Neville suddenly fell backwards off Hermione.

Hermione slid down the wall and looked up at the flabbergasted Head Girl.

Everything was so—her whole body felt like it was screaming, as though Neville's touch had brought her all the way to the edge of something earth-shattering and then left her there.

She felt suspended and left dangling helplessly.

She wanted to press herself against something. She wanted hands and lips and a tongue to touch and tease her sensitive skin. She wanted a hard, muscular body to hold her down while she arched against it.

She wanted to hear Neville's voice telling her what to do. That he'd take care of her, because everything was so confusing. She didn't know what was wrong.

Now that he wasn't touching her anymore everything just felt all wrong.

"Ginny, I don't know what's happening to me," Hermione forced out.

"How is this even possible?" Ginny was shaking her head faintly in shock.

It was a blur after that. Ginny made some of the younger year boys levitate Neville up to his room and then took Hermione to Madam Pomfrey personally.

Hermione was feeling too overwhelmed and borderline hysterical to keep track of what was happening. She didn't want Ginny to touch her. Ginny's hands were too small and pokey. Ginny's voice was too high-pitched. Every time Ginny said anything Hermione wanted to plug her ears to keep the sound out.

Then Madam Pomfrey's voice sounded like operatic vibrato being belted into Hermione's ears. Everyone smelled oppressively sweet. It made Hermione want to gag.

Her whole body felt as though there were ants crawling on it. The feeling made her writhe and twist, trying to calm herself and get away from the edge she felt she'd been taken to.

But there was no way to get down from it. She was stuck there, just waiting on and on. People kept trying to ask her questions and she couldn't figure out how to answer them. She didn't know how to explain what was happening.

The ache between her legs had sharpened into an overwhelming throbbing sensation and she kept pressing her thighs together trying to relieve it.

She felt so helpless so helpless and bewildered and out of control that she started crying.

People stopped trying to talk to her after that and just spoke to each other.

There was something that was impossible. And maybe something about a specialist.

Anne O'Megga.

Hermione thought was the name she kept hearing, but it was very hard to keep anything straight. Her brain was feeling very determined to not think. The only remotely coherent things she could contemplate were her memories of Neville's hands on her body, his mouth against her skin and how she wished he had picked her up and run away with her before Ginny interfered.

No, she didn't.

She did.

No.

She kept whimpering and asking for him.

Neville had smelled so nice. So comforting. And his hands on her. She'd never wanted anything so much. The sensation of his mouth on her neck—-

She was sobbing for it.

Ginny looked milk-faced and kept saying that she was sorry and that she'd had no idea. And Hermione got so irritated with the Head Girl that she growled and tried to bite her. When that didn't work Hermione hexed her.

And then they took away her wand!

After what felt like hours Poppy Pomfrey forced a potion down Hermione's throat and she fell asleep.

When she woke she found herself in a hospital bed surrounded by quarantine wards with Minerva McGonagall beside her.

She felt less feverish. The feeling of being suspended had faded and the throbbing between her legs had reduced itself to a dull ache. The tension on her wrists and neck felt faintly ticklish. When she touched there it made her whole body tingle slightly.

Hermione sat up.

"What do I have?" she asked the Headmistress.

"Nothing. You haven't contracted any diseases."

"Oh..." Hermione said in confusion glancing at the wards. "Was I poisoned?"

"No." McGonagall said, shifting uncomfortably.

Hermione stared at her steadily. "What's wrong with me?"

"You—have reached adulthood," McGonagall said and her Scottish burr came through due to the level of discomfort she appeared to be suffering under.

"I have already been an adult for nearly two years. I'm turning nineteen tomorrow," Hermione pointed out.

"Yes. Well. There is an aspect of wizarding development that is—well, it's not usually particularly pertinent or covered in Hogwart's curriculum. Especially given that you were understood to be a Muggle-born. It never crossed my mind that it would need to be brought up with you."

"Understood to be a Muggle-born?" Hermione repeated in a cold tone. She took great pride in her origins. She was not interested in having anyone try to steal her accomplishments by attributing them to some alleged blood status.

"Well, it appears that your parents or at least your grandparents may have been squibs," McGonagall said.

Hermione gripped the blanket across her lap and squinted at McGonagall.

"You are a very rare type of witch called an Omega," McGonagall said after a moment. "It's a manifestation found solely among old wizarding blood. Which is why we have reason to believe that you must have squib blood from a near relative."

"An Omega?" Hermione echoed, her mind doing a rapid mental cross-reference. "I've never heard of those before."

"Well, they're very rare. I've only known a handful in my life. And it's not a subject that is considered to polite to talk about in public."

"Is it—," Hermione started and then hesitated. "Is there something wrong with me?"

"No! Not at all. It's simply somewhat sensitive," McGonagall said quickly. Then she took a deep breath. "I apologize Miss Granger, I had never expected to have this conversation with anyone. It's left me somewhat at a loss. Miss Weasley mentioned that you have noticed the physical changes among your male classmates this year."

Hermione nodded carefully.

"It's a related phenomena," McGonagall explained. "In wizarding society there is a biological hierarchy that occurs, outside of blood status. The primary group is made up of what are termed Betas. Mr Potter, Mr Ronald Weasley, Miss Weasley, most of your classmates and myself, we are all Betas. Less common in wizarding society are what are called Alphas. Mr Longbottom, Mr Nott, Mr Malfoy, and Mr Goldstein are Alphas. As are Charlie and Bill Weasley. When they turn eighteen they have a final growth spurt that causes a hormonal and physical change to occur. It causes them to become more dominant and—attractive, some would say. Lucius Malfoy was a very typical Alpha male. Sirius Black and James Potter were too. Alphas have a talent and confidence that makes it easy for them to get their way if they choose to lean heavily into their dominant traits. Although most decent Alphas are careful not to abuse such a thing."

"And where exactly do Omegas fit into all this?" Hermione asked suspiciously. Nothing McGonagall had said had sounded like something scandalous or inappropriate. But none of it had covered Hermione's bizarre reaction to Alphas either.

"Omegas," McGonagall said, growing visibly uncomfortable again, "are the rarest of the three. As I mentioned, I've only known a few in my lifetime. They occur very infrequently. They are—" McGonagall choked slightly and turned pink. "They're submissives, to the Alphas."

"They're what?" Hermione said, there was a hint of a growl in the back of her throat.

"You are aware that wizarding families have extremely low birth rates," McGonagall asked, appearing to switch tactics.

Hermione nodded, beginning to seethe inwardly.

"Magical pregnancy is extremely traumatic and difficult on a witch's body. Most witches have multiple miscarriages before they carry a child to term. That is why you will rarely find a wizarding family with more than two children. It's simply too hard on them physically and magically. Some witches lose their magic entirely during the pregnancy because they're so drained by it. Often times a birth can be so traumatic they can't have more children. Reproduction is a tremendous risk for witches."

McGonagall straightened.

"That is not the case for Omegas. Magically speaking they are uniquely designed to bear magical children."

"Really?" Hermione's voice was dripping acid.

"Molly Weasley is an Omega," McGonagall said. "You've surely noticed the unusual size of the Weasley Family in comparison to any other."

Hermione nodded begrudgingly. "So, I'm a magical broodmare?" she said with false calm. "I'm afraid that's going to have to wait. I am not interested in having children for at least six years."

"I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than that," Minerva said gently.

"Why?" Hermione asked. A feeling of vulnerability and dread swept over her and she stroked her wrists absent-mindedly trying soothe it.

"Omegas have only been known to be born into wizarding families. Halfblood or pureblood. At birth the magical hospitals test all children as a matter of routine to find out their designation. That way the parents are aware and can prepare their children for what will happen. Males present as Alphas at eighteen but females are slightly delayed and present on their nineteenth birthday. Most families see to it that an Omega is already married to an Alpha before she turns nineteen. Or if she is unwilling to marry an Alpha, she gets pregnant before that point, the way Molly did."

"Why—," Hermione choked.

"As I mentioned," McGonagall said, blushing an even deeper shade of pink," Omegas are unique in their ability to have children. When they turn nineteen they—they—gowinntoaumheatstate," McGongall's words turned abruptly indecipherable.

"Hmm?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "They do what now?"

"Omegas go into heat," McGonagall said in a thick voice.

"Into heat? Like a dog?" Hermione's voice grew dangerous. Her mind turned back to her interactions with Neville and Malfoy and she felt herself pale as the room started spinning slightly.

Oh dear lord, this was not happening to her.

"I'm truly sorry, Miss Granger, if I had any idea I would have explained all of this to you sooner so you could have had more options."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked trying to keep her voice steady.

"We have dosed you with a potion suppressant to help ease the presentation so I could explain what was happening. But when you turn nineteen you are going to go into heat. It may last up to a week. All the Omegas I have known of got married beforehand, in order to have a chosen Alpha to see them through the heat. They seal the marriage with a soulbond and that keeps the Omega from drawing in any other Alphas. Omegas are so rare, Alphas nearby cannot stop themselves from trying to reach them during a heat. That is why, traditionally, everything is arranged before the Omega presents. So that she cannot be manipulated by her submissive nature or physical needs. Due to the dynamic a sense of trust is important."

Hermione felt like she were about to be sick.

"A heat is not something for an Omega to endure alone," McGonagall said firmly. "It's terribly destructive for them. The toll it takes is severe. You don't need to get bound but you'll need some Alpha to see you through it. Would you like me to send for Mr Longbottom? I'm sure he would be happy to help you."

Hermione remembered the feeling of being pinned to wall under Neville and the sensation of his mouth along her neck. Heat abruptly started pooling in her lower abdomen. She shifted in the bed and pressed her legs together, trying to think straight.

"Do you mean to say that I need to find someone to shag all week and you're suggesting I just proposition Neville?" Hermione asked, trying to be certain she understood what her Headmistress was proposing.

McGonagall blinked. "Well, yes. Alphas are made to want Omegas in the same way that Omegas want them. Alphas can be dangerously possessive at times, but their interest is always in protecting and caring for Omegas. There are so few Omegas born. There are not many Alphas that even have a chance."

Hermione wavered slightly before firmly closing the door on such an option.

"Neville is dating Hannah Abbott. Harry mentioned he's even started looking at rings," she told the headmistress.

"Mr. Goldstein then? You were in DA together."

Hermione grimaced. Something about Anthony Goldstein had always disagreed with her. Which was very unfair because he'd fought quite bravely during the Battle of Hogwarts. But there it was—she didn't like Anthony.

"Can't you just lock me in a room for a week? That's what my neighbors always did with their dog," Hermione said.

"You are not a dog, Miss Granger. You are a witch, and despite the fact that what is happening to you is beyond your control, it doesn't mean that it won't affect you emotionally and mentally to try to endure such a thing alone. It is quite simply not done."

"I don't want some boy I hardly know having sex with me because I'm in heat," Hermione said stiffly. "I'm already a Muggle-born Omega. Doing an additional thing that is "not done" will be fitting. I'm not interested in having you haul in the nearest available Alpha to pity shag me. It might just be sex but—for me—I'm not the type for that. And I'm not interested in changing my attitude because I've "presented" into some bitchy baby machine."

McGonagall sighed in resignation.

"I am not going to force you into anything. If that's what you really want I'll have it arranged for you. Poppy dosed you with a contraceptive earlier, so if you change your mind please call a house elf so that I can send someone to you."

"I won't," Hermione said firmly.

"Very well. I've had a private room prepared for you. If Miss Weasley were not Head Girl I'd put you in the Head Girl room in Gryffindor Tower, but there are some guest dorms in another wing of the castle that will do just as well. I'll go see if it's ready and then we'll transfer you there. Here is a book. I imagine you have more questions than I've answered."

Minerva stood up and then passed through the quarantine wards. Leaving Hermione with a narrow volume to read.

Hermione stared at it. Omegas and Their Breeding Habits by Cornelius Erstwhile.

She balled her hands into fists and punched the mattress repeatedly.

"Bugger. Bugger. Bugger," she muttered to herself feeling nearly hysterical. How had this happened to her? She wanted to cry but she was afraid that if she started she would never stop.

She swallowed her horrified frustration and opened the book.

"Omegas, the natural sexual submissive to the dominant Alpha, are small females designed for procreation as well as the sexual pleasure an Alpha. Until bonded they are of a wanton nature and have a natural tendency toward subservience toward any Alpha they encounter. Prior to soulbonding such traits can be somewhat suppressed by certain potions and become resolved when the witch reaches the end of her fertility..."

Hermione's jaw clenched and magic danced at her fingertips so furiously she nearly set the book on fire. She forced herself to read on.

She wanted to believe that Cornelius Erstwhile was merely a sexist pig with a condescending view of Omegas. But her personal interactions with "Alpha" males made her terrified that the information contained in the book was unfortunately accurate.

According to the book she was, for all intents and purposes, about to turn into a bitch in heat. She would be nearly mindless with her desire to mate with an Alpha male. Apparently it was a itch that was impossible to have scratched by herself or by any beta males. She would want an Alpha and only an Alpha would do. Their anatomy was uniquely...sized to meet her apparent—needs.

She would go into heat every three months until she was pregnant. And she would draw in any Alphas not tied up in a marriage bond as though she were a lobster trap. Without quarantine wards to keep the scent contained they'd be able to smell her from miles away. They would quite literally scale walls and fight each other to get hold of her. It was instinctive. They weren't capable of being rational about it. Wizarding society had ancient laws in place protecting Alpha from prosecution over behavior provoked by an Omega.

Apparently Omegas had no such laws protecting them. The assumption was that they would have an Alpha responsible for all their behavior.

Hermione was so enraged that her glass of water exploded.

It was so animalistic she could scarcely believe it. It was as though her belief that the wizarding world was a normal and largely civilized society had all been an illusion. Behind a veil of civility wizards were just waiting for a certain smell to turn them into wolves.

Cornelius explained in pompous language that traditional means of protecting society from the provocations of a wanton Omega was to get them married off to an Alpha in the year prior to presenting. Keeping the whole issue of heats and Alpha behavior private and sanitary behind closed doors.

Although Omegas could easily have more than half a dozen children they generally refrained from having more than three in order to avoid making it obvious what they were.

It was probably the reason why the Weasley's large family was seen as somewhat scandalous. It shoved Molly's Omega status in everyone's face. Bringing to mind an aspect of Wizarding sexuality and reproduction that most people would prefer to ignore.

It explained why Ginny had seemed defensive when Hermione had tried to bring up the subject of Alphas.

The whole thing was just—shocking. The existence of Omegas felt like a mockery to the ideals of a civil society. One female was capable of reducing every Alpha male within miles into a hormone-driven beast who couldn't think about anything but the need to shove her down on a mattress and shag her for days.

And she would want them to.

Hermione wanted to punch something. Preferably an Alpha.

She forced herself not to throw the book and instead read about Heats.

They ranged between five to seven days. Although they could be brought on prematurely if an Omega was exposed to multiple Alphas' hormones.

She was going to be just wild with lust and desire for an Alpha.

The quantity of fluid involved was embarrassing to even read about. It was obscene. Within a few hours of the heat starting Hermione was going to become a veritable fountain of what was termed "slick." She would be just drenched with arousal. Cornelius Erstwhile mentioned repeatedly the necessity of staying hydrated to make up for the vast quantity of lost fluid.

Hermione felt ready to die of mortification just reading about it.

In addition to apparently getting just soaked with arousal until she was slippery as an oil spill she had also developed what were termed "scent glands" upon her person. On her neck and wrists. The tension and itching she had been experiencing had been caused by their final development. Due to her constant exposure to Alphas the process had been slightly accelerated although the scent wouldn't fully manifest itself to identify her designation until her first heat started.

The glands enticed Alphas and enabled them to identify her whether or not she was in heat. And they were sensitive and stimulated by touch. Alphas would obsessively lick and stroke them in order to layer their own scent onto her as a means of claiming her.

The pages of the book smoldered faintly.

Cornelius began describing what happened with an Alpha and an Omega during a heat.

When an Omega was in heat an Alpha exposed to her hormones reacted by going into his own heat, termed a rut. It was apparently necessary in order for the Alpha to keep up with the neediness of the Omega. The Alpha would essentially...mate the Omega—again and again. For days on end.

The quantity of sex sounded physically impossible.

And it was not just any sex. Alpha and Omega sex involved a insemination process called knotting. An Alpha's genitalia swelled and bulged in a way that physically locked him inside the Omega. An Alpha would come for whole minutes and then remain there for up to half an hour.

Hermione wanted to throw the book. She also found herself uncomfortably aroused. Her rational side found it revolting but somewhere else inside of her she found the idea of being mindless and at the mercy of an anatomically implausible male something desirable. Something she wanted.

She looked up at the clock at the wall. It was already late evening. She could feel the potion suppressing her start to become stretched thin. The mind-numbing edge from that morning kept pushing to break through. She felt it growing and growing. Eventually it would swallow her.

She shifted nervously in the bed and rubbed at her wrists. The book lay forgotten on her lap.

She steeled herself. She didn't need anyone. She could endure a week of horniness all by herself.

It would be fine. Just a week.

She nervously glanced up at the clock again.