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It’s the smell of her amorentia that catches her off guard. It lingers in the elevator, and she wouldn’t say that she’s following it. But her omega preens because of this smell. It’s her Alpha, and she recognises it immediately.
Conveniently, the scent leads to a path to her office.
When she opens the door, the smell is so strong it makes her knees wobble, and her cunt ache to be filled.
Fresh pine that reminds her of Christmas with her parents. Nutmeg that she sprinkles in her coffee. Aged parchment found in her oldest volumes. And something utterly delicious and entirely alpha. Amber. It fills her lungs, and her glands itch.
She has to cover her mouth for her senses to resume.
“Do I really smell that awful to you, Granger?”
She looks at the alpha standing in her office.
Draco Malfoy. His pointed nose is pinched in the face of disgust, and his eyes are blazing like liquid mercury.
They haven’t crossed paths in years. Not since she presented undoubtedly. He hadn’t returned to Hogwarts after the war. And the Wizarding World had all but forgotten about the Malfoy heir. It was like he dropped off the face of the earth.
But he’s come back. And he smells like home to her, but to him, she must smell awful, like stinky socks, maybe? Because of the way he looks at her, it’s like he’s struggling to breathe, and he’s irrationally angry.
She remembers the letter he sent to her years ago. An apology for all the harm he caused her. She had only responded six months later when she was drunk and alone.
And he responded, and she replied, and on it went. So, no. They haven’t crossed paths in person, but they have shared letters over the years.
And the scent of his letters always smelled better than any alpha or person for that matter she’s ever come across.
She would go on dates and always compare every detail to how Draco’s letters smelled and the poetic way he’d describe the world he travelled. The alphas she met never compared.
She’s assumed it was just a cologne, but no. Standing in this suffocating office, she knows that smell. It’s him.
It makes the slick between her legs flow and her face flush because there’s not a chance; he hasn’t noticed her own scent of arousal must be permeating the air.
He chokes. He actually chokes on his own breath when his eyebrows raise.
And her inner omega cries that he’s somehow dissatisfied with her. Go to him, make him better. He’s your alpha. It shouts at her.
She stuffs the hurt and crying omega away.
“Malfoy, what are you doing here?” She attempts a smile, but it’s flat because she wants nothing more than to climb into his lap where he leans on her desk.
She wants to bathe in his scent and let it surround her as he pounds into her and tells her what a good omega she is.
“Mother said it was time for me to settle down. So, I’ve come home,” he responds.
He doesn’t send pictures in these letters. And a part of her resents him for it because he’s changed just as she has.
He’s taller, Merlin; he’s so tall. His shoulders are broad, and she can see his hands flex on the desk. God, they’re so big, and she can imagine his pale hands, his beautiful hands, pinning her to the wall and burying his fingers in her cunt.
Her gaze snaps back to his face, his beautiful face. He is sculpted from the gods. His pointed face has evened out, and his jawline is strong and angular. His cheekbones are high. His blond hair curls slightly on the top. Huh, she never noticed it. But there’s a slight wave pattern to it.
Her stupid pining omega sends her an image of what their children would like. She hopes they’d have his eyes. She has to shake her head to dismiss the thought because she doesn’t want children. Not yet anyway, and Merlin, she’s never looked at someone and even said, “let me have your baby.” But if he were to ask her, oh- She feels the slick in her knickers grow, and she almost moans at the thought.
She remembers what he’s just said, though. Her chest tightens, and now she wants to cry because she’ll never see what their children look like.
“So she’s marrying you off finally to some pureblood princess?” There’s spite in her voice, laced with jealousy and venom that she can’t entirely control.
He must not know it yet. But he’s her alpha, and the thought of him with someone else makes her scent sour the room.
He smirks at that, “I never said she was a pureblood.”
There’s ice in her veins because he’s already chosen this princess. And it’s not her.
Is it so irrational that she thought she would smell good to him? That she was the reason, he came home? Maybe rubbing her scent glands onto her letters was too much for him?
She blushes when she’s reminded of how many times she did that.
She was foolish to fall in love with Draco Malfoy over letters. Her stupid omega brain was telling her his scent was perfect and he’d take such good care of her.
She crosses the room, walking around to the other side of her desk because she’s angry now. Because she had hoped that he was back for her and instead he’s here to rub it in her face that it’s some other pretty little-
“Don’t you want to know who she is?” He teases her. He’s facing her now, and he’s leaning over her desk—his face lowers to her level.
This close, the smell is consuming her entirely. She can see his gland sticking out from his button-up, and she wants to attach her mouth to it. To rub her slick into it so this omega bitch that’s stealing him will know he’s claimed.
“No,” it’s all she says before she looks away.
She might cry now. And Hermione Granger doesn’t cry over stupid little Alpha assholes and their perfect teeth and panty-wetting gazes.
She squeezes her eyes shut because, in his presence, her hormones are going wild, and she can’t seem to control them.
“I’m sure whoever it is, is quite lovely,” she tells him quietly in dismissal.
Because yes, she’s hurting, but she’s not going to throw three years of friendship down the drain because her stupid little omega tells her that her alpha doesn’t want her.
Alphas and omegas can be friends. Ron is an alpha, and well, he smells nice. But it’s not an arousing nice. It’s more like she doesn’t hate the way he smells, but it does nothing to her omega senses.
He describes the omega, the one chosen for him, “she’s beautiful. She’s brilliant too.”
She begins ignoring him two sentences into the description. Is it so bad that she wants him? That she wants to be desired?
Her thoughts are cut off by Draco once more. “Merlin, Granger, do I really smell that awful to you?” There’s the slightest bit of hurt in his voice that makes her eyes find him again.
“I- Yes. I mean no. No-“ she stutters.
“Because you smell like fucking heaven,” he cuts her off.
She’s rendered speechless. Because her omega preens, he approves! Go to him. Tell him you want him. Take his cock in your mouth!!
She almost chokes on her inner thoughts, down girl.
“But your omega-”
Draco interrupts, “is sitting in front of me.”
Hermione should feel elated. She should be jumping across this desk and ripping off his clothes, and spreading her legs to show him how much slick is dripping between her thighs just for him. But she isn’t happy because even if he wants her, there’s still the matter of his arranged marriage.
In the short span of her thoughts spiralling, he’s moved. He’s standing next to her chair.
“Hermione,” he says her name softly. Not quite a command. “Look at me.”
She shakes her head because even if he wants her, she’s not who the Malfoy matriarch wanted, and he has someone waiting for him.
“Omega, look at me,” it’s a command, and it’s soft and gentle. It lacks aggression but is a command nonetheless.
She turns her head slowly, and there are tears in her eyes. His hand reaches out, gently holding her chin in place so she can’t turn away from him again.
“You smell like home, but you have someone else waiting for you,” she chokes back a breath before continuing, “I think you should leave, Draco.”
There’s a pain in his eyes. But they should’ve known better. Falling in love with letters is not the same as falling in love in person. She was foolish to think otherwise.
“It’s you,” he whispers.
There’s a shaky exhale from her.
He elaborates, “I’m here for you, Hermione. Ever since that letter, where you rubbed your scent all over it. It’s been you. Your brilliant mind. Your beautiful smiles. Even your wild hair. You’re it for me. I’m yours.”
“But-”
“There’s no ‘buts.’ Unless you don’t want me. Then, the choice is yours.”
“What do I smell like?”
He chuckles at her, and it causes her to hurt. Because if what he says is true, then she must smell at least halfway decent. But if it’s not as intense and intoxicating as he is for her, she doesn’t know that she’ll be able to handle the hurt or the fallout of a failed compatibility when they would inevitably split.
When she’s silent, he must realise that she is serious.
“You smell like the gardens at the Manor in spring, when my mother would insist on planting flowers without magic. Like the restricted section of old parchment. Like grapefruit when you’re aroused, because yes, I did notice. You smell like the perfect concoction of my amorentia, and I’d be honoured if you’d let me be your Alpha.”
She whines, and it's high pitched, and she feels the grip of his hand on her chin tighten. There’s a new smell that permeates the air, and it’s heady and musky. Arousal .
Her cunt throbs as she remains silent, staring into silver. He leans forward slightly, their mouths so close she could close the distance and taste him finally.
“Do you want me?” He whispers against her lips.
“Yes, Draco.”
His name on her lips is like heaven to his ears. But her taste on his tongue when their lips finally connect is like sin.
It’s everything Hermione’s been dreaming of for three years. Three years of just his scent and letters were absolutely worth the wait. Because his taste is divine, and she could spend hours letting his tongue explore her mouth.
When his tongue flicks, she imagines it flicking somewhere else. Somewhere wet and hot and wholly empty.
Her walls clench on nothing, and she moans when his mouth moves down to her neck, just above her gland.
Bite me, please. I’m yours. She nearly cries.
But it’s too soon. Oh god, she wants it so badly, but he hasn’t even taken her on a date. Is it too soon? His mouth sucks, his tongue licks, and his teeth nip at her skin. Any thought of her hesitancy is gone with that simple bite.
He whispers against her ear, “if we don’t stop, I’m going to take you right here on the desk, Granger.”
His words sound great, like a wonderful and sinful decision. She’s waited so long; she’s tired of it. Her door is already shut. She grabs her wand, aiming it at the door and locking it—a silencing charm in place.
He feels his cock achingly hard; the moment he entered her office, he could smell the lingering scent of her. “Fuck, is that what you want, my little needy omega? You want me to fuck you on your desk?”
“Yes, oh God, Draco. Please.”
His hands, his strong hands, pull her out of the chair and set her on the desk. Her hands find his face bringing it back to him.
Her knickers are ruined with her slick, and she needs friction. She needs it so badly that she’s already pulling at his clothes, unbuttoning his shirt frantically to feel the heat of his skin between furious kisses and licks.
To Draco, he wants to take his time. He can’t exactly do that in her office, and he doesn’t want their first time together to be fast and frantic. He wants to taste her; her smell enthrals him.
He decides he’s going to slow this down, but he still wants a taste. He’s always been a spoiled boy, and what he wants is so much. And it all has to do with the witch who’s held him captivated since her response all those years ago.
He takes her hands as she finds the last button and pins them to the desk. A whine escapes her lips, and he can’t help but feel pride that she seems just as undone as he is by a simple kiss. But that kiss was anything but simple.
“Keep your hands on the desk, Granger.”
Her omega is silent at the command, her pulse thrumming as he takes control. She didn’t realise how much she’s wanted this until he was standing before her. So, she obliges him and lets him take a step back to look at her.
Men have used their wands to undress her in the past, a quick shag, and she was on her way. Satisfied rarely, and more often than not craving something more.
This feels like more.
His hands shake slightly as they find the buttons of her blouse, unbuttoning them slowly and his eyes devour her. Every area of skin exposed receives a kiss, and she has to remember to keep her hands in place on the desk to stop them from pulling at his hair. She wants to know if it’s really as soft as it looks.
She likes that he’s taking his time, even if she feels she’s in a rush to touch him and taste him. Instead, he takes his time with her, and it’s a warming feeling that’s not just her hormones and lust.
She’s suddenly reminded of her very plain beige coloured bra. She wants to hide herself from him because she’s practical and not sexy in the slightest. She has one set of lingerie, the tags still on it. She knows she looks good, but she knows she can look better when she tries.
“I’m sorry,” she tells him.
His eyes leave the roundness of her perky breasts, and he has to choke back a biting remark at her insecurity because everything about her is beautiful. Even her simple bra is so fitting for her. He shakes his head because he wants to be such a good alpha to her. He wants to tell her how he used to dream about her, but the vision of her with her skirt bunched around her waist, and her breasts sitting primly in her bra is beyond the scope of his imagination. Because she is perfect, and he’s not an artist.
Maybe a poet could do her justice.
“Why are you sorry?” He asks her as he leans forward, his mouth finding the curve of one breast and sucking lightly.
“If I had known, I would’ve worn something different,” her words are not smooth. Her voice catches several times, and the sentence is interrupted by moans when his hand comes up to pull the cup of her bra down, and his lips attach to her peaked nipple.
He licks and nuzzles her breasts like they’re the greatest gift in the world.
“And what would you have worn, Granger? Had you known you’d be getting fucked the first thing in the morning in your office?”
It’s so casual, the way he says it, that she can feel a dribble of slick land in the puddle of her knickers. She absolutely cannot wear these the rest of the day. Friction, yes. That’s what she needs.
“You said you were going to fuck me on my desk. This-” she gasps at a harsh bite, “doesn’t look like fucking.”
But now that she’s said it, he desperately wants to know what the Gryfindor princess is hiding in her closet.
“What colour?” He asks.
His hands find the clasp, pulling until it releases, and her breasts are even more glorious outside their confines. His fingers rub circles around her nipple while he takes the other one in his mouth. The taste of her skin is divine. He could spend the rest of his days worshipping them.
She gasps at the touch, “periwinkle.”
She won’t elaborate that he had wandered into a shop during her visit to Paris and found a periwinkle set. That the tags are still on them and that she’s been saving it. For someone. For him, if he ever came home. She’s fantasised some nights of him walking through her door. She imagined herself, laid out on the bed in periwinkle lace and her thighs spreading as he walked in. She imagined he'd take his time.
Draco almost reels at her words. She can’t possibly know that the colour has been his favourite since their fourth year. That he’s always had eyes on her in a fascinating sense. Not the way he looks at her now, but more of quiet curiosity.
He understands his fascination with her now, she’s his omega.
He grows impatient and his hands tear her skirt. Her gasp is lost when his mouth hovers over her cloth-covered core. The scent of her brings him to his knees.
“Fuck , you smell so good.”
His hands part her thighs even more and he can see how drenched she is there.
“Is this for me? You’ve ruined your knickers.”
Her quiet affirmation nearly makes him come undone.
“Lift your hips up, love,” the nickname rolls off his tongue easily.
With a gentleness that is restrained, his hands pull on her knickers, dragging them down her legs until her cunt is on display and his face is level with it.
He’s never seen a more beautiful cunt than Hermione Granger’s. It glistens with her desire and her essence smells tangy with a delicate hint of floral.
A moan escapes her lips as his own attach themselves to her cunt.
Her hands finally leave their place on the desk to tangle into his blond hair. She holds him there, rubbing herself into his face to trace her release. He devours her without restraint, licking her slick that pours of her slit. Not a drop goes to waste with his mouth on her. His fingers dig bruises into her thighs and she can feel herself climbing when his lips circle her clit. Sucking on it and then circling it with the flat of his tongue.
He wants to tell her how delicious she tastes and how amazing she is for letting her alpha pleasure her. He wants to tell her so much more but his mind is focused on her flavour and the way he has to hold her thighs apart to keep her from crushing his head.
He could spend hours with his head between her legs and licking her.
His eyes open and find honey, staring down at him with parted lips. He’s captivated by her flush face and even more determined to bring her to bliss. His cock aches with neglect.
But not before he plays with her some more will he allow himself his own release.
His mouth moves from her cunt to lick the slick covering her inner thighs. “You’ve been teasing me for so long,” he breathes into her skin.
When she opens her mouth to retort he bites her and it’s not even close to how many marks he wants to leave on her. Or where he hopes his bite mark will one day sit on her neck, permanently.
His bites shut her up and he smirks into her skin. “You know every time you sent me a picture I’d stare at your neck? Wondering if there was an alpha in your life?”
“There’s no one. Just you.” Her hands try moving him back to where she needs him, buried in her cunt. “Please, Draco. I need more. I want you inside me.”
She needs him like she needs water in a desert.
She’s not specific with her words, and his fingers trace her slit. He slips a finger inside of her and her moans make him slip another soon after. He’s utterly and completely fascinated at the way her cunt clutches his fingers. The heat inside her is wet and he imagines her taking more than his fingers.
“Like this?”
His cock and alpha make demands that he be inside her when she comes. He knows what she wants but he enjoys teasing her too much.
But he’s generous and he needs to show her that he’s a good alpha even when he’s playing with her.
Any words out of her mouth are a jumbled mess of begging and pleading for more. His fingers curl inside of her and he can feel her walls clench. His mouth comes to her clit and with two swipes and one suck, she’s fluttering around him and her thighs are squeezing his head. Her voice is a chorus of affirmation and his chest fills with pride.
“Please, alpha. I need your cock.”
His restraint snaps and he’s climbing to his feet, his hands taking her face and pulling her into a kiss.
The taste of herself on his tongue is tangy and she wonders for a moment what he tastes like. But she can’t think about it for longer when she hears the clink of metal fill the room.
His glands feel heated as her fingers stroke a circle on one of them, a low breath escapes his lips as he pulls out his cock his lips still attached to hers.
He worries for a moment, when she doesn’t reach for him and slows their kissing down he worries for a moment that she’s changed his mind. that her post-orgasmic bliss has faded and she doesn’t want him anymore.
He’s still for a moment, waiting for her to take the lead or to turn him away.
One of her delicate hands pushes his head to turn, and her mouth finds his gland. There’s stars behind his eyelids and he has to fight back his desire to drive into her and pound away—to not turn her own head to the side and mark her forever.
Her lips find his earlobe and give it a tug. She whispers, “please, inside me.”
Her hand not keeping his head tilted find his cock and a quiet gasp escapes her lips.
Hermione had spent many nights thinking of Draco’s dick. Her wildest of fantasies could not have prepared her for his size. He’s thick and long and rigid in her hand. Her fingers don’t connect when she makes a fist around him and it causes her thighs to clench, pulling him closer to her hear. When she smooths her fist down to his base, she feels the texture of his skin change. His knot.
“Fuck, please. Alpha , I need you.”
He hadn’t ever paid much attention to the scent of her letters until one letter arrived and the scent was so strong he had to take himself in hand. He tried fucking it out of his system, but all it took was one more letter with her curly hair and her bright smile standing in a street in Paris that ruined every encounter with someone else.
And now that she’s here in front of him, begging him to fuck her he’s thrilled to oblige.
With his cock in her hand, lined up at her entrance he pushes forward.
The feeling is indescribable to Hermione. Her walls clench around him as he enters her slowly, inch by delicious inch her cunt throbs. Waiting to be filled to the brim by her alpha.
He’s seated fully and slowly dragging in and out of her. She’s had sex with alphas before but not a single one has compared to this. His scent surrounds her in a welcome cocoon, and cock fills every inch and space of her.
She’s going to explode.
“I’m going to breed you. Going to tie you to my bed and you won’t be allowed to leave until I’ve pumped you full of my cum and you’re pregnant with our child. is that what you want?”
“Yes! Draco , oh yes.”
He doesn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve this, because he’s certain that nothing he’s done in this life has deemed him worthy of her.
He gives her exactly what she needs just when she needs it. She hardly has to ask before he’s doing it, pounding into her cunt.
His hands find her thighs, pulling her up until he can grab her ass as she’s in the air. And he’s falling back into her chair.
In her dreams, she had imagined him fucking her in her bed or against a wall in a dark alley. She can say for certain she’s never thought about shagging someone in her office. And now that she’s doing it, in her office chair that she sits in every day nonetheless, she's overwhelmed by the feeling.
Her breasts bounce with each drop and thrust, and Draco finds he’s quickly losing control.
She’s perfect, just like this. He needs to taste her. And like she’s read his mind she’s already leaning forward, her nipples brushing his skin between the fabric of his opened shirt. Her lips find him.
With her in his lap, bouncing on him, he can’t help it. His knot begins to catch and her walls clench and she moans panting into his neck.
It takes all of her restraint not to bite him when she’s this close to his neck.
“Please,” she doesn’t even know what she’s begging for, but she can feel it building in her once again. It rises in her cunt, spreading through her stomach and all the way down to her toes.
She thinks it might be the longest orgasm she’s ever had because she’s completely boneless and incoherent.
With her walls fluttering around him and her soft moans into his neck, his knot catches fully, and he’s coming inside of her.
He says her name as it hits him, wave after wave of complete and utter bliss.
Her face nuzzles into his neck, licking at his gland. She’s more than content. For the first time, she feels like she’s home. Their scent fills the air, mixing around each other and dancing together like two lost souls who found each other.
He’s more than content with her in his lap, his hands rub up and down her back, and he’s silent between his moans as he continues to empty inside of her.
He’s happy, and he’s home.
“Ms Granger? Is everything alright in there?” A voice calls from outside her door; the silencing charm must’ve worn off.
Her face flushes because she doesn’t know when it wore off, and she prays silently that it was after their chorus of moans.
“Um, yes! It’s fine.” She replies, and her voice tightens into a moan when his hips raise and his knots rubs against her, more of his cum leaking inside of her.
She hears him laughing, a smug grin on his face as he buries his face into her neck.
“Stop laughing. It’s not funny!” She bats him on the arm playfully. He pulls back, and there’s a dopey smile on his face.
She stares at his grin, and she’s never heard him laugh like this. She finds she quite likes the way he smiles at her.
He’s been damned for so long; it was her letters that lifted him up. The way she looks at him now is enough for him to know he’s reaching bliss.
His voice is low and quiet when he asks her, and she’s so caught up in staring at his dimples that she almost misses it. “Go on a date with me.”
It’s a statement, not a command. But she can hear the request in his voice.
And yes, he’s already asked her to be his. He’s told her so much today but was this fuck just hormones for her? Or is she as hopelessly in love with him too?
This small woman smiles at him and moans at the slightest touch of his lips on her glands. He has to stop himself from imagining what his teeth would look like there. How the scar tissue would turn silver, binding them together for the rest of their lives. She came barreling into his life like a firecracker, sending him letters. After the initial awkwardness and heartfelt remorse, she kept sending them.
His cock is still lodged inside her, and he thinks she’ll say no? It’s preposterous. Can’t he see that she’s entirely his? That she’d do anything for him?
It’s the seriousness on his face that causes her to run her hands down the open front of his shirt. She traces the lines of his scars and leans forward.
“Yes,” it’s all she says before she’s kissing him again.
He’s like a drug, and she never wants to stop.
And to think, it all started with scented letters.