Draco drew away from Hermione and stood up, pulling her up from the couch and half-carrying her to the bed. She was nearly boneless. She doubted she could make it on her own. And he could tell. He could always tell things about her, but she was never quite sure how he did it.

When they reached the bed, he pressed her down onto her stomach on the mattress. She was topless, but her skirt and knickers, stockings, and shoes were still on. Practical, very unsexy Mary Janes without heels.

She felt him slip her shoes off.

She wasn't sure if the instructions not to move were still in place. She lay still all the same.

It was actually nice to not be in control.

That was a sentiment Hermione had never imagined herself holding.

When she lost control because of her Omega instincts, it felt cruelly vulnerable. Horrible. A utter nightmare of a betrayal; to have her mind and body just abandon her to any Alpha who fancied controlling her.

In the past, when she'd shagged Draco she'd just been resigned to giving into her instincts. She had felt forced to give up her sense of control and she had hated it.

Staying in control was a necessity. Not something she could safely give up. Hermione didn't know how to not be in control. She'd spent seven years keeping Harry and Ron alive and unexpelled and passing their classes at Hogwarts by being in control.

Voluntarily not being in control felt as foreign a concept as intentionally failing her NEWTs.

Very bad, life-altering, potentially deadly consequences could come from not being in control. If she wasn't in charge and in control, she might not have had a beaded bag containing Harry's invisibility cloak, books, clothing, money, Essence of Dittany, and an entire set of camping gear.

Not being in control was having Anthony Goldstein shove her mind somewhere where she couldn't reach so he could do anything he wanted to her.

Just thinking about losing her sense of control made Hermione's chest tighten and caused her to have trouble breathing.

But having Draco tell her "be still" and then deciding to do it felt different. It was a choice.

She trusted Draco. She already knew he wouldn't hurt her. So choosing to let him be in control because she wanted to, rather than out of sheer desperation, felt like an intense relief.

Alphas liked to be in control. They needed it. To be needed and have someone to take care of. Even without an Omega, Alphas tended toward a very specific set of preferences in the bedroom. Hermione wasn't sure she would ever be interested in letting anyone tie her up and spank her. However, letting Draco tell her to be still, and carry her about and arrange her on the bed, and trusting him simply because she had decided to...

It was nice. Like there a knot of anxiety in the back of her mind that was suddenly gone for the first time in her entire life.

She felt Draco's hand slide up her leg.

She moaned faintly.

"Lift your hips for me," he said. His voice was husky and his fingers caressed her hip bones as he guided her up the way he wanted her.

Hermione shifted until her back was arched, her knees set wide.

He liked that position. He shagged her in it almost every night. But Hermione was usually lost in a fog of hormones at the time. She'd never felt particularly coherent when it happened. The sensation from the angle when he was inside her was intensely satisfying. But as she assumed the pose, it occurred to her for the first time that it was very exposed and embarrassingly indecent.

She blushed into the mattress as she felt Draco unzip her skirt and draw both it and her knickers off over the curve of her arse. She was wet and swollen, she could feel her arousal on her skin as the cool air struck her. She blushed harder as she felt Draco slide her knickers down to her knees, and she shifted a leg so he could pull them off and toss them somewhere in the room.

He seemed to have a thing for flinging her clothing around the room. She'd had to summon her bras and knickers down from the sconces on several occasions.

She bit her lip and hoped he'd just shag her, and not stare at her sex the way he had a habit of doing. It was faintly mortifying every time, no matter how mindless she nearly was.

She knew that it wasn't exactly unusual, especially for Alphas, but still—surely she had better angles from which to be admired. Any angle.

He rested his hands on each cheek of her arse and slid them along the curve and she whimpered. He kneaded her bum and squeezed it possessively.

Then she felt his fingers trail down her thighs lightly, and then he drew away. She shivered. She wished—well, she wasn't sure—she wished she could see what he was doing, but the thought also horrified her. As though having him stare at her arousal wasn't mortifying enough, the thought of watching him do it was almost too cringe-worthy to even contemplate.

She twitched faintly.

There was a terribly, terribly long pause.

What on earth was he looking at? It couldn't possibly be that interesting to look at. She swallowed anxiously and tried to hold still nonetheless.

More time passed.

Then she felt the air shift.

His thumb slid along her wet centre and she gasped quietly.

Then his other thumb was on her, parting her, spreading her open and she could feel his breath against her skin and knew he was very close. She felt as though her entire body were blushing. The heat was radiating from her. She could feel her arousal trailing down her inner thighs. She wanted to die of embarrassment.

She recanted her previous enjoyment of Draco's control. This was not—

Hot. Wet. God...

Draco's tongue slowly lapped across her. Hermione froze and a sound she had never before uttered emerged forcefully from her mouth.

She mewled and nearly collapsed on the bed.

He pressed his hand into the small of her back, holding her in place as he kept licking her; pressing small kisses against her swollen flesh, and then sucking her clit gently into his mouth and lightly flicking it with his tongue.

Hermione moaned gutturally and her back arched more sharply. He kept lapping gently against her until her whole body was vibrating as though she were about to come apart at a subatomic level.

She was so close. If he'd just lick her clit a moment longer.

But he kept not quite...

She was right at the very brink, and he suddenly drew away. The first time she thought it was an accident. Then he did it again. And again. Until she felt ready to cry with desperation. His lips and tongue and fingers kept taking her to the very edge, and then withdrawing and going elsewhere until it faded. He would kiss gently along the curve of her arse, or soothingly massage the tension in the base of her spine where her back was arched.

Then he'd kiss near her clit again and she'd be so agonizingly close again as he dragged his tongue up her inner thighs, collecting every drop of her arousal.

She felt so on edge she felt as though she might come if he'd just breathe on her. But he wouldn't even do that. Hermione tangled her fingers into the sheets desperately as she choked back a frustrated gasp.

She couldn't take it. She wanted him inside her. She wanted his arms around her and the feeling of his cock buried inside her until she stretched around him as he filled her to the very limit.

"Please—," she finally sobbed as his tongue gently lapped against her clit and core once again. "Oh god, Malfoy, please!"

His tongue stilled again and he drew away just enough to press a kiss against the sensitive spot at the top of her thigh just below the curve of her arse. She felt so close she was sure if he so much as pressed a finger inside her she'd instantly come apart.

"Please what?" he asked in a low voice. She could feel him smirking faintly against her thigh. Prat. He was just unbelievable.

Hermione swallowed hard. "Please, please fuck me," she said in a small voice.

He shifted away without a word. Hermione held her breath and heard the sound of shifting fabric. She nearly cried with relief.

Then she felt him behind her, his right hand lightly caught her hip and held her in place while his left hand trailed along her spine for a moment.

Then she felt the head of his cock against her centre and pressed back against him as he sank into her. She gave a long low moan as he filled her. She clenched hard around every inch of him. He was pressed hard against her pelvis, and she gasped raggedly as she arched and felt herself stretching around him.

Had sex always been this real?

He pulled back and thrust deep inside her again and again. Hard and fast. He groaned low in the back of his throat each time she clenched around him, every time she heard it it was as though the sound set the nerves in her spine on fire. She pushed her hips back to meet him, and whimpered and gasped under him.

He leaned across her back until his chest was pressed against her. His heat was radiating through her. She felt his fingers dig into her hair at the base of her scalp and he pulled her head up and turned it, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss as he continued to drive into her.

She felt completely lost in him. He was in her and over her, his fingers tugged at her hair and his lips stole away her breath.

He pulled his lips away from hers and slid a hand under her body, gripping her right breast and he maintained his relentless pace. The angle inside her was just too—

"You're so perfect. You're mine. Always mine," he muttered against her shoulder as his thrusts grew abbreviated as his knot inside her began to swell. He'd never knotted her in that position before, Hermione felt as though he were somehow deeper and larger, which should have been both impossible and uncomfortable but somehow felt utterly incredible.

She was pinned beneath him, physically trapped as his cock became locked inside her body and he wrapped his muscular arms around her. She had never felt so safe in her life.

There was a split second of lull. Then his hips jerked spasmodically as he started to come.

Hermione felt like bomb went off inside her. There wasn't even a sensation of orgasming, there was just whiteness as though the world had momentarily ceased to exist as the intensity of her climax struck her. When she recovered herself she was still orgasming. On and on. She screamed as she clenched and her body seized around him.

"Good girl," Draco groaned into her ear as he jerked inside her. "You're such a good girl. So perfect. Mine. God. Please. Always—always mine."

When the climax faded he panted heavily and rested his head against hers before kissing across her shoulders. He started to slide his arms away, Hermione captured his hand and gripped it.

"Stay—," she said, panting as she slid her legs down and splayed across the mattress. "I like feeling you like this."

He followed her and sandwiched her onto the mattress. His chest pressing into her back, his arms across her arms and his legs on top of her legs. Hermione sighed and melted. Her heart was still pounding from her orgasm. Her head fit under his chin but he tilted his head down and brushed his lips across her cheek.

She let her eyes drift closed and relished it. She felt so overwhelmed she could have fallen asleep. But her brain was racing, trying to process what had just happened.

"I thought it just the pheromones," she said after several minutes of lying under him and absorbing his heat like a cat in the sunshine.

"What?" His voice rumbled in his chest and she could feel the vibrations in her back.

"The intensity. I thought it was just our pheromones causing a chemical reaction in the brain. Like a drug trip. I didn't realize the sex was actually like that. I thought I was just high on you."

He was silent for a minute. "Thanks," he finally said in a dry voice.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as she blushed. "I don't mean that I thought you were bad at it. It's just—normally I'm very lost. I can't always even remember exactly what happens because it's so surreal. So I didn't realize that—" her breath caught, "—that I could still have sex and feel like I'm me. I thought it was just—something I could only experience as an Omega now."

Draco was silent for a very long time. An almost worryingly long time.

"Granger, you are an Omega," he said slowly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, but—,"

"There isn't any 'but.' You're an Omega. You've been one your whole life. You aren't a werewolf, this isn't something you've been recently infected with and are now forced to sporadically treat. You are an Omega. Full stop. There are no buts after it."

"But—"

He groaned faintly. Hermione stiffened beneath him. He gave a faint sigh. "Go on, I'm listening," he said in a resigned tone.

He slid his hands up her arms and then slowly down them, then entwined his fingers with hers and nuzzled her ear with his nose.

Hermione shivered under him, and tried to remember what she was saying. "But I'm not. It's not me. I mean, not that you and I knew each other very well before—but can't you tell that it's not me? I wouldn't be like this if I had any control over it. When the pheromones are in play, I lose almost all my self-determination. Even when I know—it's like the part of me that knows doesn't have any power to stop myself from going along with it. It is like a form of dissociation. I don't understand how anyone can regard it as anything but absolutely horrifying."

Malfoy was quiet and Hermione huffed slightly. "I mean, you don't think I would ever be willingly vulnerable to Anthony Goldstein, do you?"

Draco didn't immediately reply. He just brushed his lips against her temple. He let go of her right hand and combed her hair off her face.

"I think it's possible that you didn't present normally," he said, tracing a finger along her hairline. "None of the books I've read make any reference to the—duality you sometimes demonstrate. I don't think that's typical with Omegas."

Hermione froze as she processed what he had said. "What—do you mean?"

"Well—you were at school, surrounded by Alphas before you presented. Even before your birthday, you noticed that something was different, didn't you? You acted rather unusually whenever I saw you."

Hermione gave a small nod.

"You probably should have gone into premature heat. That's what the books say tends to happen when Omegas are exposed to Alphas. But you still didn't present until your birthday. My theory is that you suppressed your presentation, probably through sheer-willpower. And given the state you were in when I—when I found you, you were still fighting it even once you were in heat. If it's anything like Alpha presentation, I imagine that affected how your presentation manifested."

Hermione stiffen and lay in a state of stunned horror. "Oh my god. You mean—I did this to myself?"

"Not—intentionally."

"But you think that if I hadn't fought it, that it would have turned out differently?"

"It's possible."

"Oh god," Hermione said quietly. She felt tempted to cry.

"We could write to my grandmother. She's rather reclusive, but it's possible she'd be willing to speak to you if we tell her you're an Omega. She'd be able to tell you whether what you're experiencing is typical."

Hermione had a difficult time imagining that Druella Black, who hadn't even appeared at her daughter's trial, would agree to meet with a Muggle-born Omega.

"It might change for you," Draco added after a minute. His tone was suddenly different. Before there had been a gentleness to it, a sense of reassurance. Now he sounded tense, his voice slightly hard. "When you finally find someone you trust enough to have bite you. If it stops being so difficult for you to accept, the dual tendencies may fade."

Hermione froze for a moment. Then she bit down on the inside of her lip and closed her eyes. He wasn't—he couldn't possibly be knotted inside her while telling her to find another Alpha. She had to be misunderstanding him.

"Is that what you think I should do? Find someone else?" she asked carefully.

Draco went still. "Isn't that what you're intending to do?" he said. "When you said this was temporary?"

Hermione suddenly regretted the fact that she was lying, pinned under his body with no possible way to escape. She felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. She pressed her lips together and swallowed hard.

"No," she forced herself to say after a minute. "I'm—actually pursuing medical options."

"Medical options?" Draco echoed sounding completely lost.

Hermione flushed. She was already sweating faintly under Draco, but suddenly felt as though she were trapped in a sauna. She hadn't really considered discussing any of it with Malfoy.

"Yes," she said, trying to keep her voice casual. "Removing my ovaries to stop the heats. And my glands too. Just getting rid of the whole issue so that I won't have to deal with it anymore."

Draco was silent. It was a deafening silence. "You—," he started after more than a minute. Then he stopped and fell silent again.

Hermione twitched. "Anyway, that's the long term option I'm exploring. I haven't heard back yet. It just seems more logical than giving up my whole life and marrying Charlie Weasley just because he's single and I know him better than anyone else. Or gambling with whether the next the Alpha I trust ends up turning into another Anthony Goldstein. I don't really think that there's much chance of the duality fading in either of those cases. So—it makes more sense to just—stop being an Omega."

Draco's hand that was still entwined with hers flinched faintly and he tightened his hold. "You—that's what you want to do?" His voice seemed to be shaking slightly.

Hermione tucked her chin down against her shoulder. "It—seems like the most logical thing to do."

"You—don't want to soulbond? Or have children?"

Hermione buried her face in the mattress. "Wanting to soulbond is a biological imperative, so once the hormones are all gone, I'm sure the desire will fade away. It's probably just an instinct. And as for children—I can adopt."

Draco didn't say anything else. He dropped his head down against her shoulder and pressed his cheek against it. After a few more minutes his cock softened enough that he could slip out of her.

He pulled away and sat on the edge of the bed. Hermione looked back over her shoulder and studied him. His back was to her, she wasn't sure what he was doing. She couldn't see his face.

She wasn't sure what to make of his reaction.

"I think I need to go," he abruptly said. He stood up and started gathering his clothes.

Hermione sat up and watched him. She felt cold, and pulled the bed throw tightly around herself. He didn't look at her as he redressed, then grabbed his satchel up off the sofa.

He'd always stayed the night.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, "are you upset at me?"

He froze and then turned back to look at her. "Not at all, Granger. I just happen to have a bed in my dorm that I should probably make an occasional appearance in."

Hermione stared at him doubtfully.

"Goodnight, Granger," he tossed the words  over his shoulder as he left.

Hermione glanced around the room that suddenly felt cold, vast, and horribly empty.

She hated being alone in that room. Somehow it was always her left in the room. Malfoy always left first.

She got up and redressed. Summoned her skirt and knickers down from the sconce they were hanging from.

Her bed in the Gryffindor dorm was cold. It took her hours to finally fall asleep. She had to conjure more than twenty comforters before she felt warm enough. She slept late. By the time her alarm clock's persistent buzzing managed to break into her consciousness, breakfast was long past.

She got a sandwich from the House-elves and went to the library.

She was deep in a review of her Transfiguration reading when she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She looked up and found Neville staring awkwardly at her.

She studied him guardedly. "Is there something wrong, Neville?"

"Um—" he rubbed his chin as he stared at her. "I accidentally opened your post today. I'm so sorry. I saw it was a package from St Mungos and I just assumed it was about my parents, so I didn't check the name."

He pulled a large, opened envelope from his book bag and held it out toward her.

Hermione flushed and snatched it out of his hand. She pulled the sheaf of papers out and rapidly skimmed the contents.

Her face fell, and she swallowed disappointment at the contents' summary.

"Well," she said after several minutes of reading. "That's—not as simple as I had hoped."

Neville shifted awkwardly. "Is that—actually something you're—is that what you're planning on?"

Hermione looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "I'm assuming you read it all?"

Neville turned bright red. "At first I was just confused, then once I realized—I was curious. I'm really sorry. If anyone read my parents' files I'd probably clobber them. You can punch me or hex me or whatever you want. I swear I wouldn't have opened it if I'd realized it was for you."

"It's—fine," Hermione said heavily, flipping through the pages again. "It's not like you wouldn't know, if I ended up doing it."

"Aren't there better options? I mean—that's pretty—you couldn't go back. It would change everything." Neville was eying her worriedly.

The corner of Hermione's mouth twitched. "Well—I thought it would just be no kids. I didn't realize all the other—risks and likely side-effects. It's not as straightforward as I had hoped." She sighed and flipped through the package again and stopped on another page. "Obviously that's assuming the St Mungo's ethics board would even approve such a 'disservice to Wizarding kind,' after I pass all the prerequisite exams and psychological interviews. Given that not wanting biological children apparently makes my soundness of mind questionable. My designation aside, 'smart girls' like me are the ones Wizarding world really needs children from." She sneered at one of the many letters enclosed the package. "It's remarkable how eager they are to foist motherhood upon me, given how many times they've managed to imply I'm mentally unstable, incapable of making decisions about my own body, and in need of extensive counseling."

Neville rubbed the back of his neck and appeared at a loss. "So... you and Malfoy aren't—I just assumed you two were dating."

"We aren't," Hermione said, looking away. "It's just a casual thing, to keep all the other—boys from harassing me while I waited to hear back on this." She indicated the package.

"Huh," Neville said in a bewildered voice. He seemed to be staring at her in a manner that was worryingly contemplative. It was an expression Harry habitually wore when planning something noble and stupid. Hermione cringed.

"Neville, I'm really sorry about you and Hannah. She and I spoke last night. I just want you to know, I'm not interested in interfering in your relationship. The whole reason I'm even exploring medical options is because I'm very disinterested with the idea of ending up in some sort of obligatory, semi-arranged marriage. I already have the whole Weasley Family repeatedly writing to urge me to just marry Charlie." She snorted faintly.

Neville was still staring at her contemplatively.

Hermione groaned internally. "So, please don't do anything. Reading my post semi-accidentally was not an invitation for you to interfere with what I decide to do with my life."

He had the grace to blush.

She studied him. Neville really was attractive. Strong without losing his sense of warmth. If he weren't with Hannah—Hermione could easily imagine herself falling for him. There was a steadiness to him that drew her in like a moth to flame.

She tore her eyes away and bit her lip. "Anyway, I've got homework. And I'm sure you do too. Thanks for bringing me my post."

Neville shifted his book bag, and she could see him continuing to hesitate. She stared determinedly down at her Transfiguration textbook until he finally left.

She gave a faint sigh of relief and started actually reading.

She had only been able to read five paragraphs when there was a screech of chair legs, and someone dropped into the seat to Hermione's left.

Hermione closed her eyes and groaned internally before turning.

Pansy was somehow balancing the chair on two legs, reclining back at an impossible angle, and staring at Hermione through narrowed eyes. Her lips were a dangerous shade of scarlet and curled up slightly in a smirk.

"I've decided," Pansy announced after a minute. "Since you don't appear to be doing anything with the absolute goldmine you've been biologically handed, I'll have to do it for you. I'm going to find you a husband."