All You Want Episode 3 - Harry Potter

 From Draco Malfoy’s point of view, we step into an abandoned Hogwarts corridor, a wary Slytherin on probation, and Alpha senses turned up too high. Daphne and Astoria are circling, Hermione Granger is mysteriously absent from Arithmancy, and a thread of grief-tinged memory pulls Draco toward faint sobs behind heavy wards. What he finds is Hermione in the depths of her first heat, hiding under a freezing shower, and a choice that forces Draco to confront instinct, history, and consent in a moment that will define everything that follows. 

Transcript

**Chapter 3: You Get What You Need**

Draco Malfoy was lurking in an abandoned wing of Hogwarts, and he would admit it—if only to himself. If anyone else happened to find him, he would vehemently deny it, but in his own mind, he embraced the truth.

Generally speaking, lurking wasn’t something a Malfoy would stoop to, but given the long list of unfortunate and embarrassing moments in his life, this particular degradation barely registered. He had his reasons for hiding away.

For one, Daphne Greengrass was relentlessly pursuing him, and she had brought her sister along for the ride. Out of the blue, she had sent him a letter, claiming to have heard about his library.

Apparently, it was regarded as one of the largest in Britain, and she and Astoria would be honored to visit. It was unexpected, to say the least.

He had never thought of a library as a potential euphemism for anything else. Ignoring the first letter, he was met with a second.

Curious, he asked Theo if he had any idea why the Greengrasses were writing to him. Theo merely smirked and revealed that they had contacted him too.

He mentioned having already invited them to his manor earlier in the summer, where the girls had spent an afternoon exploring. Not to mention, they had also been invited to Blaise's townhouse for a day.

The largest library in Britain, indeed. Still, Draco brushed off the letters.

However, when he boarded the Hogwarts Express, Daphne immediately found him. She asked if he had received her messages and inquired whether he might consider showing her his library over the Christmas holidays.

Draco flatly replied that, as a rule, he didn’t just open his library to any witch who wanted to see it. Daphne, clearly miffed, shot back that Pansy had been allowed to visit whenever she wanted, and she couldn’t understand why he was so unwilling to extend the same courtesy to her and Astoria.

Draco had fled awkwardly, feeling the weight of the Greengrasses' interest hanging over him. Their ill-concealed intentions were the only exception to his status as a social pariah, and that was hardly comforting.

Aside from Blaise and Theo, most of his classmates openly displayed their contempt for him and his family. He felt trapped, condemned on all sides.

The Malfoys were either seen as spineless traitors or equally spineless Death Eaters. Over time, Draco had become quite skilled at wandlessly casting shields, a necessity given the number of hexes that had been aimed at his back as he walked the halls.

His days were consumed with blocking hexes and dodging other students; that was all he was allowed to do. He suspected that many of the seventh and eighth-years were trying to provoke him into an outburst that would lead to his expulsion.

But he was determined not to give them the satisfaction. He had returned to Hogwarts under the conditions of his probation and was resolved to finish the year with his head down, aiming for grades that would rival Hermione Granger's, and making sure not to step a toe over the line.

Just one misstep could lead to expulsion, a violation of his probation that could send him straight to Azkaban to join his father. So, he found himself skulking in an abandoned wing of the castle, an exercise in self-preservation—the one talent everyone agreed the Malfoys possessed.

He pulled a textbook from his bag and began to review it. Arithmancy had been his class that day, but Hermione had mysteriously been absent.

It was evident during class when Professor Vector was assigning partners. With Hermione absent and unable to protest, she had been assigned to work with him for the upcoming project.

Draco dreaded the thought of having to inform her. Ever since their encounter on the Hogwarts Express, she had been avoiding him as if he were a contagious disease.

Not that they were friends or even on cordial terms, but the Trio had made gestures of forgiveness toward the Malfoy family. They had all testified at both his trial and his…

Draco had managed to avoid a sentence in Azkaban by securing probation instead.

Surprisingly, Hermione had been quite decent to him after his trial, despite the fact that he had never given her a reason to be. However, the kindness she extended as a member of the Trio didn’t seem to carry over into her personal life, which he could understand.

He couldn’t imagine testifying for someone who had stood by while he was tortured in their own home. He made a mental note to approach her in the Great Hall the next time he saw her.

He figured she would likely choose to endure their assignment rather than work with him. If that was the case, he would speak to Vector about extra credit options to offset the failing grade.

Honestly, he was unsure which scenario he dreaded more. The thought of her preferring a failed assignment over collaboration with him stung.

But on the other hand, working together on homework could present its own challenges. He was still adjusting to the rapid changes brought on by his sudden growth spurt after turning eighteen.

His heightened senses were distracting, making him feel like he might explode. The scents and sounds around him were overwhelming.

He had never wanted to notice the scent of a witch's fertility, but now it was impossible to ignore. At its peak, it smelled like ripe peaches, which had forever ruined the fruit for him.

The intensity of the scent could be so strong that he felt he could almost taste it in the air. It was clear why wizarding education typically ended at seventeen.

Living in close quarters with several hundred fertile witches was overwhelming, and not in a way that was arousing. Most of those witches were younger than him, some barely pubescent, which made it all the more uncomfortable.

Draco was acutely aware of the relationships blossoming around him; every illicit and non-illicit pairing felt like a slap in the face. He even knew who was involved with whom.

Draco found himself grappling with his new identity, contemplating how to navigate through the maze of sixth, seventh, and eighth-year witches. He couldn't shake off the lingering memories of Goldstein's scent clinging to other girls; he wished he could escape it altogether.

Even without his reputation as a pariah and the attention from the Greengrasses, he was determined to avoid common areas. If only he had discovered his Alpha traits a few years earlier, he might have reveled in his dominance alongside Goldstein.

In fact, just two years ago, he had been planning to do just that. But having Voldemort live in his home for over a year had drastically altered his personality.

The instinctive sense of power and influence he now felt was uncomfortable. On top of that, the Ministry was always lurking, ready to pounce at the slightest misstep, eager to seize his inheritance and condemn him to a life in Azkaban.

Being an Alpha with a sudden, intrinsic need for control felt poorly timed. No one had warned him about the overwhelming stench of teenage wizards or the excessive amounts of body sprays, perfumes, and shampoos that witches used, layered over their natural, fertile scents.

And the noise—he could hear a pin drop in the hallway. He was especially sensitive to high-pitched sounds, particularly the cries of distressed girls.

Even with muffling charms around his bed, he could hear homesick first-years sniffling in their dormitories. It felt as if all these distractions were designed to help him track down an elusive Omega, like a hunting dog on a relentless chase.

Apparently, Alpha biology wasn't inclined to be more magical and less animalistic. No scrying mirrors or prophetic dreams for Alphas.

And this wouldn’t ever end. Even when he was married, he would remain acutely aware of every witch's fertility, suffering through the constant reminders, despite the minuscule chance of encountering an Omega in the near future.

The only ones he knew of were Molly Weasley and his grandmother. It all felt annoying and futile, but somehow, it was manageable.

It had been manageable—until he made the mistake of talking to Granger four days ago. She had seemed off since the start of the school year.

Skittish. She would dash into the Great Hall, scarf down her food, and then flee again.

She hadn’t been in the library at all, and she had stopped answering questions in class. When she blew up a cauldron in Potions, she seemed more distressed by the loud swearing of the boys in the class than by the sloth brain slime dripping down her robes.

Draco felt compelled to find out what was going on, as if testifying at his trial had somehow made her life his business. Somehow, he convinced himself that the best way to check on her was to approach her aggressively, until she was stumbling backward, trying to escape him.

Seeing her get skittish and wide-eyed stirred something inside him. Instead of doing the logical thing—stepping back and giving her space—he moved closer.

In that moment, he discovered that Granger didn’t smell like peaches. It was something he couldn’t even describe.

Divine. An overwhelming thought crossed his mind: what if she tasted as good as she smelled?

He had this ridiculous impression that if he kissed her, she would stop looking so frightened. Because obviously, if a boy had bullied a girl for years and then suddenly tried to kiss her, she would be into it, right?

She wouldn’t immediately try to castrate him in the middle of the hallway. To prevent himself from doing something spectacularly stupid that could jeopardize his family line, Draco turned tail and fled to his room.

He still couldn’t understand it. He wondered if Muggle-borns just smelled different.

He hadn’t had many opportunities to investigate whether it was a Granger thing or a Muggle-born thing. Most Muggle-borns had left during the war.

The only ones at Hogwarts aside from Granger were first-years, and if any of them had already gone through puberty, he honestly didn’t want to know. As for the kissing...

Draco sat in the hallway, grappling with a tumult of emotions. He wasn’t quite sure what had suddenly come over him regarding Granger.

The inexplicable attraction he felt was a horrendous idea—so bad that he could create a bar graph detailing all the reasons why. Top of the list was the fact that he had bullied her for seven years, been a Death Eater, and then there was that time his deranged aunt had tortured her in his drawing room for nearly an hour while he stood by, paralyzed.

He shuddered, trying to block out the memory with occlumency. Of all the moments from the war, that particular memory haunted him the most.

It invaded his dreams, and sometimes he swore he could still hear her cries when he was alone. Sitting there, desperately trying to drown out the past, he almost thought he could hear them again—the helpless, agonized sobs.

It was as if they had burrowed into his ears, rendering him incapable of escape. With a groan, he smacked himself across the forehead with his arithmancy textbook.

As if hallucinations weren't enough to add to his post-war trauma. The sound felt all too real—faint wails echoing off the walls of the hallway.

He clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep reading, but after half an hour, he felt on the verge of losing his mind. The sobs were almost indiscernible yet sounded so genuine.

They would fade away, only to suddenly start again, each time piercing him like a knife twisted in his gut. Overwhelmed by the urge to save her, he felt the bitter irony of developing a sense of chivalry after the war had ended.

Unfortunately, his instincts couldn’t be convinced that the cries weren’t real. No matter how firmly he reminded himself they were just hallucinations, the desperate need to respond to them continued to grow.

He ground his jaw and kept rereading the same page of his arithmancy homework, but finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. It was as though...

Draco’s decision to sit and read was steadily corrupting something deep within him. He felt as though he was losing his mind.

In a fit of frustration, he shoved his book into his satchel and set out to prove to himself that Granger wasn’t actually crying in pain somewhere in the abandoned wing of Hogwarts. He strode quickly down the hallway toward the sound.

As he reached the end of the corridor and turned left, the cries grew louder, nearly causing him to stumble. For a brief moment, he hesitated, debating whether he should go find help.

Heroics weren’t really his style. But the thought of seeking out a professor or prefect who might not believe him—only to wait for them to arrive—felt unbearable.

Turning away from her was simply not an option. Without another thought, he broke into a run.

She was hurt and alone, and he needed to reach her immediately. The urgency to find her consumed him, making it nearly impossible to focus on anything else.

As he moved further down the hall, the sound of her crying began to fade. He turned back, retracing his steps, going back and forth until he finally pinpointed the almost imperceptible sound that seemed the loudest.

There were wards—an overwhelming number of them. Repelling wards, muffling wards, bedazzlement, and disillusionment.

He forced his way through them with sheer willpower until he finally found the door he had passed a dozen times. It was locked from both sides.

Whoever had hidden Granger had gone to great lengths to keep her from being found. They had imprisoned her.

They were torturing her. In that moment, Draco might have felt sick if he weren’t consumed by rage.

He wanted to kill them. Whoever they were, he would tear them limb from limb, and then he would go to Azkaban with a smile on his face.

It didn’t matter that he and Granger weren’t friends. She had been tortured in his house.

Draco stood there, staring in disbelief. Hermione had testified on his behalf, and he felt he owed her for that.

The only reason he had even found her was because he recognized the sound of her sobs; the inflection was etched into his memory. In a room full of wailing, he could pick her voice out from any other witch's.

He tried to break through the door, but when a Bombarda Maxima failed to budge it, he resorted to blasting a hole in the stone wall. As soon as he broke through, he was hit by the overwhelming scent of her.

It was as if someone had bottled her essence and drenched the entire room in it. He barely noticed the surroundings as he scanned the space.

There was an unmade bed, a couch, a table, but no sign of Hermione. Following her sobs down a hallway, he found a bathroom.

There she was, huddled in the shower under a spray of icy water, her body rocking on the floor as she hugged her knees. "Granger?" His voice came out raspy.

Her crying abruptly stopped, and her head shot up. The relief in her huge eyes was palpable as she reached out a hand towards him.

Without hesitation, he stepped into the freezing water, moving closer. "What happened to you?" he asked, concern flooding his voice.

She grabbed hold of his school robes and pulled herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. That’s when a detail hidden by the relentless water became painfully clear: Granger was an Omega, and she was in the peak of a heat cycle.

He didn’t know how he knew, but he felt more certain of it than he was of his own name. She was naked, and as she nestled against him, she began to lick the glands on his neck, her desperation evident.

Before he could fully process his astonishment, a wave of blinding arousal washed over him, clouding his thoughts. His instincts kicked in, and he...

Draco gathered her into his arms, pulling her away from the cold spray of the shower. He pressed his nose against her neck, inhaling her scent, a blend that was nothing short of intoxicating.

As he ran his tongue gently across her skin, he felt an overwhelming sense of connection—her scent mingled with his, creating a perfect harmony that left him breathless. He kissed her, and she shivered, returning the kiss with a desperate intensity.

His hands glided over her body, affirming his claim—his Omega. He had found her, and in that moment, he realized how deeply she needed him, just as he needed her.

Draco began to warm her icy skin, feeling the chill radiate through his school uniform. He breathed softly along her shoulder, and she pressed closer, shivering and clutching at his robes as if afraid he might vanish.

It had never crossed his mind that he would actually find an Omega; it had always seemed like a fantasy. They were so rare—his own father had never encountered one.

Even in his most arrogant days before the war, Draco had never dared to dream he could be so fortunate. But here she was, and he couldn't help but kiss her again.

He wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing her closer. Her lips felt soft and sweet against his, but her face was pale and cold.

He lifted his hands to cradle her cheeks, trying to warm them. Granger's hands tugged desperately at his buttons, and without hesitation, he ripped his robes and shirt open.

Since presenting, his body had run hot, and she pressed against him with a sigh, her icy nose feeling like a shard of ice against his skin. Yet, her tongue gliding over his pectorals ignited a fire within him.

He cast a drying charm on her hair, then continued to run his hands over her back and shoulders, murmuring warming spells. His hands felt enormous against her delicate form, her skin silky beneath his touch.

As his fingers slid over her neck, she gasped sharply, arching to give him better access. He lowered his head and inhaled deeply, losing himself in her presence.

The air was filled with a divine scent, sweet and floral, yet laced with a matured, spicy complexity that hadn’t been there before. She hadn’t fully presented that day in the hallway, which was why he hadn’t instinctively recognized the change in her aroma.

He ran the tip of his tongue along her neck, savoring the moment before making a slow, broad lick across her scent gland. She tensed, a deep moan escaping her as she arched against him, her hands instinctively splayed across his torso.

Trembling with need, her body began to warm, quickly burning through the chill she had brought upon herself. As she heated up, he felt himself rising to meet her warmth, flooded with hormones.

He could satisfy her for as long as she needed; no matter what she desired, he would match it perfectly. With a gentle yet firm grip, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

As he laid her down, he sensed his magic enveloping the room, creating an impenetrable ward—unlike those that had failed to keep him out before. His little Omega.

He wouldn’t let anyone near her in such a vulnerable state. Granger writhed in his arms, desperately scenting herself against him.

The urge to tear off his remaining clothing and take her was overwhelming, making him growl softly against her throat at the mere thought. “Please…” she whimpered, her breath hot against his ear.

Her fingers danced on his belt, swiftly opening his trousers. He felt her wrap her fingers around him, nearly losing control as he fought the urge to bite down on the scent gland he had been teasing with his tongue.

She guided him toward her burning core, and he hissed between his teeth, his body responding instinctively. He was hers.

He was going to bury himself deep inside her, watching as she took every inch of him. He imagined knotting inside her and emptying himself completely, his essence filling her until he was bone dry.

He would care for her through her entire heat, ensuring she felt every touch, every sensation. She would keen in response, and he would scent her skin until every Alpha knew she belonged to him.

In Britain, he knew she was his—his Omega. Perfect, perfect Granger.

He slid his hands lightly down her body, brushing over her skin, trying to take in every detail. Her breasts were firm, her nipples taut and peaked.

She trembled, so sensitive, so in need. He slipped his fingers between her legs, finding her soft, swollen, and dripping with arousal.

When he brought his fingers up to taste, she wailed, bucking against his hand. Her eyes were wide, locked onto his face, filled with desire.

She was so incredibly wet. When she wasn't so sensitive anymore, he would savor her completely, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy.

He quickly discarded his pants and climbed onto the bed, kneeling over her, memorizing every inch of her. Leaning down, he kissed her, aligning his hips with hers.

She spread for him, desperate, open, and submissive. He could feel the heat radiating from her core as she hooked her heel around his hips, urging him to sink into her.

She needed him, wanted him. He was ready to take her—his Omega.

But then he froze, hesitating. This was Granger.

A perfect, needy Omega, yes, but she was not meant for him. He was poison, a Death Eater.

She had suffered in his house. The thought of dominating her made his stomach turn.

Once her head cleared, she would be horrified to find him over her, inside her. He ground his teeth, groaned, and pulled away.

Her hands darted out to stop him, but he retreated further. She sobbed, sitting up, "Don't you—don't you want me?" Her expression was devastated.

"Fucking hell, Granger," he muttered, clamping his hand over his mouth and nose to block her scent. But it didn’t really help; her heat lingered on his skin.

"This isn't right. Let me get someone else." He knew he was crossing a line, yet the desire surged within him, powerful and undeniable.

He forced himself to refocus, pushing aside the overwhelming thoughts. "Do you want Longbottom?" he asked, watching her shake her head, her expression teetering on the brink of tears.

"Goldstein?" he tried again, clenching his jaw, battling the urge to pull her closer. The thought of her smelling like someone like Goldstein made his stomach churn.

She twisted her face and shook her head once more. "Theo?" The mere idea of his best friend being with Granger during her heat sent a surge of anger through him; it felt completely unfair.

"Who?" Granger looked dazed, her hands inching toward him, while he continued to distance himself. He shook his head, struggling to think clearly, trying to ignore the evidence of her arousal slicking her inner thighs, and how utterly ready she appeared.

His hand twitched, fighting the urge to press against her, to feel just how sensitive she had become. "Theodore Nott?" he asked, desperately trying not to stare at her breasts.

The deep red of her nipples, pebbled with desire, made his imagination run wild. What would it feel like to touch them?

What sounds would escape her lips if he did? "Damn it, I want her," he thought.

"We've never even spoken," she said, taking advantage of his moment of distraction to climb on top of him, wrapping her hands around him. The sight of her fingers sliding up and down sent his mind spiraling.

"Please. I want this inside me.

Take care of me." Her words ignited something deep within him. He couldn't resist anymore.

With a sudden surge of energy, he flipped her beneath him, aligning himself until the tip of his cock brushed against her slick, swollen folds. He shook, trying to hold back for just a moment longer.

She gasped, her eyes rolling back briefly as she squirmed, trying to impale herself on him. "Are you sure?" he ground out, his voice strained.

"Yes. Yes.

Please take me. Please take care of me, Alpha." 

Her keening plea echoed in his mind, pushing him over the edge.

He pressed his hips forward, driving deeper into her. "You're mine.

My Omega. You're mine now.

Every inch of you belongs to me. No one else will ever touch you.

You're mine. Every heat, you'll be under me.

It'll be my seed inside you. My knot," he growled against her throat as he pinned her beneath him.

Her wrists were captured in his hand, her slick body yearning for him. Perfect.

His Omega. His.

"Ask me. Ask me to take you," he urged, his voice vibrating through her.

She shuddered and arched beneath him. "Please.

Please," she pleaded. He sank slowly inside her.

She gasped, nodding and begging him to go deeper. She felt so small; it should have been impossible for her to take him, yet he pushed in fully, and she wailed with pleasure.

When he was completely inside her, they both froze, overwhelmed by the sensation. It was perfect.

So perfect. He had never known anything could feel this good—exquisite, divine.

If he weren't a wizard, he would have proclaimed faith in any religion that could lay claim to the sheer perfection he was experiencing. She felt as if she were made for him, soft as velvet and molten heat.

Beneath his body, she was liquid, and he knew he had to be careful—he could break her. His jaw clenched, his whole body shook as he fought to contain the pleasure surging through him.

He had never been this hard. Granger looked dazed, her eyes wide, her expression almost in shock.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, tangled in his hair, dragging him closer as she arched her hips, seeking the friction she craved. He kissed her, pulling her tightly against him until it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

He began to move his hips, driving into her. "Mine.

You're mine now." Her mouth tasted like honey, and he couldn't stop kissing her, touching her, running his fingers across her breasts. As he felt himself start to...

grow inside her, he dropped his head down to lick and suck and gently slide his teeth over her glands. It made her inner-walls clench and tremble around him.

The sensation was unreal. She got tighter and tighter and her face showed exaltation.

When he was fully locked inside of her he felt his balls tighten and a tension radiate across his lower back as he started to come against her cervix. He muttered promises to her.

Anything, he'd give her anything. He'd always care of her.

He told her how perfect she was. He told her that she was his; that she'd always be his.

Granger's eyes grew bigger and it felt as though she were imploding. A deep shudder rolled through her whole body.

Her gasps shivered over the sweat on his skin. She gripped him so tightly it became hard to breathe.

Her burning, clenching cunt contracted like a vise around his knot as he jerked inside of her. Filling her with his seed.

She thrashed, bending backwards so rigidly he was afraid she'd break. He dragged her closer to himself, holding her wrists with one hand while he kissed and stroked her, telling her that she was perfect.

He wanted to remind her that she was his. Draco kept coming inside of her for minutes.

Theoretically, he knew it was possible, but the actual experience was mind-bending. It was like feeling the rebirth of a universe.

His whole world simultaneously exploded and reduced itself to a single point. It went on and on and on until his entire brain was alight and felt like he must be coming apart at a cellular level.

When it finally eased he slumped down and kissed her. It was—bliss.

He hadn't known it was possible for anything to be so impossibly sublime. "Good girl," he muttered against her mouth."Good girl.

You're such a good girl. I'm so pleased with you." The words were like magic on Granger.

Her expression flooded with pleasure and relief and she burrowed against him. They were still tied together.

He

shifted away from her slightly, allowing them both to lie on their sides. She was so petite that he could easily move her however he wanted.

He cradled her in his arms, draping her leg over his hip so he could glide his hand along it. The way her body fit perfectly beneath him was a sensation he knew he would never forget.

With his other hand, he tangled his fingers in her hair, brushing the curls aside to run his thumb gently along the sensitive skin of her neck. She arched into his touch, burying her face in his chest, breathing him in just as he inhaled her scent.

The air was thick with a mix of their fragrances, tinged with the remnants of their passion and the warmth of their bodies. It was an intoxicating blend that felt inseparable—just the essence of them together.

Granger, exhausted, grew soft and limp against him. He pulled her closer, feeling her drift into sleep in his embrace, while he continued to savor her scent and touch her lightly.

He memorized her breathing patterns, the sensation of her skin beneath his fingers, exploring every curve. A part of him knew he should probably stop, but the desire to taste her was overwhelming.

He craved more—wanted to mark her as his own, to ensure that no one could ever take his place. He wanted her to want only him.

Yet, even in the throes of passion, he recognized that he was treading a fine line. When the intensity finally subsided enough for him to pull away, he reached down, gathering some of his essence, and spread it gently over the sensitive areas of her neck and wrists, massaging it into her skin.

She was his. If any Alpha approached her, they would know that Draco had come first.

Not that it would deter them; every unmarried Alpha in Britain—and likely across Europe—would try to claim her if given the chance. But they would all understand that he was the one who cared for her during this vulnerable time.

An hour later, after he had lovingly licked and caressed her, holding her close, he knew that he would do anything to protect their bond. As he processed his thoughts, it struck him that earlier that day, he had convinced himself that being interested in Granger was a terrible idea.

He shouldn’t be here. But he quickly pushed that thought aside.

He tried—he really tried. He had even offered to go get Goldstein personally to help her through her heat.

If there was anything else he should have done, he had no idea what it was. He wasn't going anywhere; she was his.

She needed him. He had to keep her warm, safe, and fed.

An overwhelming instinct told him he shouldn’t leave her, even for a moment. Whether that instinct stemmed from possessiveness, he couldn’t say, but he wasn’t about to take the risk.

When she was alone, she cried as she had when his aunt had hurt her. He nuzzled against her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent.

She nestled closer to him with a soft sigh.