Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
Harry likes his town and he likes his bakery even more. Since his "incident" four years ago he moved half across the country in a small rural town, here he hd opened his shop, and even if he had a hard time making friends his life was perfectly normal.
But something changed about two weeks ago, he had gotten up early to open his bakery and he had found two beautiful roses outside his door waiting for him. He had picked them up and brought them inside where he put them in a vase right by the entrance for the customers to see. The roses had been deep red, fresh enough that tiny drops of morning dew still clung to the petals. Their scent slowly filled the bakery during the day, soft and sweet beneath the smell of warm bread and sugar. Customers kept complimenting them, some even asking where he had bought such perfect flowers, but Harry had no answer.
When the roses appeared he had thought it was a one time thing, but they kept on coming, each day at the same time. The roses are always fresh, tied with a simple ribbon, and there was never a note attached. Sometimes the ribbon changed color, dark green one morning, silver another, once even a pale gold that looked expensive beneath the soft petals. Harry started noticing the little differences despite himself. Some bouquets were made of fully bloomed roses while others were still partially closed, like the person choosing them knew exactly how long they would survive inside the bakery before wilting. He started wondering who could be leaving them, he even waited by the window hoping to catch someone, but nobody ever appears.
The whole thing began affecting his mornings in ways he hated admitting. Every day before unlocking the bakery he would already glance toward the doorstep, stomach twisting slightly while wondering if the flowers would be there again. And every single morning they were. Sometimes two roses, sometimes five, once an entire bouquet wrapped neatly in brown paper with little white flowers tucked between the red ones. Baby’s breath, Harry thought distantly. He only knew because old ladies often ordered flower-shaped cakes and spent entire afternoons talking about floral arrangements while he decorated pastries.
Harry was being courted it was as clear as day.
If he had know it sooner he would have trashed the roses, Harry hated alphas, he hated how they acted, their egos, their pride and he didn't want to be courted by any of them. And he was sure that only an alpha withe an inflated ego could do something like that. It was also very archaic, the traditional courting had several rules and one of them was that the Alpha would have to send gifts for wo months without revealing his identity so that the omega could see that the alpha could provide and this way partners weren't chosen solely on looks.
Harry remembered hearing older omegas talk about old fashioned courtships when he was younger. Back then he used to think it sounded ridiculous, all those outdated rituals and silent games. Flowers left at doorsteps. Expensive gifts. Anonymous acts of devotion. It all felt possessive more than romantic. Omegas were supposed to sit quietly and wait while an alpha proved themselves worthy. Harry had always hated that idea.
The problem was, Harry had no intention to being courted, so he started leaving the roses outside hoping the alpha would take it as a sin of rejection, but after the fourth day they kept coming so he decided to bring them inside, at least they wouldn't be wasted.
Even then he couldn't bring himself to throw them away completely. The flowers were too beautiful for that. He would place them in different vases around the bakery and try not to think about where they came from. Some evenings after closing, when the shop finally became quiet, Harry would catch himself absentmindedly trimming the stems or replacing the water before realizing what he was doing. Every time it annoyed him all over again.
And now after two weeks he found himself with roses and a box of chocolates. He knew he really shouldn't take those, but the smell is amazing even before he opens it. Inside, there are different kinds of chocolates, all looking handmade and perfect. He tells himself he’ll save them for later, but after the first bite he can’t stop. The chocolate is rich, sweet, and melts instantly in his mouth. The mysterious alpha had gotten him is favorites, to be honest Harry was a little worried by fact that a random alpha knew what chocolate he liked.
The box itself looked expensive too, dark packaging tied carefully with ribbon that matched the roses from that morning. Inside every chocolate had tiny decorative details painted on top, little swirls of gold or white icing. Whoever bought them clearly didn’t just walk into the nearest store at random. Harry hated that realization almost as much as he hated how good they tasted.
After two weeks of constant deliveries he was starting to panic a bit, he needed some advice, but currently, after he ran away from his hometown four years ago he only has one friend left, Hermione, and to be honest he hadn't even really heard from her in a couple of months. Harry decided to call her anyway.
She picked up immediately
"Hey 'Mione , how are you?"
"Harry! I'm really good thanks, swept by work as always, i haven't heard form you in a while how are you dong?"
"Actually er.., i wanted to ask for some advice. Two weeks ago a random alpha started leaving roses on my doorstep, today they even sent a pack of chocolates, and its really weird 'Mione they got my favorite type, you know the ones i only get for special occasions, that's weird right? "
"Oh Merlin Harry, I'm sorry do you have any idea of who’s behind it?”
“No, and honestly, I don’t care who it is. I never liked this whole thing.” He sighs and looks at the flowers on the kitchen table. “It’s creepy, not romantic.”
Hermione stays silent for a second. “Have you done anything to stop it?”
“Not really. I kept hoping it would end on its own.”
“Well, if you don’t want this person getting the wrong idea, you need to make yourself clear,” she says firmly.
“How?”
“Leave a note on the door. Be direct but polite. Something like: ‘Please stop sending gifts. I’m not interested.’”
He rubs his forehead. “That sounds cold.”
“No, it sounds honest,” Hermione replies. “Right now this person probably thinks you enjoy the attention because you haven’t said otherwise.”
“I just didn’t want drama.”
“And avoiding it is clearly not working,” she says. “You have the right to set boundaries.”
He looks around at the chocolates and flowers taking over his apartment and shakes his head. “Yeah… you’re right. I should’ve stopped this from the start.”
"Do you have anyone there that could come over with you? I don't think safe for you to be alone in the house with an Alpha who's after you"
Harry didn't really have anyone, after what had happened four year ago he struggled to make friends or even go out of his house. When he moved it was a miracle he had enough money to open his bakery and since then he only interacted with his customers and a nice omega named Luna that he met at the omega center. But they weren't really friends, more like acquaintances. So he lied, he didn't want Hermione to worry further.
"Yes, I have an Omega friend called Luna, i'll see if she can host me for some time"
"Ok Harry, let me know if anything else happens. Oh also, did you get the invite to Bill's and Fleur's wedding? Everyone will be there and we would love for you to come, you haven't came back in four years, we miss you"
"Yes, i got the invite, I'll think about it"
"Ok Harry, let me know if you decide to come, my guests room is open for you"
"Yeah ok 'Mione i'll let you know…"
He sighted, he had gotten the invite in the mail weeks ago and he had trashed it as soon as he saw it. He was not going to put himself in the position to have to face Dumbledore again,he was the reason he ran away in the first place and he vowed to never see him again.
"Also Harry we are having a memorial fro Ron and Dean before the ceremony, i think you should really come at least to that , it could be a great way to deal with the grief"
"After four years you are still holding memorials?"
"Harry! They were our friends and they were murdered, we don't even have their bodies! Of course I'm going to keep holding memorials , even 50 years after their death."
"Sorry 'Mione i know, I'll see if i can make it ok?"
"Ok Harry, please call me if you need anything, for real"
"Yeas, es don't worry. Bye 'Mione"
For a long moment after the call ended Harry simply sat at his kitchen table staring at the roses. The apartment smelled overwhelmingly floral now, almost dizzyingly sweet mixed together with lingering chocolate and fresh bread from the bakery downstairs. It should have felt comforting. Instead it made him restless.
The next day Harry did exactly what Hermione told him, he got the roses there were left on his step and he left on the step a freshly baked loaf of bread with a vibrant hot pink post-it note that said "Sorry I'm not interested in a relationship or having an alpha, so please stop sending courting gifts".
He felt ridiculous leaving the note there, standing awkwardly in the hallway with flour still dusting his sleeves from the bakery downstairs. The bright pink paper looked almost childish against the loaf of bread, but maybe that was good. It was impossible to misunderstand.
Harry went on about his day and when he closed is shop in the evening the bread and the post-it disappeared ad in their place there was a cream envelope. Harry trembling a bit took the envelope and he ran home. When he opened it inside there was a single piece of paper tightly folded. It wasn't a weird love letter and there weren't any insults about his rejection. It was a checklist:
1)Roses
2 )Food
3)Jewels
4)Introduction
Ad at the end of the paper there was a book title "The courting arts- Nicolas Flamel". This was weird as hell it was basically saying "Look I'm not done with you and also your stupid and know nothing about how to properly court someone so go read a book".
Harry reread the checklist three times in disbelief. The handwriting was elegant and neat, annoyingly calm compared to the panic rising in his chest. Whoever wrote it sounded completely certain that this entire situation would continue no matter what Harry wanted.
But the next morning he didn't find anything at the bakery's door step, maybe the note had worked after all and the Alpha had gotten the memo. Oh boy how wrong was Harry. As soon as he climbed the stairs to his apartment, he spotted the containers sitting neatly outside his door, it was a paper bag and warm steam escaped from it.,filling the hallway with the smell of spices and slow-cooked meat.
Harry stopped in front of it with a tired sigh.
“Of course.”
He carried the bag inside and placed it carefully on the kitchen counter. There were three containers . He opened the first one cautiously and immediately frowned. Thick pieces of meat rested in a dark stew with vegetables and herbs floating in the sauce.
The smell was incredible.
But Harry still had no idea what kind of meat it was. At first he had assumed beef, but it had textures he couldn’t recognize at all. Every container seemed different.
“How am I supposed to eat mystery meat?” he muttered.
Still, throwing it away felt wrong, especially when the food smelled this good. Reluctantly, Harry grabbed a spoon and tasted the stew. The flavor was deep and warm, perfectly seasoned without being overwhelming. The meat practically melted in his mouth. He froze for a second.
“Oh, come on…”
Annoyed at himself, he took another bite. Then another. Soon he was eating directly from the container while standing in his kitchen. Whatever the meat was, it tasted incredible. Better than takeout. Better than most restaurants nearby.
That was the problem.
Harry didn’t want to enjoy this.
The whole situation still felt unsettling. Someone kept leaving food outside his apartment without saying a word, somehow knowing exactly when he’d be home and exactly what flavors he liked. And now they were feeding him unidentified meat like some strange neighborhood witch.
The stew had a slightly smoky flavor with soft meat that almost tasted sweet at the end. Harry stared suspiciously at the empty container after finishing it.
“What even was that?”
No answer came, obviously. Only the uncomfortable realization that tomorrow evening he’d probably check outside his door again.
The food kept arriving, sometimes also the roses.
Every evening, without fail, Harry would come home to find warm containers waiting outside his apartment door. Stews, roasted meat, soups, fresh bread, even desserts sometimes. Whoever was leaving them clearly spent hours cooking, and somehow every single meal tasted amazing.
Which was becoming a serious problem.
One night, after finishing an entire container of rich meat stew with buttery potatoes, Harry dropped his fork onto the table and stared down at himself suspiciously.
“Is this person trying to fatten me up or something?”
The thought made him snort with nervous laughter.But also he shouldn't really have been surprised. For alphas providing food to their omegas was a sign of strength a sign that they were good mates and that they could support the omega they wanted and a future family. Food was actually a very tradition courting gift and considering that the alpha had decided to things the old way Harry should have connected the dots immediately when he red the checklist.
At this point, he was eating better than he ever had in his life. His fridge used to contain leftover takeout and expired milk. Now his kitchen constantly smelled like a high-end restaurant.
Honestly, it was unsettling.
The more Harry thought about it, the less funny the situation became. Whoever this person was, they knew where he lived, when he got home, and exactly what kind of food he liked. They came close enough to leave everything directly outside his apartment without him ever noticing.
That realization sent a cold feeling down his spine.
The next morning, Harry went out and bought extra locks for his front door. By evening, he had installed two new deadbolts, a chain lock, and a small alarm system that would trigger if someone opened a window or forced the door.
While attaching one of the alarms near the hallway entrance, Harry muttered to himself, “Normal people send one anonymous letter. They don’t start a secret food delivery operation.”
Even after everything was installed, he still checked the locks three times before bed.
But the deliveries continued.
The strange part was that the person never tried to come inside. They only left the food neatly outside the door and disappeared before Harry could catch them.
That almost made it worse.
Because now Harry couldn’t decide what was more disturbing: the possibility that the admirer was dangerous… or the possibility that they were simply patient enough to wait for him forever.
Almost a month had passed since the checklist appeared.
At this point Harry had stopped pretending the situation would simply disappear on its own. The flowers still came every few days, sometimes roses, sometimes different flowers entirely. Once it had been dark red carnations, another time pale lilies that made the entire bakery smell sweet for days. The food deliveries never stopped either. Soups, roasted vegetables, pastries, handmade pasta, warm bread wrapped in cloth to keep the heat inside. Always left silently outside his apartment door or occasionally behind the bakery early in the morning before opening.
And somehow the alpha still remained completely invisible.
Harry hated how used to it he had become.
Not comfortable exactly — never comfortable — but familiar. He would come home from work already expecting to see containers outside his door. Sometimes he caught himself wondering what meal would be waiting for him before immediately feeling horrified at himself.
Which was exactly why the earrings terrified him so much.
Harry had just returned upstairs after closing the bakery late in the evening. His shoulders ached from carrying flour sacks all afternoon and his apron still smelled like cinnamon and sugar. The hallway outside his apartment was dimly lit, the old lightbulb above the stairs flickering faintly.
At first he only noticed the paper bag sitting neatly against the door.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered tiredly.
The smell reached him immediately, rich and warm and buttery. Something baked. Probably another dish carefully chosen after weeks of somehow learning all his favorite foods.
Harry unlocked the door, grabbed the bag, and carried it inside.
The food container sat on top as usual, still warm beneath his fingers, but underneath it there was something else.
A small dark box.
Harry froze.
Slowly, carefully, he picked it up.
The box was velvet, expensive-looking, the kind jewelry stores used for engagement rings in movies. His stomach immediately twisted.
“No, no, no—”
Inside rested a pair of delicate gold earrings.
They were simple but beautiful, small golden hoops with tiny dangling charms shaped like stars. Elegant enough to look expensive without being overly flashy. The gold caught the kitchen light softly when Harry tilted the box in his hands.
For a moment he just stared.
Then panic hit him all at once.
“Oh my god.”
The checklist.
Roses.
Food.
Jewels.
The alpha was moving forward with the courting.
Harry’s hands started shaking so badly he almost dropped the box onto the floor. His breathing turned uneven as he stared at the earrings like they might suddenly explode.
This wasn’t harmless anymore.
Flowers were one thing. Food was strange but manageable. Jewelry felt different. More serious somehow. More possessive. Like the invisible alpha behind all this had decided Harry’s rejection simply wasn’t important.
He quickly shut the box and shoved it away from himself across the counter.
The apartment suddenly felt too small.
Harry paced the kitchen anxiously, dragging both hands through his messy curls. His mind kept spiraling through increasingly terrible possibilities. What if the alpha expected him to wear them? What if refusing wasn’t enough anymore? What happened after “Introduction” on the stupid checklist?
The worst part was that Harry still had absolutely no idea who was doing this.
He checked the locks twice before sitting down at the table again. The food still smelled incredible from inside the paper bag, warm spices filling the apartment.
Harry glared at it suspiciously.
“You cannot emotionally manipulate someone with stew,” he informed the empty room.
Unfortunately the stew smelled fantastic.
An hour later he was miserably eating it straight from the container while staring at the closed jewelry box sitting on the opposite side of the table.
The next morning Harry looked exhausted.
Dark circles sat under his eyes as he arranged pastries behind the bakery counter. He had barely slept, too busy listening for noises outside his apartment and imagining every possible horrible scenario his brain could invent.
By midday he finally admitted he needed to talk to someone.
Which was how he ended up standing outside the small omega center near the edge of town.
The building itself was cozy and welcoming, painted soft yellow with flower boxes beneath the windows. Harry usually only came occasionally for supply drives or community events, but Luna spent a lot of time there helping organize things.
Sure enough, he found her inside rearranging bookshelves near the back lounge.
Luna looked up immediately and smiled brightly.
“Harry! Hi!”
Her long blonde hair was tied loosely with ribbons today, several strands already escaping around her face. She looked exactly as peaceful as always, which somehow made Harry feel slightly calmer just standing near her.
“Hey.”
She tilted her head almost immediately.
“You look stressed.”
Harry let out a weak laugh. “That obvious?”
“A little,” Luna admitted cheerfully. “Do you want tea?”
Ten minutes later they sat together near one of the windows with steaming mugs between their hands.
Harry debated how much to tell her.
Not everything.
Definitely not everything.
Luna was kind but also protective in ways that reminded him too much of Hermione sometimes. If he explained the full situation — the checklist, the constant gifts, the way the alpha ignored rejection entirely — she’d probably panic.
So Harry softened the story.
“A while ago someone started anonymously leaving gifts outside my bakery,” he explained carefully. “Flowers mostly. And food sometimes.”
Luna blinked. “Oh.”
“It’s weird,” Harry continued quickly. “I don’t know who it is.”
“Do you think it’s courting?”
Harry forced a shrug. “Maybe? Probably.”
“And you’re uncomfortable with it.”
“Yes.”
Luna stirred her tea thoughtfully. “Have they done anything threatening?”
Harry hesitated.
“No,” he admitted eventually. “Not exactly.”
That part was technically true.
“They just… keep sending things.”
Luna stayed quiet for a moment before smiling softly.
“I can understand why that would overwhelm you.”
Harry relaxed slightly.
“I think maybe I accidentally made it sound more serious than it is,” he said quickly. “It’s mostly just annoying.”
Luna gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t fully believe that.
“Well,” she said gently, “whether it’s serious or not, you’ve been isolating yourself again.”
Harry frowned slightly.
“I do leave the bakery.”
“You leave the bakery to buy flour.”
“That counts.”
“It really doesn’t.”
Harry sighed into his tea.
Luna smiled again, softer this time.
“There’s a beer festival tonight in the town square,” she said. “You should come with me.”
Harry immediately grimaced.
“A festival sounds terrible.”
“It’ll be fun.”
“There will be people.”
“That’s usually how festivals work.”
Harry slumped deeper into the couch while Luna laughed quietly into her tea.
“I’m serious,” she continued. “You’ve been working constantly for weeks. Come spend one evening outside your apartment without thinking about mysterious flowers.”
Harry stared down at his mug.
The idea honestly sounded exhausting.
Crowds made him nervous even after four years in this town. Too much noise, too many strangers, too many scents mixing together. After everything that happened before he moved away, large social events still made his chest tighten sometimes.
But another part of him knew Luna was right.
Lately his entire life had become bakery, apartment, anxiety, repeat.
Maybe distraction would help.
“Do I have to drink beer?”
“No,” Luna said immediately. “There’ll be food stalls too.”
Harry looked mildly more interested.
“There’s fried dough.”
“Alright, fine.”
Luna beamed brightly enough that Harry instantly regretted agreeing.
A couple hours later Luna followed Harry upstairs to his apartment while he searched for something cleaner to wear than flour-covered work clothes.
“You own literally the same outfit five times,” Luna informed him while looking around the apartment.
Harry pulled a sweater from his closet. “It’s efficient.”
“It’s depressing.”
“It’s practical.”
Luna wandered toward the kitchen while Harry changed in the bedroom. The apartment still smelled faintly like spices from yesterday’s food delivery.
Then Harry heard her voice.
“Oh these are gorgeous.”
His stomach dropped instantly.
He walked back into the kitchen and immediately spotted the jewelry box sitting open on the table in Luna’s hands.
The earrings glittered softly beneath the warm kitchen light.
Harry’s panic returned so fast it almost made him dizzy.
“Oh, uh—”
Luna looked up brightly. “Where did you get these?”
Harry’s brain completely stalled.
“I— they were—” he started awkwardly.
There was absolutely no way he was explaining the truth.
“Oh my god,” Luna gasped softly. “Did someone give them to you?”
Harry forced himself not to react.
“Kind of?”
“That’s so sweet!”
Harry nearly choked.
“Yeah,” he said weakly. “Sure.”
Luna carefully lifted one earring between her fingers, admiring it.
“They’re beautiful, Harry.”
The worst part was that she was right.
The gold stars were delicate and elegant without looking overly expensive. Subtle enough that Harry probably would have bought something similar himself under different circumstances.
“You should wear them tonight.”
Harry blinked.
“What?”
Luna smiled. “Come on, they’d look amazing on you.”
Every instinct in Harry’s body screamed absolutely not.
Because wearing them somehow felt dangerous.
Like accepting something he never agreed to.
But Luna was looking at him so expectantly that he couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough.
“It’s just a festival,” she added. “Might as well wear nice things.”
Harry stared at the earrings for a long moment.
Then, against every survival instinct he possessed, he sighed.
“Fine.”
Luna grinned victoriously while Harry carefully put them on.
The gold stars brushed lightly against his neck when he moved.
And for some reason that made his anxiety even worse.
The festival started just after sunset.
By the time Harry and Luna arrived, the town square was overflowing with people. Strings of golden lights hung between buildings while music drifted through the evening air. Long wooden tables filled the center of the square surrounded by laughing groups carrying giant mugs of beer.
The smell hit Harry immediately.
Grilled meat. Sugar. Bread. Smoke.
For a brief moment it reminded him unpleasantly of the anonymous meals waiting outside his apartment.
“You’re thinking too hard again,” Luna informed him.
Harry blinked. “What?”
“You get that wrinkle between your eyebrows.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
Harry grumbled something under his breath while Luna laughed.
To his surprise, the festival slowly became… nice.
Not perfect. Crowds still made him tense occasionally. But Luna stayed beside him the entire time, talking easily enough for both of them whenever Harry didn’t feel like speaking.
They wandered between stalls selling pastries, roasted nuts, caramel apples, soft pretzels bigger than Harry’s head, and endless varieties of beer.
At one point Luna dragged him toward a tiny stand covered in fairy lights selling flower crowns.
Harry stared at her in disbelief.
“No.”
“You’d look cute.”
“No.”
“You literally work surrounded by pastries and flowers every day.”
“That’s different.”
Luna bought one for herself anyway, placing the tiny white flowers over her blonde hair with satisfaction.
Later they found a quieter corner near the edge of the square where musicians played soft folk songs beneath hanging lanterns.
For the first time in weeks Harry actually felt himself relaxing slightly.
Until he noticed the roses.
His entire body stiffened.
A bouquet of deep red roses sat on the empty bench beside him.
Fresh.
Perfect.
Tied with dark green ribbon.
Harry’s stomach dropped instantly.
“What’s wrong?” Luna asked quietly.
Harry couldn’t answer immediately.
Because suddenly all he could think about was the fact that someone here knew exactly where he was.
Someone had walked close enough to leave the flowers beside him without him noticing.
The warm festival lights suddenly felt suffocating instead of comforting.
Luna followed his stare toward the bouquet.
“Oh,” she said softly.
Harry swallowed hard.
“I think I want to go home.”