even the unfairest fight, Lily Snape who fought against all odds and made herself a household name in the Department of Mysteries. Harrison knew not to prod whatever the hell made both of his parents so reticent. Not when Hogwarts seemed to just go back to normal, the excitement from the Triwizard Tournament still suffusing the air, undying in students’ nerves.
Like Harrison hadn’t just been crucio-ed just a few weeks before. But honestly, at this point, he didn’t care anymore. Harrison just wanted it to end, and if he had to beg the Queen of Slytherin for forgiveness, he would do it.
As he made his way towards the Slytherin table, trepidation skittered across his arms, crawling into his spine, his neck and his heart in its crushing grip. One wrong move and Harrison knew he would collapse.
“Oh?” someone purred at the sight of him.
Blond. Beautiful. Omega.
Daphne Greengrass.
Harrison ignored her, turning his attention towards the true Queen instead. “Potter.”
The effect was instantaneous.
The entire table fell in hushed silence, the serpents’ conversation petering out like the dying flame of a candle. Eyes flickered towards Harrison, then Harry. Curiosity. Glee. Eager for Harrison’s humiliation, no doubt.
Harry, relaxed as ever, shifted languidly, eyes lazily taking him in as though trying to remember who he was. It was an acknowledgement.
“Harrison Snape, my dear godbrother’s friend .”
Harrison took a deep breath, then with a bowed head, he said, “I’m sorry.”
For the briefest moment, Harry’s half-lidded eyes widened, a short-lived surprise shadowing his bright irises. But its fleeting instant passed as quickly as it came. Harrison would have missed it, if he hadn’t been right in front of Harry.
“Oh?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry for simply standing there and watching as my…” He struggled. “... ‘friends’ beat you down. I won’t make excuses; I will take the blame as I should have done months ago. I don’t expect your forgiveness, but it needed to be said.”
Harry regarded him in silence, whatever softness that had been there when they first met tempered by something Harrison had no hopes of knowing.
A mocking chortle broke the string of tension.
“What was that?” Daphne said, lips curled into a derisive smile. “What a poor attempt at an apology. How pathetic. Do you think groveling at his feet will change what you have done?”
Harrison’s jaw tightened. “I’m not talking to you, Greengrass,” he hissed, shooting her a glare. Daphne Greengrass had been the queen of all the omegas— had been . Now before Harry Potter, she was nothing. And damn her if Harrison loses his chance because of her. “What makes you so special that you think you have the right to speak for Potter?”
From the corner of his eyes, he saw unblinking green eyes following his every move, the way his brows furrowed, how his lips pursed and unpursed. Potter was completely silent, leaning his chin against his delicate hand, his features cool and seemingly uninterested. Like a blank canvas, except it wasn’t blank, its true colors hidden beneath a thin strip of white paint.
Harrison’s heart drummed.
It was almost like Harry was testing him.
Harrison met Harry’s gaze. Green against green. Serpent against lion.
(In some fucked up way, Harrison saw himself within Harry.)
“I meant what I said, Potter,” he said, “I’m sorry. And I don’t blame you for that Cruciatus curse.”
A painful silence stretched between them as Harry stared at him. Still unblinking, his features still frosty and unreadable.
Everyone was watching them. Flanking Harry, Riddle and Lestrange
Harrison kept his arms to his side, biting the urge to clench his fists. Harry would see it and tear him apart . At that point, forget peace; Harrison would ruin himself.
A second passed, then ten, then thirty, until—
Harry’s lips quirked upwards. “Have you eaten, Harrison —no, come sit with us,” he said, all smile and no teeth, ignoring all the bewildered snakes around them. He nudged Corvus Lestrange to the side, urging him to give space and brooking no counter argument against his ‘offer’ (oh, who was Harrison fooling? It wasn’t an offer, it was a command .)
And as he took the available seat, Harrison realized that Merlin, he just avoided a bullet between the eyes .
Tom grunted as Harry unceremoniously dropped himself on his lap.
The other students in the library wisely turned away their gazes.
“What do you want?” Tom asked without looking away from his essay, words pouring in with ease as he unconsciously wrapped a hand around Harry’s waist (it was all instinct. Nothing more , nothing less).
Harry wrapped his arms around his shoulder.
“What do I want?” Harry grumbled. “So rude. I haven’t even said anything!”
“Perhaps,” Tom mused, “but you are disturbing me.” If the inkwell, the parchment papers and the quill in his hand weren’t loud enough; there was only ever one reason why Tom would ever wish to go to the library, and that was for some peace and quiet, away from gossiping snakes, away from the constant prattling of omegas, alphas who had nothing better to do.
“Yes, but I’m more important than some stupid piece of paper,” Harry purred into his ear. “Look at me, Tom.”
“Unlike someone, I actually have to finish an essay that I should have done long ago ,” Tom said, determined to not look at Harry. It was more out of pettiness, rather than any actual desire—if Harry had just stopped being a brat for a single moment, Tom would have eventually looked at him. Eventually was its keyword. But Harry clearly did not understand what being a ‘proper omega’ meant. “No thanks to a certain someone who’s currently in my lap.”
“And here I thought you appreciated my help…” Harry murmured, the light tone of his voice betraying his amusement. “To think, I came to you with a suggestion—” Tom almost snorted. Suggestion? Harry never suggested . He ordered, demanded , like the spoiled vixen he was— “only to be met with such scorn.”
“Pray tell, what’s your brilliant idea?” Tom asked, knowing indulging the omega was better than the alternative. He would rather not get emasculated for another time.
He felt, more than saw, Harry smile, his lips curling into a mischievous, gnarled grin.
“I think it’s time for the Heir of Slytherin to make his appearance, no?”
Ink splattered across his parchment, blotting out several sentences he had just written down. But Tom couldn’t find it in himself to particularly care about that right now.
Harry said it so casually. Like he was only asking about the weather, or something as asinine just so he could get beneath Tom’s skin.
“This might be the first time I actually liked one of your ideas,” Tom said as he turned his attention completely on Harry, unable to resist smirk tugging at his lips.
Harry’s smile fell as he pouted, a light-hearted glare creasing his perfectly manicured brows (Merlin knew how long he spent in the bathroom perfecting his already-perfect appearance).
By all means, Harry was more beautiful than he could ever be cute , tall but small enough for an alpha like Tom to cradle, his bright green eyes hypnotic and so, so mesmerizing. He filled out all the right places, his thin waist flaring to shapely hips, his thighs plush and thick, molded to be held and grabbed. A perfect hourglass figure.
And he was.
Beautiful. Gorgeous. Magnificent.
But sometimes.
Sometimes.
Harry, really, was cute.
Worst of all, Tom didn’t think he was even aware of it.