All You Want Episode 2 - Harry Potter

Hermione wakes in the Hospital Wing to a revelation that shatters her post-war plans. After the explosive scene in Gryffindor Tower, McGonagall explains a hidden layer of wizarding biology, naming Alphas among Hermione’s year and confirming Hermione as a rare Omega with her nineteenth birthday looming. Consent, tradition, and autonomy collide as Hermione refuses an arranged solution and prepares to face what comes next on her own. 

In this episode

• Fallout from the Neville incident, Ginny’s intervention, and quarantine in the Hospital Wing
• McGonagall’s difficult talk about Alpha, Beta, and Omega dynamics in wizarding society
• Why wizarding birth rates are low, and why some families, like the Weasleys, are outliers
• The ethics of choice, protection, and secrecy at Hogwarts after the war
• Hermione’s decision as her nineteenth birthday and first heat approach

Transcript

**Chapter 2: You Don’t Know What You’ve Got Till It’s Gone**

Neville suddenly fell backward off Hermione, and she slid down the wall, looking up at the flabbergasted Head Girl. Everything felt overwhelming—her entire body screamed, as if Neville’s touch had brought her to the brink of something earth-shattering and then left her there.

She felt suspended, dangling helplessly. She craved the warmth of a body against hers, the sensation of hands, lips, and a tongue teasing her sensitive skin.

She wanted a strong, muscular form to hold her down while she arched against it. She longed to hear Neville's voice guiding her, assuring her that he would take care of her, because everything felt so confusing.

Now that he wasn’t touching her anymore, everything felt wrong. “Ginny, I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Hermione managed to say, her voice trembling.

“How is this even possible?”

Ginny shook her head faintly, still in shock. After that, everything became a blur.

Ginny summoned some of the younger boys to levitate Neville up to his room and then took Hermione to Madam Pomfrey herself. Hermione felt overwhelmed, teetering on the edge of hysteria, struggling to keep track of what was happening.

She didn’t want Ginny to touch her; her hands felt too small and pokey. Ginny's voice rang in her ears, high-pitched and grating.

Every time Ginny spoke, Hermione wanted to cover her ears to block out the sound. Then Madam Pomfrey's voice pierced through the chaos, echoing like operatic vibrato.

The air was thick with an oppressively sweet scent that made Hermione feel nauseous. It was as if ants were crawling all over her body, and the sensation made her writhe and twist, trying to calm herself and escape the edge she felt teetering on.

But there was no way down; she was trapped, just waiting endlessly. People kept asking her questions, but she couldn’t find the words to answer.

She didn’t know how to explain what she was feeling. The ache between her legs intensified into an overwhelming throbbing sensation, and she found herself pressing her thighs together in a futile attempt to relieve it.

Helpless, bewildered, and feeling completely out of control, tears began to flow. Conversations around her faded as people shifted their focus to one another.

There was talk of something impossible and a specialist—Anne O’Megga was the name that kept echoing in her mind, though it was hard to keep any thought straight. Her brain seemed determined to shut down.

The only memories she could cling to were of Neville’s hands on her body, his mouth against her skin. She wished he had picked her up and run away with her before Ginny had interrupted.

No, she didn’t. Yes, she did.

She kept whimpering his name, longing for him. Neville had smelled so nice, so comforting, and his touch was something she had never wanted more.

The sensation of his mouth on her neck—she was sobbing for it. Ginny, looking pale and remorseful, kept apologizing, saying she had no idea.

Frustrated with the Head Girl, Hermione growled and tried to bite her. When that failed, she resorted to hexing her.

But then they took her wand away! After what felt like hours, Poppy Pomfrey forced a potion down her throat, and she slipped into sleep.

When she finally awoke, she found herself in a hospital bed, surrounded by quarantine wards, with Minerva McGonagall at her side. The feverish feeling had subsided, and the throbbing between her legs had dulled to a mere ache.

The tension in her wrists and neck was faintly ticklish, and when she touched those areas, her whole body tingled. Hermione sat up and asked, “What do I have?” 

“Nothing.

You haven’t contracted any diseases,” Minerva reassured her. “Oh…” Hermione replied, glancing at the wards in confusion.

“Was I—”

“Poisoned?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowing with concern. “No,” McGonagall replied, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

Hermione fixed her gaze on her professor, determination in her eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”  
“You—have reached adulthood,” McGonagall said, her Scottish accent becoming more pronounced, revealing her discomfort.

“I’ve been an adult for nearly two years. I’m turning nineteen tomorrow,” Hermione pointed out, frustration creeping into her voice.

“Yes. Well, there’s an aspect of wizarding development that is… not usually covered in Hogwarts' curriculum.

Especially since you were understood to be a Muggle-born. It never crossed my mind that this would need to be discussed with you.”  
“Understood to be a Muggle-born?” Hermione echoed, her tone growing colder.

She took pride in her origins and resented any implication that her accomplishments were tied to her blood status. “Well, it appears that your parents—or at least your grandparents—may have been squibs,” McGonagall said carefully.

Hermione gripped the blanket across her lap, her eyes narrowing. “You are a very rare type of witch called an Omega,” McGonagall continued after a moment.

“This manifestation is found solely among old wizarding blood, which is why we believe you must have squib blood from a near relative.”  
“An Omega?” Hermione repeated, her mind racing as she tried to recall any mention of such a term. “I’ve never heard of that before.”  
“They’re extremely rare.

I’ve only known a handful in my life. And it’s not considered polite to discuss it publicly,” McGonagall explained.

“Is it—” Hermione hesitated, then pressed on, “Is there something wrong with me?”  
“No! Not at all.

It’s simply a sensitive topic,” McGonagall said quickly, then took a deep breath. “I apologize, Miss Granger.

I never expected to have this conversation with anyone, and it’s left me somewhat at a loss. Miss Weasley mentioned that you’ve noticed the physical changes among your male classmates this year.”

Hermione nodded slowly.

“It’s a related phenomenon,” McGonagall explained. “In wizarding society, there exists a biological hierarchy that goes beyond blood status.

The primary group consists of what we call Betas. Mr.

Potter, Mr. Ronald Weasley, Miss Weasley, most of your classmates, and myself—we’re all Betas.

Less common in our society are those known as Alphas. Mr.

Longbottom, Mr. Nott, Mr.

Malfoy, and Mr. Goldstein are all Alphas, as are Charlie and Bill Weasley.

When they turn eighteen, they experience a final growth spurt that brings about hormonal and physical changes. This transformation makes them more dominant and, some might say, more attractive.

Lucius Malfoy was a prime example of a typical Alpha male. Sirius Black and James Potter shared similar traits.

Alphas possess a confidence and talent that often allows them to get their way if they choose to lean into their dominant nature. Most decent Alphas, however, are careful not to misuse that power.”

“And where exactly do Omegas fit into all this?” Hermione asked, her tone laced with suspicion.

Nothing McGonagall had said sounded scandalous or inappropriate, but it hadn’t explained her strange reaction to Alphas either. “Omegas,” McGonagall said, 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 hesitated, her cheeks flushing. “They’re submissives to the Alphas.”

“They’re what?” Hermione responded, a growl creeping into her voice.

“Are you aware that wizarding families have extremely low birth rates?” McGonagall asked, shifting her approach. Hermione nodded, feeling her frustration simmer.

“Magical pregnancies can be incredibly traumatic and difficult for a witch’s body. Most witches endure multiple miscarriages before carrying a child to term.

That’s why you will rarely find a wizarding family with...”

"More than two children? It’s simply too hard on them, both physically and magically.

Some witches lose their magic entirely during pregnancy because it drains them so much. Often, a birth can be so traumatic that 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 dripped with skepticism. "Molly Weasley is an Omega," McGonagall explained.

"You’ve surely noticed the unusually large size of the Weasley family compared to others."

Hermione nodded begrudgingly. "So, I’m a magical broodmare?" she said, trying to maintain a calm facade.

"I’m afraid that’s going to have to wait. I’m 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 wave of vulnerability and dread washing over her as she absent-mindedly stroked her wrists. "Omegas have only been known to be born into wizarding families, whether half-blood or pureblood.

At birth, the magical hospitals routinely test all children to determine their designation, so parents can prepare them for what to expect. Males present as Alphas at eighteen, but females are slightly delayed and present on their nineteenth birthday.

Most families ensure that an Omega is already married to an Alpha before she turns nineteen. Or, if she is unwilling to marry, she often becomes pregnant before that point, like Molly did."

"Why—" Hermione choked, struggling to process the implications.

"As I mentioned," McGonagall said, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, "Omegas are unique in their ability to have children. When they turn nineteen, they—"

"What?

What happens?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Omegas go into heat," McGonagall finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

McGonagall's voice was thick as she spoke. “Into heat?

Like a dog?” 

Hermione's tone turned sharp. Memories of her interactions with Neville and Malfoy flooded her mind, and she felt her face drain of color as the room began to spin 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 more options.” 

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. “We've dosed you with a potion suppressant to help ease the presentation, allowing me to explain what’s happening.

But when you turn nineteen, you’re going to go into heat. It may last up to a week.

All the Omegas I know have gotten married beforehand to ensure they have a chosen Alpha to support them through it. They seal the marriage with a soul bond, which prevents the Omega from attracting other Alphas.

Omegas are so rare that nearby Alphas can’t help but be drawn to them during heat. That’s why, traditionally, everything is arranged before the Omega presents—to avoid manipulation by their submissive nature or physical needs.

Trust is crucial in this dynamic.”

Hermione felt a wave of nausea wash over her. “A heat is not something an Omega should endure alone,” McGonagall said firmly.

“It’s incredibly destructive for them, and the toll it takes is severe. You don’t have to get bound, but you’ll need an Alpha to support you.

Would you like me to send for Mr. Longbottom?

I’m sure he would be happy to help.”

Hermione's mind flashed back to the feeling of being pinned against the wall by Neville, the sensation of his mouth along her neck. Heat pooled in her lower abdomen.

She shifted in the bed, pressing her legs together, trying to think clearly. “Are you saying I need to find someone to...

well, you’re suggesting I just proposition Neville?” Hermione asked, ensuring she understood what her Headmistress was proposing. McGonagall blinked.

“Well, yes. Alphas are naturally drawn to Omegas in the same way that Omegas are drawn to them.

While Alphas can be dangerously possessive at times, their primary instinct is to protect and care for Omegas. There are so few Omegas born, and not many Alphas even have a chance.”

Hermione hesitated, then resolutely closed the door on that option.

“Neville is dating Hannah Abbott. Harry mentioned that he’s even started looking at rings,” she told the headmistress.

“Mr. Goldstein then?

You were in Dumbledore's Army together.”

Hermione grimaced. Something about Anthony Goldstein had always rubbed her the wrong way.

It felt unfair since he had fought bravely during the Battle of Hogwarts, but that didn’t change her feelings. “Can’t you just lock me in a room for a week?

That’s what my neighbors always did with their dog.”

“You are not a dog, Miss Granger. You are a witch, and while what you’re experiencing is beyond your control, enduring it alone can take a toll on you emotionally and mentally.

It simply isn’t done.”

“I don’t want some boy I hardly know having sex with me just because I’m in heat,” Hermione replied stiffly. “I’m already a Muggle-born Omega.

Adding something else that’s ‘not done’ seems fitting. I’m not interested in having you bring in the nearest available Alpha to pity shag me.

It might just be sex, but for me, that’s not who I am. I refuse to change my attitude just because I’ve ‘presented’ as some sort of baby machine.”

McGonagall sighed in resignation.

“I am not going to force you into anything. If that’s truly what you want, I’ll arrange it.

Poppy dosed you with a contraceptive earlier, so if you change your mind, just call a house elf, and I’ll send someone to you.”

“I won’t,” Hermione said firmly. “Very well.

I’ve had a private room prepared for you. If—”

“If Miss Weasley weren’t Head Girl, I would have put you in the Head Girl room in Gryffindor Tower,” Minerva said, “but there are guest dorms in another wing of the castle that will work just as well.

I’ll check to see if it’s ready, and then we can transfer you there. Here’s a book.

I imagine you have more questions than I’ve answered.” 

Minerva stood up and passed through the quarantine wards, leaving Hermione with a narrow volume titled *Omegas and Their Breeding Habits* by Cornelius Erstwhile. Hermione stared at it, her hands balling into fists as she 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 feared that if she started, she would never stop. Swallowing her horrified frustration, she reluctantly opened the book.

“Omegas, the natural sexual submissive to the dominant Alpha, are small females designed for procreation as well as for the sexual pleasure of an Alpha. Until bonded, they are of a wanton nature and have a natural tendency toward subservience to 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 fiercely that she nearly set the book on fire. She forced herself to read on, wanting to believe that Cornelius Erstwhile was merely a sexist pig with a condescending view of Omegas.

Yet, her personal interactions with “Alpha” males filled her with dread, making her terrified that the information in the book was all too accurate. According to the text, 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 an itch that could only be scratched by an Alpha; no beta male would suffice.

Their anatomy was uniquely suited to meet her needs…

Hermione's mind raced with the implications of what she was reading. The thought that she would go into heat every three months until she became pregnant was overwhelming.

It felt like she was a trap, drawing in any unbonded Alphas, as if she were a lobster trap waiting to ensnare them. Without quarantine wards to contain her scent, they would be able to detect her from miles away, scaling walls and fighting each other for the chance to claim her.

It was instinctive, driven by an urge that left no room for rational thought. The wizarding world had ancient laws designed to protect Alphas from prosecution for actions provoked by an Omega, but there were no such protections for Omegas.

The assumption was that an Alpha would take responsibility for their behavior. The realization left Hermione seething.

In her frustration, her glass of water shattered, a reflection of her inner turmoil. It was so primal that it felt surreal.

All her beliefs about the wizarding world being a civilized society seemed to crumble. Behind the facade of civility, it appeared that wizards were merely waiting for the right scent to unleash their basest instincts.

Cornelius's pompous explanations about traditional methods of protecting society from the provocations of a so-called wanton Omega only added to her anger. He spoke of marrying them off to an Alpha before they presented, keeping the entire issue of heats and Alpha behavior hidden behind closed doors.

Though Omegas could easily have more than six children, they typically limited themselves to three, trying to avoid drawing attention to their status. That was likely why the Weasley family, with its numerous children, was seen as somewhat scandalous—it brought Molly’s Omega status into the spotlight, highlighting aspects of wizarding sexuality and reproduction that most preferred to ignore.

It also explained Ginny's defensiveness when Hermione had broached the subject of Alphas. The whole situation was shocking.

The existence of Omegas felt like a mockery of the ideals of a civilized society. One female could reduce every Alpha male within miles into a hormone-driven beast, consumed by an instinct to dominate.

And the worst part was that she would want it. Hermione felt a surge of frustration.

She wanted to punch something—preferably an Alpha. Instead of throwing the book across the room, she forced herself to keep reading about heats.

They typically lasted between five to seven days, but could be triggered early if an Omega was exposed to the hormones of multiple Alphas. The thought of being overwhelmed with lust and desire for an Alpha was unsettling.

As she read on, she found herself embarrassed by the sheer volume of fluid described in the text. It felt obscene.

Within just a few hours of her heat beginning, Hermione would become a veritable fountain of what was referred to as "slick." The idea of being drenched with arousal was mortifying. The author, Cornelius Erstwhile, emphasized the importance of staying hydrated to compensate for the vast amount of fluid lost during this time.

To make matters worse, Hermione learned that she had developed what were called "scent glands" on her neck and wrists. The tension and itching she had been feeling were signs of their final development.

Due to her constant exposure to Alphas, this process had accelerated slightly. However, the scent wouldn’t fully manifest to reveal her designation until her first heat began.

These glands would attract Alphas and allow them to identify her, whether or not she was in heat. They were sensitive and would be stimulated by touch, leading Alphas to obsessively lick and stroke them, layering their own scent onto her as a way of claiming her.

As she continued to read, the pages of the book felt like they were smoldering. Cornelius described what happened between an Alpha and an Omega during a heat.

When an Omega was in heat, an Alpha exposed to her hormones would enter his own heat, referred to as a rut. This response was necessary for the Alpha to meet the Omega's heightened needs.

The text suggested that the Alpha would mate with the Omega repeatedly, for days on end. The sheer quantity of sex described seemed physically impossible, and it wasn’t just any kind of sex.

Alpha and Omega encounters involved a process called knotting, where the Alpha’s anatomy would swell and bulge in a way that... The description detailed how an Alpha could physically lock himself inside an Omega, staying there for several minutes and sometimes lingering for up to half an hour.

Hermione felt a surge of frustration and wanted to throw the book across the room. Yet, oddly enough, she also found herself uncomfortably aroused.

Her rational mind revolted at the thought, but deep down, there was a part of her that found the idea of being completely at the mercy of an impossibly large male oddly enticing—something she craved. She glanced at the clock on the wall; it was already late evening.

The potion that had been suppressing her feelings was starting to wear thin. The mind-numbing haze from that morning was pushing to break free, and she could sense it growing stronger.

Eventually, it would consume her. Shifting nervously in bed, she rubbed her wrists, the book forgotten in her lap.

She steeled herself, reminding herself that she didn’t need anyone. She could handle a week of desire on her own.

It would be fine. Just a week.

With a flicker of anxiety, she glanced at the clock again.