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Being an Alpha isn’t always a walk in the park, Harry thinks -- especially when he’s hot and irritable and mere hours away from his rut.

Not that Harry would change his orientation even if he could, but there are definitely parts that he could live without. Of course he knows that Omegas don’t have it any easier. He can barely stand feeling this out of control twice a year; let alone more than double that.

As a child, he’d always dreamed he would escape the Dursleys and claim a mate before he ever needed to worry about things like heats or ruts.

At Hogwarts, he hoped that presenting would kick his claiming instincts into gear and help him find the perfect person to settle down with, so he would never have to deal with a rut on his own. He’d thought he had that with Ginny, but in the end they both agreed that they were better off as friends. Then, once the war started, heat cycles had been the last thing on his mind -- unsure as he was that he’d even survive long enough to claim a mate.

With the stress of the war, he’d presented later than most. It wasn’t until it was all over and he’d spent one last year at Hogwarts, put in the effort to pass his N.E.W.T.s, and joined Auror Training, that he finally presented as an Alpha.

His first rut was three days of sweaty, sticky malaise that left him exhausted and irritable, not to mention chafed in places he’d rather forget. But the worst of it was the bone-deep sense of loneliness that he was left with, even days after his rut ended. It was a distressing feeling that he never expected and frankly never wanted to experience again.

Now he’s here, his rut approaching fast with no partner in sight, clutching a piece of parchment like it’s a lifeline. He can’t help but feel alone and disappointed and slightly ill knowing that all of his closest friends either have regular partners or have already claimed their mates, whereas he has no plan for his own future.

That’s why he’s staring down at the note Hermione dropped off for him earlier. It looks innocent enough -- just a Floo address scrawled in Hermione’s familiar handwriting. Such a simple thing shouldn’t cause Harry such stress, except for what it represents: a rut mentor.

Even though he’s never known or even heard of anyone who’s actually used the service, Hermione had assured him that she’d researched the operation herself. Apparently it was something people did every cycle and she insisted it was completely safe and anonymous. It wouldn’t matter one knut to the staff if his name was Harry Potter or Marvin Twig when he called to set the appointment.

But no matter how much she reassured him, in all of the scenarios Harry had ever imagined for his life, he never would have predicted he’d have to use a service for his rut.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. He’s out of other options and he can’t imagine ever going through it all alone again. Anything has to be better than that -- even the embarrassment of hiring a professional to help him through it.

He walks into the office and grabs a handful of floo powder. He calls out the address as he tosses the powder into the flames and watches green smoke spill out of the grate. Before he can change his mind, he leans into the fire.

The process to relay his information to the healer at the other end of the firecall is quick and easy. She explains the entire procedure and offers a myriad of options for both heats and ruts and tells him that he can request either an Omega, Beta, or Alpha. It’s a nice alternative for those with non Alpha/Omega preferences, but Harry knows he wants an Omega.

Once he’s stated his preferences and all the formalities are taken care of, they assign him an Alpha identification number and inform him they’ll be sending Omega ID number seven-five-nine-eight-four over that evening. Now it’s just a matter of waiting.

Harry’s never been very good at waiting. As a Gryffindor it’s no surprise really that he’s more a man of action. The next few hours are a struggle.

He showers and dresses in a comfortable pair of worn jeans and his softest tee shirt, but his skin still feels tight and itchy.

He sits on the sofa and flips through a book, but with his temperature rising and his cock filling, his attention span is short. He palms at the bulge in his trousers for a moment before he stands up and paces the length of the room.

He considers another shower to cool down and possibly a wank, but after a quick tempus charm he dismisses that idea. The Omega will be there soon. Harry retreats to his bedroom instead. He straightens his bedding and puts away the few clothes strewn around the room. The sight of his bed makes him want to crawl under the covers and hump his hand and the idea only makes his prick harder, so he wanders back to the living room to pace some more.

He starts to doubt the whole idea -- wonders if the Omega they’re sending will even be scent-compatible with him. Even if they’re hideous, a compatible scent alone will at least make the rut easier.

He flops onto the sofa and presses his forehead to the cool leather. When he grips the bulge in his trousers again, the doorbell dings.

Before he even reaches the door, Harry can smell the Omega -- sweet and cinnamon spicy. They smell perfect, and it sends Harry’s Alpha senses into overdrive. There’s something about the scent of an Omega that amps him up and simultaneously relaxes him.

By the time he opens the door, he’s more than a little excited.

That’s why it’s such a shock to see Draco Malfoy standing in his doorway.

Draco's silver eyes widen when he recognizes Harry. His white-blond hair is longer than Harry remembers, and his features are a little less pointy -- yet he’s still dressed perfectly in the latest pureblood fashion robes.

His shoulders are broad while his waist is slim, and he looks more comfortable in his own skin than Harry’s ever seen before. His complexion is pale and smooth and flawless. He looks delicious -- even more so than he smells, and that’s saying a lot.

They have a history, it's undeniable. But time and the post-war ordeal has dulled their antagonism, and Harry no longer has a reason to distrust Draco. Their school years were riddled with rivalry, but the few times they’ve seen each other in the three years since, have been nothing but peaceful. Draco has offered Harry his sincere gratitude on more than one occasion -- first at Draco’s trial when Harry had testified for him and his mother, and more recently when he’d finally returned Draco’s wand.

It’s been more than a year since that last exchange. Harry'd heard that Draco was studying to be a healer and that he’d also presented late -- as an Omega.

“Draco? What are you doing here?”

Draco looks as shocked as Harry feels, but he recovers quickly.

He pushes his shoulders back and pulls himself up to his full height, looking down his nose at Harry. “Alpha four-seven-nine-three-three?” he asks.

He hands Harry a card identifying himself as Omega seven-five-nine-eight-four.

Harry’s instincts are screaming at him to reach out for the Omega in front of him, but his mind is insisting that it’s Draco and Harry’s not sure how to reconcile the two conflicting ideas.

Draco steps closer, and the scent coming from him is overwhelming. Harry no longer worries about scent-compatibility. It’s obvious that his and Draco's scents blend well.

“I’m here for our appointment. But if you’d like me to leave, just say so and I’ll have another Omega sent over.”

“Um -- no, it’s okay -- it’s good.” Somehow, the idea of sending Draco away is unbearable. Stunned and unsure what else to do, Harry steps back and opens the door wider to allow Draco in.

The sweet, ripe smell of Omega quickly fills the room. Draco’s not in heat, but it’s obvious to Harry’s sensitive nose that he's not far off. It was explained in the firecall that this is how it works. When Omegas, who have signed on to act as heat mentors, are assigned to Alpha’s ruts, they are meant to be just a week or so away from their own heat. Far enough that they are able to retain control of their faculties, but close enough that they are pliant and susceptible to an Alpha’s charms -- as well as ready to take an Alpha knot if needed.

At first, they just stare at each other and Harry surreptitiously sniffs in Draco’s direction. The combined scent of Harry’s Alpha musk and Draco’s Omega spice make him dizzy.

As he leads the way into the sitting room, Harry can’t help wondering how Draco ended up working as a rut-mentor -- or if this is all just one big joke.

They take a seat on Harry's sofa, and he thinks of all the questions he wants to ask Draco: like why he’s doing this and why he decided to stay even when he realised it was Harry. But being inches from an Omega this close to his rut is almost more than Harry can take. He can feel his desperation to mate rising and he inches closer -- all thoughts of why are leaving his mind.

If Harry’s honest, the attraction he feels towards Draco goes beyond scent. They’ve always had a sort of chemistry between them, even if it was antagonistic in their Hogwarts days. And now, with the intense aroma of pheromones swirling around them, what's between them is almost palpable.

Draco stretches. He rubs a hand over his neck. “You do know that if this is going to work, we will have to touch eventually.”

Harry is lost in the urge to bury his nose at the base of Draco’s throat. He wonders if Draco has any idea what he’s doing to him, presenting his neck in such a manner.

Harry’s getting more and more desperate and he takes a deep, slow, calming breath. He regrets it instantly when his nose is filled with more of Draco’s scent, derailing his brain and sending him into a rut-induced haze.

“So, do you want to take the lead or shall I?” Draco asks.

Harry can’t find the words to answer so it’s a surprise when Draco reaches out and drags him closer.

Harry goes willingly.

“Merlin’s sake, just come here.” Both hands curled tightly in Harry’s t-shirt, Draco pulls Harry with him as he lays back on the sofa.

Perched over him, Harry presses his nose to Draco’s neck where he can feel the rhythm of Draco’s heart and basks in that spicy scent of cinnamon.

“You’re a wreck, Potter.”

“Harry,” Harry says. His lips move against Draco’s skin and his tongue darts out to taste, as his hips stutter forward, seeking pressure against Draco’s leg.

“Excuse me?” Draco asks.

“Call me Harry,” Harry insists.

He presses his nose to Draco’s pulse point and breathes in -- his mind is floating in a rut-induced daze. Losing himself in that calming Omega scent, he lets the sensation of Draco's body beneath him take over as he thrusts his hips and humps against Draco’s thigh. His cock is leaking a wet spot in his briefs.

He slides his hands up under Draco’s robes, fingers gliding along his ribs, one thumb brushing across Draco's nipple as he moves.

Draco wastes no time. He unbuttons Harry’s jeans, reaching inside to take Harry’s cock in a firm grip. Harry groans as Draco slides his other hand down low to palm Harry’s balls. He strokes him tight and perfect, paying extra attention to the base on each downstroke and tightening his fingers around the place where Harry’s knot will pop.

Harry makes a desperate sound and pleads with Draco for more. He’s panting and achingly hard.

“Damn it, Harry, why am I not surprised that your cock is magnificent?”

Draco tightens his grip. He uses Harry’s leaking precome to ease the way as he adds a twist on the upstroke.

Harry grabs hold of Draco’s hips, yanking at his clothes. “Off,” he rumbles.

“Take me to bed. You can touch me all you want -- strip me any way you like.”

Harry stands, pulling Draco with him. He runs a soothing hand down Draco’s cheek and traces a light finger along his mouth as he leans in to kiss him.

Harry leads the way, taking Draco’s hand and guiding him down the hall.

In the bedroom, Harry barely has time to slide his open trousers down his legs and kick them off before Draco grabs him again. He crowds up in Harry’s space and pushes him backwards towards the bed until Harry feels the back of his knees hit the mattress. When he sits, Draco crawls onto his lap, long legs straddling Harry’s thighs as their lips meet in another heated kiss.

Harry slides one hand around to grab Draco’s arse, holding him steady while he works the buttons open with his other hand. Thankfully Draco decides to help, opening more buttons and sliding the robes off of his shoulders as Harry starts to work on his own shirt.

With both of them engaged in the task of undressing, it doesn’t take long before they’re both lying back on the bed completely naked.

Draco rolls on top of Harry again, pressing them chest to chest -- skin to skin -- as they kiss. Their cocks brush, causing both of them to moan. The first thrust is slightly off center, but on the second Harry gets it perfect. With their cocks lined up and just the right amount of friction, Harry’s cock grows impossibly harder.

When they’re both panting -- too close to the edge, Draco climbs off and spins around to grab hold of the headboard as he presents his arse to Harry.

“Draco,” Harry growls warningly.

“Come on,” Draco urges. “Please, Harry. I want you. I want you so bad.”

Harry is overwhelmed by another wave of Draco’s scent. This one is full of arousal and need. It’s sweet and dense and settles on Harry’s tongue as he climbs up behind Draco. He rocks his hips as he thrusts against the curve of Draco’s arse and his cock slides easily between Draco’s cheeks, nudging up against his hole.

He dips a finger between Draco’s cheeks as well, teasing over his rim as Draco presses back against his hand.

”I’m ready. I’ve already cast all the protection and preparation spells we need.”

“I like this part,” Harry insists. He wants to savour this, take it slow.

Draco’s hole is open and slick and Harry grips Draco’s arse as he fucks him with his finger. It glides in easily, sliding deep inside Draco’s already stretched opening until the Omega moans.

When he can’t stand it any longer, Harry spreads Draco’s cheeks even wider, lines his cock up, and slides home.

It’s better than anything Harry could have imagined. His instincts take over and he pushes in until he can’t get any deeper -- can’t do anything except let the pleasure take him and the sensation of mate-fuck-rut overwhelm him.

He feels his knot growing, still small, but pressing up against Draco’s rim on each thrust.

“Yes,” Draco mewls. “Fuck, yes. Knot me. Now,” he demands.

“Bossy.” Harry huffs out a laugh against Draco’s back. “I guess it’s my turn to not be surprised.”

“Fuck, yes, I am bossy,” Draco agrees. “Now get on with it.”

Harry thrusts again, gripping Draco by the shoulders as he rolls his hips forward, shoving his knot into him. Draco breathes out small breaths as Harry’s knot expands and locks up tight inside him.

“Harry.” Draco says his name like a promise. ”Oh, fuck, you have a fine knot -- best I’ve ever had.”

Harry feels a surge of pride and jealousy so strong that he can only growl and thrust harder.

“Please, please, please,” Draco says over and over again. "Please."

A tremor runs down Draco’s spine and Harry thrusts harder, his hips snapping more quickly. He can feel the shivers and shakes in Draco’s body; he can feel the way Draco holds his breath for a count of three and exhales just before he comes, untouched.

When Harry’s orgasm hits seconds later, it’s like a train running through every nerve in his body. Every muscle pulls tight and he groans through clenched teeth as his cock twitches and pulses inside Draco’s pliant body.

The pulses come one after the other -- longer and deeper until his entire body tenses. When the last deep jolt hits him, he shudders and collapses on top of Draco.

When the first wave of his orgasm is over, he takes a few more deep breaths of Draco’s scent before rolling them into a more comfortable position and settles behind Draco, nose pressed to nape of his neck.

They’re still locked together, waiting out Harry’s knot, and the smaller tremors that come with an Alpha’s orgasm when Harry realises that Draco’s hard again. He wraps his hand around Draco's smaller cock and strokes him to another orgasm.

“Mmm, yeah, keep going. Feels good. Don’t stop.” Draco pants out each word like it’s all he can say. Back arching, he comes again, hard, clenching down on Harry’s knot.

Draco nestles back against Harry again, utterly relaxed, his cock soft once more. He reaches blindly for Harry’s hand and Harry catches it and presses their palms together tight. They stay like that, clinging to one another for long moments, catching their breath as Harry rides out each last quiver and quake until his knot releases.

Once free, neither of them moves to disentangle their bodies, only holding each other tighter.

”Hot damn, Potter,” Draco finally says.



“I told you to call me Harry.” He tightens his grip around Draco’s waist and pulls him even closer.

“Harry,” Draco says.

“Did you mean it when you said my knot was the best you’ve ever taken?”

“Of course! You don’t really think rut-mentoring is always like this, do you?”

“It’s not?”

Draco laughs, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His laughter is warm and infectious and Harry wants to hear that sound again. He wants to be the one to make Draco laugh all the time.

“Fuck no,” Draco scoffs. “It’s nothing like that.”

Harry can’t help but smile.

“But of course you’d be a great lay, even rut-drunk. What else should I expect from the Saviour of the Wizarding World.”

Harry can practically hear Draco roll his eyes -- like Harry’s mere existence is still ruining Draco's every day.

“Are you complaining?”

“Hell no.” Draco cuddles closer to Harry and squeezes his hand.

“I didn’t think so.” Harry grins as he leans forward to press a kiss to Draco’s shoulder blade.