All You Want Episode 35 - Harry Potter

 Heat is coming, and Hermione refuses to leave anything to chance. She withdraws her St Mungo’s surgery application, hires solicitors, and has ironclad, two-way consent documents witnessed by staff and friends to record their choice to soulbond.  Warded in their rooms, Draco talks her down from spiraling nerves, keeps touch gentle, and promises not to leave. When the heat finally breaks, want turns relentless and he stays—every moment a correction of the first time she was left alone. 

Transcript

**Chapter 35: All You Want**

Draco sat on the couch in his room, watching as Hermione paced in small circles around the coffee table. Her shoulders were hunched up around her ears, arms crossed tightly, and she had completed what felt like her five hundredth rotation.

He observed her closely as she passed him once more on her well-worn path. An irrational but overwhelming sense of danger gripped him; he felt that if he took his eyes off her even for a moment, something terrible might happen, and he would be to blame.

It was stressful, to say the least. He longed to pull her close, to hold her tightly and feel her heartbeat against him.

Unfortunately, she had been unusually sensitive lately, so instead of interrupting her, he remained seated on the couch, carefully watching her walk around the coffee table for what felt like the five hundred and eighth time. “Is there anything we’re forgetting?” she asked after another ten rotations.

Draco’s jaw twitched. “Hermione, if we forgot something, we can just call a house-elf.”

She gave a short nod but continued her pacing.

After another half hour of watching her, Draco could no longer stay seated. He stood up sharply, causing her to stop and stare at him, her eyes widening.

He reached out for her. “Come here,” he said, his voice gentle and coaxing.

Her head jerked slightly, and she hesitated for a moment before her expression shifted, and she moved toward him. He placed his hands on her shoulders, then slid them up to the base of her neck, hoping to pass some of his calm to her through touch.

“Stop worrying. I’m here.

I’m going to take care of you.”

Hermione leaned into his hands for a brief moment before stiffening abruptly. “Oh!

I forgot, there was a line I wanted to add to my Transfiguration essay. I thought of it the other night.”

Draco’s mouth twitched with amusement as he pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

“You already turned in your Transfiguration essay.”

“I know,” she replied in a small, forlorn voice. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Stop thinking about it.”

"I'm trying," she said, fidgeting. "I'm just so warm, and I feel like I need to be doing something, but my brain is all fuzzy." Her voice came out small and muffled against his robes.

Draco gently picked her up and settled onto the couch, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders. "It’s alright.

This is normal; it’s how it usually is. You’ve read the books.

I’m here, and we’re going to get through this together. Don’t worry.

I’m never going to let anything happen to you."

Hermione gave a small nod and buried her face against the base of his neck, though her shoulders remained tense. "Would you talk to me?

It helps me relax when you talk."

Draco thought for a moment before a smirk crept onto his face. He began reciting Quidditch trivia.

Hermione snorted and poked him playfully before curling against his shoulder. He played with her hair, sharing all sorts of obscure facts about Quidditch and specialized flying techniques, knowing full well she might not really be listening.

After about ten minutes, he felt the tension in her body start to drain away. When he ran out of Quidditch-related stories, he switched to amusing and somewhat scandalous tales from his family history.

"—right in the middle of tea. His Wedgewood cup went flying, and don’t tell a soul, but it turns out my father has quite the high-pitched scream when attacked by corgis.

She trained them to bite whenever someone said ‘Muggle’—”

As he glanced down in the middle of his story, he realized Hermione had fallen asleep. She reminded him of a cat, draped over him as if she were liquid.

He stopped talking and simply traced his hands along her shoulders and back, relieved that she was finally resting. She’d been a bundle of nervous energy all week.

He had thought that agreeing to the soulbond would mean things would be simpler and that they could both relax. He had been mistaken.

There seemed to be an endless list of things that "had" to be addressed. Before her heat, Hermione took a decisive step.

She filled out and submitted a form to withdraw from the ovariectomy process at St. Mungo’s.

Draco soon discovered that she had meticulously researched their relationship and wanted to have it notarized. She hired a lawyer and reached out to his attorney to draft an airtight consent form.

This document would officially record that she was willingly entering into a soulbond with him, ensuring that she had not been coerced or manipulated in any way. To make it official, McGonagall, Slughorn, Vector, Ginny Weasley, and Neville Longbottom were all called to act as witnesses.

Then, she pulled out another consent form for him. Reluctantly, he had to gather his friends and drag them to the Headmistress’s office to serve as witnesses, affirming that no one was forcing or manipulating him into biting Hermione and soulbonding with her.

When he tried to argue that wasn't how soulbonding worked from the Alpha side, Hermione remained firm, insisting that consent was a two-way street. This whirlwind of paperwork and legalities came on top of turning in all their final assignments and papers before the holidays.

He often woke in the middle of the night to find Hermione sitting up in bed, furiously scribbling notes on rolls of parchment she had hidden behind her pillow. She drafted about thirty different letters to Harry and Ron before finally choosing one and asking Ginny to take it home with her over the break.

Hermione assumed Draco had also written a lengthy letter to his mother to inform her about the upcoming soulbonding, but in reality, he hadn’t. Each time he attempted to write, the letters ended up sounding something like this: “Dearest Mother, you know I am your devoted son and would do nearly anything to make you happy; therefore, I hope you are pleased to hear that I am soulbonding with Hermione Granger this weekend.

If you are not happy about it, I don’t want to know, and if you do anything to hurt or upset Hermione, I will gladly renounce my family…”

**Inheritance.**

"I hope this news finds you well. Respectfully, your son, Draco." 

Draco read over the letter, but something about the announcement felt off—like it was missing a certain something he couldn’t quite identify.

He figured his lawyer had probably mentioned it to her anyway, but he’d been too preoccupied with following Hermione around to check his mail. All his mental energy was consumed by thoughts of her and the impending soulbond.

It was the only thing that truly mattered to him. He stood up, carried her to the bed, and curled up around her, listening to her breathing until he drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, he was jolted awake, feeling smothered. He lifted his head to find his cloak draped over him.

As he sat up, he saw Hermione pulling on her coat and hat. "Hermione?" He rubbed his eyes, confusion clouding his thoughts.

"Let’s go outside," she whispered hurriedly, her eyes bright with urgency. "It’s too warm here."

Draco blinked, aware of the almost suffocating atmosphere in the room, thick with her hormones.

She was right on the brink of her heat. A primal part of him urged him to push her down and claim her, but his instincts told him to hold back and wait.

Hermione turned and hurried towards the door. He caught her before she could reach it.

"No," he growled. She went limp in his arms, her hands still reaching for the door.

"Draco—it’s too warm in here."

Her voice was pleading, and he tightened his grip around her. "Hermione, you’re going into heat."

"No.

It’s different. It’s not my heat.

I need to go outside."

"We can’t leave this room, remember? McGonagall warded us in."

Her hands fell, and she turned her head away in despair.

In a moment of resolve, Draco picked her up and carried her back to the bed, gently pulling off her coat and hat before unbuttoning her pajama top. She caught his hands, her voice firm.

"I’m not in the mood right now, Draco."

was sharp. She hadn’t been in the mood for days.

Draco realized just how accustomed he was to their passionate encounters when she suddenly lost all interest in intimacy. No sex.

No kisses. She barely let him touch her.

She was too busy, too stressed—not in the mood, not even a little bit. Draco had read all the books and anticipated this shift, carefully avoiding pressing the issue to keep all his fingers and other appendages intact.

According to the literature, not all Alphas had the sense to tread lightly; some would use their Alpha tone to force the matter, which might work—until the Omega’s mind cleared. That was when things tended to get explosive.

Hermione was radiating magic like a beacon, and just the sensation of touching her made Draco’s fingertips tingle. The sheer amount of magic coursing through her was almost terrifying.

He half-suspected her hair was on the verge of gaining sentience, as it sometimes seemed to move on its own. Rolling his eyes, he stopped unbuttoning her shirt.

“I’m not trying to have sex with you,” he said gently. “If you’re hot, you’ll feel better if you take off some layers.”

She nodded slowly, and he carefully unbuttoned her shirt, sliding it off her shoulders.

The sight of the bite mark at the base of her throat sent a surge of possessiveness through him. He let his fingers glide lightly across her smooth skin, which glistened faintly with perspiration.

She smelled delicious. The urge to lick her, to bite her, was overwhelming.

He swallowed hard, reminding himself that it wasn't time yet. His fingers trailed down her arms, trying not to dwell on how soft she was—tiny and delicate, his to cherish and protect for the rest of his life.

As he brushed his fingers up and down her arms, Hermione shivered and collapsed face down on the bed. “That’s nice,” she murmured, her words muffled by the pillows.

“You…”

“...can keep doing that.” 

Draco's mouth quirked into a smile as he shifted closer, gently brushing her hair off her neck while his gaze lingered on her bare back. He traced his fingers lightly down her spine, letting them span her lower back before gliding back up over her ribs and along her shoulder blades.

He had memorized every detail of her back: the patterns of her freckles and the way her spine felt beneath his tongue. He knew her well enough to understand which spots would arouse her and what touches would help her relax.

She let out small, huffy moans, gradually becoming more relaxed under his hands until she drifted off to sleep again. The corner of his mouth twitched as he continued to trace his fingers across her shimmering skin for several more minutes before he finally stopped.

Leaning down, he kissed her cheek, breathing in deeply against her skin. She was so close.

He sat back and watched her sleep, his entire body tingling with anticipation. He feared that if he fell asleep again, something might go wrong.

An Alpha could come and steal her away, bond with her, and he would lose her forever because he hadn’t taken care of her well enough. He knew there was no way to undo a soul bond; it only happened once.

If one of them died, the other would simply fade away. His grandmother had been a significant and indulgent figure in his life until his grandfather passed away during Draco’s second year at Hogwarts.

After Cygnus’ death, she had retreated within her home, accepting few visitors and never setting foot in Malfoy Manor again. As he watched Hermione sleep, he felt a twitch as her scent began to change.

Her cheeks flushed, and he could smell her arousal. She squirmed, grinding her hips into the mattress, her curls starting to cling to her skin.

He swallowed hard, feeling as if he were the one on the verge of burning up. His shirt began to stick to his back, and he stood up, starting to strip off his clothes.

He was kicking off his boxers when he... Draco felt the room shift as magic coursed through his veins.

He turned, and there she was, awake. Panting, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide with a desperate hunger.

She radiated a scent of need that ignited something primal within him. Just looking at her made him harder than he’d ever been, and the thought of not touching her felt almost unbearable.

“Draco…” Her voice was thick as she sat up in bed, confusion etched across her features. He realized, despite his hopes, that she might not be clear-headed this time.

Heightened hormones had already thrown her into a heat without soulbonding, and her magic wouldn’t allow that to happen again. “Draco—” she said again, her expression a mixture of bewilderment and longing as she reached for him.

At that gesture, his instincts surged. She was his, and she wanted him.

“Damn it.” He knew he should say something more composed, but the intensity of the moment was overwhelming. It felt like standing firm against a tidal wave of fire.

Draco found himself in a state of heightened awareness, simultaneously in control and utterly lost. It was him, yet not entirely; his instincts were taking charge in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

In an instant, he had her beneath him. She was soft and yielding, pinned against the bed, her eyes dazed yet eager.

She arched up against him, instinctively grinding against him, and he had never felt so hard. It was almost impossible to be this aroused, and yet he was already leaking onto her skin.

Her warmth enveloped him, igniting every nerve. “Alpha—Alpha, please,” she moaned, already writhing beneath him.

He placed one hand on her chest, feeling her heart race beneath his palm, her skin slick with sweat. “I’ll take care of you, Omega,” he promised, his voice low and raspy.

He swallowed hard as he looked down at her, and in that moment, she stilled, her eyes locking onto his with trust. She trusted him to take care of her.

her, to save her from the fire burning through her body. “Draco—“ she arched her head back for him, exposing her throat.

Her breasts pushed up towards him; her nipples were darkened and hard with arousal. “Alpha—AlphaAlphaAlpha pleaaase.” She needed him so much there was a part of him that wanted to just lean into the moment and relish it.

Memorize her. The sheen of sweat across her body, her dark, glassy eyes, her cheeks deeply flushed, her mouth open as she stared up at him, giving small desperate pants that he could feel the heat of against his face.

He sat back, feeling the heat spreading through him, the throbbing desire as he traced his eyes across her wanton body. “Alpha—“ Hermione reached for him, but he stilled her, holding her down with one hand, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her pajamas and stripped her bare.

Her cunt was dripping. Slick.

Swollen. Clenching.

Her slick was dripping out of her, already coating her inner thighs. He licked his lips and took hold of her her ankles, pushing her legs apart to look at her.

She gave a low whimper, her muscles tense and quivering as she lay presented to him. His jaw twitched and he wanted to lick her cunt.

Drink every drop of how much she needed him. The overwhelmingly heady smell in the room set his teeth on edge.

Bite her. Bite her.

Bite her. Bite her everywhere.

He slipped his fingers through her folds, spreading her more. She gave a guttural moan, and he watched her cunt clench on empty air as he knelt between her legs.

He leaned forward and slid his cock slowly through her slick, and she tossed her head from side to side. Her body lay pulsing and needing.

Waiting for him. She needed him.

“You’re so good,” he said, staring down at her swollen cunt, at his cock nestled against it, glistening with her arousal. He needed her to know how

He couldn't believe how good she was for him, how much he needed her.

The thought of not being enough for her felt like a weight he couldn’t bear. “Hermione, you are…” His hand slid along her hip to the gentle curve of her waist, and in that moment, he felt like the very essence of his existence was lying right beneath him.

His fingers trembled as he gripped her, harder than intended. He couldn’t lose her; she needed to know he was there for her.

He wanted to be everything for her—protect her, cherish her, always. She twisted beneath him.

“Draco—please.” He could sense her arousal, an intoxicating wave that washed over them both. Her eyes were dark and filled with longing, as if she were unraveling into something more vulnerable than ever before.

He would always be there to hold her together. That was his purpose.

He would do anything for her. His own skin glistened with sweat, the heat radiating from her spreading to him.

He tightened his grip on her hip, feeling the way his fingers sank into her skin and muscle, tracing the delicate outline of her bones. She was so small, so precious, and he wanted to explore every inch of her, to leave his mark on her skin and in her magic.

She was his to touch. As he knelt there, enveloped in her enchantment, the intensity of the moment nearly took his breath away.

“Hermione—you’re so perfect. I’ll take care of you.” With that, he pressed himself into her.

She gasped softly and opened her legs wider, welcoming him as he pushed deeper. The sensation was indescribably good.

She was sublime, a divine being, even more intoxicating than he had imagined. She embodied everything beautiful in the world.

He longed to express how incredible she felt, but words escaped him; there simply weren't enough to capture her essence. A ragged growl escaped him as her inner walls enveloped him, stretching around him in the most exquisite way.

He lowered his head, gasping against her shoulder, letting his tongue trace along her skin in a long, deliberate motion. lick.

He gripped her body against his, trying to touch her, feel her, hold her everywhere. Her face was slack and dazed, and her mouth kept moving as though she was saying something too quietly for him to hear.

He kissed her, kissed her and kissed her as he buried himself to the hilt inside her. Her inner walls were already fluttering around him.

He slid back and thrust into her hard, filling her as she arched back and took him. She wrapped her legs around his hips.

Her mouth kept moving against his lips, and he realized she was mouthing his name over and over. There was no going slow.

Fast. Hard.

The way she wanted. Only a few thrusts, and he felt his knot start expanding, and her cunt was so slick and burning.

He wanted to keep staring at her, but everything was so overwhelming. The sight of her coming apart under him tore him open.

He squeezed his eyes closed with a groan as he kept thrusting into her until he was too knotted to move. He felt his balls tighten, and he felt it down to his toes and behind his eyes as he came.

The pleasure was almost unbearable, unrelenting as it built and built. He couldn’t even find words as it laced through him, and he felt her come apart around him at the same time.

He couldn’t make his mouth work to tell her how much he loved her, how perfect she was, or tell her again and again how he’d take care of her, but he held her as she shuddered and her whole body grew rigid. He opened his eyes and watched her face twist as she sobbed as though her climax as though it were tearing her apart.

He kissed and licked the base of her neck, nuzzling her and nipping at his mark on the base of her neck, reminding her that she was his, and he was there for her. When the intensity finally eased, he nearly collapsed on top of her but held himself up, peppering her face with kisses as he panted, trying to catch his breath.

She smelled fucked. Fucked by him.

The air was

The air around them was thick with their mixed pheromones, her slickness and sweat, and his essence. It should have felt overwhelming, but instead, it brought a sense of comfort.

Just the two of them, nothing else mattered. That was how it was meant to be.

When he finally found his voice, everything he had held back rushed out. “You’re so good.

Such a good girl. I love you so much.

You have no idea how much. I’m so pleased with you.”

Hermione looked up at him, her expression dazed, but at his words, a faint smile crept across her lips.

He tightened his grip and flipped them so she was lying on top of him. He kissed her deeply, his hands exploring her once more.

“You’re such a good girl,” he repeated, his words becoming a mantra. With each utterance, she quivered around him, pressing herself closer.

He wondered if she would remember any of this later. The last time, she had only recalled fleeting moments—just a word or two.

The clear memories were of his attempts to leave, both at the beginning and just before he finally did. That was what stuck with her: the feeling of abandonment.

Whenever the topic of her first heat came up, her voice would shrink, her eyes would dart away, and she’d curl in on herself. Then she’d force her chin up, dismissing it all, insisting that they had hardly known each other, so she understood why he had acted as he did.

But he knew that moment had defined her experience. To her, being in heat meant losing control and then being left to pick up the pieces.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m not going to leave you.

I’m never going to leave you. I’m going to stay with you forever.”

As soon as he pulled out, she was ready for more.

It was an insatiable hunger. They should have been worn out and dehydrated, but neither of them could stop.

Again and again, time lost all meaning as they surrendered to each other. The heat of the moment intensified everything around them.

Whenever he tried to pull away, even just to offer her something to drink, she would let out a desperate cry and cling to him, refusing to let go. There should have been moments of clarity, but instead, they were caught in a whirlwind of passion, losing themselves in each other without a breath between.

“Bite me. Bite me, Alpha,” she whispered, her voice warm and close to his ear.

“Please, you promised you’d bite me.” He pressed her down onto the bed, sinking into her with a fierce intensity. “Wait, Omega,” he managed to say through gritted teeth as he thrust deeper.

His hands gripped her waist, her spine arching as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. “Wait.”

“Alpha, please…” 

He nipped her shoulder sharply, and she froze.

He knew he couldn’t bite her just yet; something deep inside him urged him to hold back, to wait for the perfect moment. Her neck and shoulders bore the marks of his previous nibbles, a constellation of small bruises that told their own story.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he groaned as his hips jerked and he found his release inside her. In the moments when he wasn’t utterly overwhelmed by her presence, he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, promising her the world and offering sincere apologies.

He spoke of her essence—how she felt, tasted, and smelled. He admired the way her eyes sparkled, the way they held a flicker of something special.

He described the curve of her jaw and the freckles scattered at the nape of her neck, partially hidden by her curls unless he brushed them aside. The pattern reminded him of the Draco constellation, and though he didn’t know what it meant, it felt significant.

He told her all the ways he loved her, over and over, pouring out his heart until she succumbed to exhaustion. “Alpha—Alpha, please, please, bite me.” Her voice trembled, nearly sobbing in his arms as he held her close.

He held her tightly against his chest as he moved with her. “Bite me.

You said—” The room shimmered, vibrating with magic. He lowered his head, brushing his nose along the base of her neck, and she went still.

A wave of sensation coursed through him, tightening him as he felt the moment build. Her magic was raw, burning bright.

He bit the right side of her neck until he tasted blood. Hermione let out a low scream, jerking in response.

He tightened his grip, biting harder until he felt her gland break beneath his teeth. It was as if a bomb detonated between them.

If he hadn’t been knotted inside her, gripping her tightly enough to leave bruises, they would have been thrown apart as their magic collided and intertwined. It felt like being engulfed in flames.

Every vein, every nerve, even his very atoms burned with her essence. Everything faded into a blinding white light.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at—himself. He blinked, shaking his head, and there was Hermione, leaning over him, breathless and studying him with eager eyes.

“Hey—” he said, taking a moment to absorb the fact that he could feel her heartbeat in his consciousness, see himself through her eyes, and sense the way she felt as she looked at him. “Hey, Love.” 

“Hello.” 

He cupped her face in his hands, drawing her closer for a kiss.

He pressed his lips to hers, then to her nose, her eyes, her cheeks, and her forehead. The place where he’d bitten her was already healing into a silver crescent along the base of her neck.

“Hey, Love,” he said again. He felt like he should say more, but the words eluded him, so he continued to kiss her instead.

“You’re mine now,” he finally declared. Hermione let out a small laugh, and he felt happiness surge within her like champagne bubbles.

“I think I’ve always been. I just didn’t know.” 

The burn of her heat had subsided, reduced to a warm glow.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. In that moment, he could feel the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

She was fire, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind, while to her, he was the calm in the storm—something solid to reach out to, reminding her to breathe. With him by her side, she felt safe, knowing he would catch her if she stumbled.

He wished he could embody the tranquility she saw in him; in her eyes, he was as unyielding as a mountain. Hermione nestled her face against his and sighed.

“You are mine. I’m so glad it’s forever.” In a sudden movement, he flipped her beneath him, reveling in the sensation of their soul bond.

She still hummed with desire, and he parted her legs, sinking into her. They gasped together, kissing passionately, their fingers entwined.

He yearned to touch her everywhere, to convey the depth of his feelings. His fingers tangled in her hair, tracing the arch of her cheekbones and the curve of her jaw as he kissed her.

Her warmth enveloped him, but the physical connection was nothing compared to the emotions she stirred within him. It was like falling into a supernova—far beyond the intensity of dragonfire.

The sheer force of her affection was breathtaking, especially for someone who appeared so steadfastly logical. “God—” he breathed against her lips, “I love you.”

From that point on, everything slowed.

She was herself again, still craving him, still ablaze with desire, but no longer consumed by mere biology. He held her close, nurturing her, loving her, kissing her deeply.

She spoke of his eyes, her words flowing endlessly as she admired his straight nose, his mouth, and his jaw. She described in vivid detail how much she adored pleasuring him, the taste of him lingering on her lips.

She shared embarrassing stories from her childhood, recounting how she bit a girl on her first day of preschool, joking that maybe she had always been an Omega. She talked about Potter and Weasley, sharing more tales than he ever anticipated.

Then, she climbed on top of him, sinking down onto him as she began to ride him, her head thrown back, her curls a delightful mess. In that moment, she was breathtaking, and he knew he would be the only one to ever see her like this.

He held her hips, then slid his hands up to cup her breasts, teasing her hardened nipples between his fingers. Her core tightened around him, and she gasped, her breath ragged.

He let his hand drift down to her swollen clit, teasing it lightly until he felt her climax approach. Gripping her hips, he drove deep into her, and as he came, he felt her second orgasm wash over her, causing her to collapse against him.

When the heat finally faded, she fell into a deep sleep. He could sense how drained she was, how much her heat had taken out of her.

She would be sore and vulnerable, but he would be there for her—taking care of her afterward, something he hadn’t done before. She slept for more than twelve hours, completely unaware of the world around her.

Draco fussed over her, tidying the room and feeling ravenous, aware that they had probably both lost weight from their passionate encounter. He provided the house-elves with a long list of foods he wanted ready for her when she finally woke up.

He barely left her side, anxious that she might open her eyes during the brief moments he managed to step away, fearing she’d think he had abandoned her again. The house-elves brought him as much protein as he desired, and he drank countless goblets of pumpkin juice.

When she finally opened her eyes, he was right there, staring down at her. For a moment, her expression was dazed and uncertain, but then her lips curved into a smile.

He felt a wave of happiness radiate from her as their eyes met. “Hey, Soulmate,” she said softly.