Chapter Text
"From face to foot
He was a thing of blood, whose every motion
Was timed with dying cries."
― William Shakespeare, Coriolanus
Out of a million people only one will be an Omega.
Out of billions, a mere fraction of a percent. A rapidly dwindling sub-gender of Guide among that of Alpha and Beta Sentinels.
An Omega Guide. Rare, weak, and coveted.
And of course Harry James Potter has to be one of them.
On most days it's something to be resented, but today Harry finds it particularly unbearable. He squirms in his office seat; an increasing barrage of emotions run rampant in the workplace today. People scrambling to get things done before the weekend. Consequently, it's starting to wreak havoc on his carefully constructed defenses.
A green gaze narrows on the computer screen in front of him in a final attempt to focus. A few more seconds of futility pass and Harry gives up. He slumps against his rolling chair in defeat. Sweat beads on his brow and Harry tugs uselessly at his collar and tie to relieve the stifling feeling. All the while a thought weighs down on him.
His heat is coming on soon.
The thought is enough to jolt Harry into opening his side desk drawer and pull out the small medicinal bottle he keeps there for emergencies. Shaking it, a knot of dread lodges in his stomach at how dangerously near empty it sounds. It can't have been that long ago he bought it.
Harry tries to think when a sudden wave of emotions derail his thoughts. They're more potent than the rest and Harry knows who they belong to before he even looks up.
Two platinum blond heads strut out of the elevator on the far side of the office, a steady stream of smug condescension, disdain, and pride following in their wake.
Draco Malfoy and his father Lucius. Also known as Harry's boss and the CEO of the company he works for. Two of the more obnoxious Sentinels Harry has the misfortune of knowing as well as being two of the many who love reminding everyone exactly what they are.
The thought of them is enough to cause a headache on a good day. And Harry isn't the only one who shares this sentiment. He catches sight of a flaming head of red hair pop over top an office cubicle on the other side of the room. Coffee cup in hand, Ron sends Harry an exaggerated roll of his eyes, earning a grin of agreement from Harry. The two Sentinels continue to swan through the room, smirking and glaring in the appropriate places. Enough to intimidate or cause envy where deemed necessary. Harry's sure the reason is to make sure all of them are put in their place. But Harry doesn't have time for them now.
With a deliberate movement, Harry turns back to his desk and tries to focus once more on his work. He can't afford to be here later than necessary tonight.
Harry starts clicking away at the graphs in front of him when a particularly palpable prickle of heat shivers down his spine. He looks up on instinct to lock eyes with a pair of silver ones across the room. He freezes at Draco's stare which quickly morphs from one of curiosity to a deep sneer of disgust. As if Harry, a mere Beta Guide, were the one daring to ogle someone so out of his own league. Much to Harry's relief though, the Sentinel turns away again when his father departs to one of the meeting rooms around the corner. Harry can't help but release a small sigh. He doesn't want to imagine what would happen if they ever found out he's an Omega. The thought's enough to cause a thrum of fear through his veins.
The near-empty pill bottle sits on Harry's desk like a bad omen.
He needs a refill, and quick. Before any Sentinels sniff him out. Or worse — Harry comes across an Alpha that wants to mate. Sentinels are hard to keep at bay at the best of times, but an Alpha Sentinel is a different story. Harry hasn't met one before but he's heard the stories. The articles on bonded Beta Guides revealing the horror stories of how they'd been claimed by an Alpha. The rare reports on Omegas who didn't even get the chance to run. Simply dropped into a submissive stance from the overwhelming force of the pheromones and their own heat.
Despite the unbearable warmth, the fine hairs on Harry's arm stand on end. He doesn't even think when he grabs the bottle and pours out the remaining pills in his palm. There's enough to last him a few days at most. Three, maybe four. He'll have to make a trip downtown later today.
But shit, if the stuff's expensive.
Especially if one wants to purchase any without the Ministry's knowledge. Which it is, in Harry's case. As all and any Omegas are required by law to register themselves with the authorities. No doubt to pair him off with whomever they deem to be a suitable bondmate. Some overeager Sentinel, or maybe an overbearing Alpha Sentinel. All just to make sure their Omega is 'put to good use' and make it look like it's all completely justified and consensual.
Harry knows it's bullshit; they'd just like the chance to poke and prod at him.
The idea of being experimented on and kept locked up like some kind of lab rat makes Harry feel sick to his stomach.
"Hey, mate."
The familiar voice effectively startles Harry out of his thoughts. He jumps slightly in his seat before looking up to see his best friend leaning against his cubicle door.
"Christ, Ron," Harry breathes.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," Ron says. His brow furrows when his eyes catch the pills. "What are those for?"
Harry looks down at his hand and quickly closes a fist around the pills.
"Oh - Um, it's nothing. Just have a headache, 's all," Harry says, and shoves the pill bottle back into his desk drawer.
Ron's mouth gives a twist but he doesn't question it. "Yeah, Malfoy's been a hard-arse all week. He's even got Hermione going round the bloody bend," he says with a chuckle. Harry tries one back but it sounds feeble even to his own ears. "Hey, some of the lads are going out for a pint later and asked if we wanted to join. Up for it?"
Harry waffles for a bit, torn between wanting to run straight back to his apartment and submerge himself in a tub of ice or get more meds while out with the others.
"Uh, yeah," Harry replies after some mental deliberation. He must sound strange because Ron's giving him a definite 'look'. He hastily adds on an "Absolutely" to reassure his friend which seems to do the trick.
Ron grins and claps him on the back. "Wicked," he says before moving to leave. "See you later, then. And don't mind the boss man too much, yeah?"
Harry smiles back. "Will do."
Drinks is a nightmare. As soon as work got out, Harry began to feel the strain of having to keep up his shields and contain his Heat. If it weren't for the pills he took before, Harry's sure he would've been a panting, hormonal mess by now. But he needs to restock, and fast.
So with a hasty goodbye to Ron and the others, Harry leaves for the nearest tube station.
Clutching onto the nearest railing, Harry watches as the train rattles through the dark tunnels in a blur. He tries to regulate his breathing and concentrates on keeping his shields in place.
God, but having bodies stacked in and around him was not helping. Harry squirms and feels like he's dying a very slow, painful, death. He can only pray that no Sentinels will sniff him out. Then again, Harry supposes it's rather wishful thinking on his part. Even a Guide could see he was sweating buckets.
The train gives a violent jerk and comes to a sudden, screeching halt.
Harry's eyes widen in bewilderment until an announcement sounds through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay and will be continuing on our journey shortly. Thank you for your patience." Click.
Fuck.
Fuckfuckfuck. Harry wipes his forehead and shifts, feeling an elbow dig into his back and someone's hip press against his leg. This was really not his day.
A warm hand covers his on the railing and Harry flinches before looking up, startled.
A heated gaze has locked onto him and he freezes.
Shit.
Harry's mind screams for him to run but his body does something different. An unmistakable pull urges him to get closer to the Sentinel and have him run his hands all over him. Harry's breaths are coming short and fast and he has no doubt the Sentinel can sense his internal dilemma.
Harry needs to get out of there, and now.
The train jerks back into motion and Harry thinks he could cry in relief. But the Sentinel has pushed in closer now, inhaling deeply. There's an unmistakable question in his eyes that wars with the lust as if saying, 'Are you really what I think you are?' and Harry wants to cry for help. He doesn't.
What he does manage to do is tear his eyes away, but they instantly catch sight of another head turn in the sea of people on the train. The head is slightly uplifted, as if smelling something strange in the air. It swivels in Harry's direction who anxiously ducks down, praying to whatever God to help him escape this alive and unbonded. The heat feels like it's burning across his skin, eating him alive with want and need.
Harry looks up again when he hears a soft, rumbling sound from the Sentinel closest to him. He's spotted something through the crowd of people and must sense a threat. Harry hears an answering growl just near the doors on the other side and begins to truly panic. He really doesn't want to be responsible for anyone going feral.
But luck, it seems, was not on his side today.
The growls increase in ferocity and people are starting to notice. They look up from their tablets and newspapers. Even some with earphones in seem to sense a shift in the atmosphere. It was the unmistakable static hum of Sentinels about to go feral.
Or maybe they sense Harry. His body feels like a beacon and he's certain pheromones must be pouring off him in waves by now.
Mercifully, the train begins to slow and the doors open with an airy hiss.
"Mind the gap," the automated voice chirps as Harry practically throws himself from the train and onto the platform. He finds himself almost pushing people aside in his haste to escape, but only manages to go ten steps when a hand latches onto his wrist like an iron shackle.
A spike of anxiety shoots through Harry and the grip tightens, the Sentinel clearly sensing his distress and feeling the urge to comfort and soothe. He tries to pull Harry towards him but is stopped by another, larger Sentinel. He must be the one from the train because he's suddenly ripping the other Sentinel's hand away from Harry's wrist with an impressive snarl.
Harry doesn't even take the moment to see what happens next before shooting off into the crowd. He races up the stairs and comes close to hurdling over the ticket gates but manages to pull out his Oyster card just in time.
A minute later and Harry finally emerges onto the busy streets of Leicester Square, London. He doesn't stop or slow down for a second, though, as the need to get away still rages through him like fire. Harry thinks he must look ridiculous with his work suit still on and tie flapping about him as he runs, pell-mell, through the streets. But he finds he can't care when the urge to fuck the next Sentinel nearest to him is this overwhelming.
As he races along, Harry vaguely notes the heads which begin to turn as he passes. No doubt smelling the scent of an Omega. Harry swears he can hear footsteps begin to follow him at some point and a few arms even reach out to grab at him on the sidewalk. It only makes him sprint harder as words like a drum beat in his head — Danger, escape, mate, Heat.
No! Not mate. He has to keep the Heat at bay.
Suppress, suppress, suppress the urges.
Harry twists and turns a path through the throng of people on the sidewalks until he finally makes a sharp turn onto Newport court. He manages to find respite in a run-down Chinese shop where he tries to regain some semblance of composure. His chest heaves with heavy pants as he prays that no one in there is a Sentinel or will report him.
Harry quickly scans his surroundings and finds that the place is almost completely empty. There's one other person a few aisles down but they seem completely oblivious to his presence. They must be a Mute or a Guide. Either way, it's Harry's first shred of luck that they aren't a Sentinel. Or one of the authorities.
Harry ventures further into the store and nears the front when an old Chinese man comes hobbling out from behind the counter. He regards Harry with a shrewd look.
"Can help you?" the man says in broken english.
"Er, no. It's alright. Just looking," Harry says, still quite out of breath. The man gives him another skeptical frown before he cocks his head to the side and sniffs.
Harry freezes, every muscle in his body coiling with adrenaline.
"Omega?" comes the inevitable question.
Harry's eyes dart to the exit, ready to bolt at any moment despite the burning in his lungs from the race over here. The old man just shakes his head though, and doesn't wait for a response before gesturing with one arm for Harry to follow. Harry remains still, not trusting the other yet, and watches him disappear round the counter and into the back of the store.
Harry is suddenly aware he's been left completely alone. If he needed to escape, this is his chance. He can make a break for it right now. But something in him tells him to stay, so he tentatively makes his way up to the counter. The old man reappears a moment later and Harry sees that he has a bottle of pills with him. Harry's eyes immediately latch onto them, able to tell what they are without being told.
"Hormone suppressor," comes the deliberate answer.
"How much?" The question comes out in a breathless rush.
"Forty-five pound."
Harry's already fumbling out his wallet and shoving the money into wrinkled hands.
A few minutes later finds Harry walking out of the small shop, pills in pocket and forty-five pounds lighter, but relieved. He tugs up the hood of his coat over his head and ducks out of the store.
But as soon as Harry turns the street corner, he's set upon by a dozen uniformed officers.
Hands grab at him and the unmistakable shape of an injection is being pulled out. As soon as Harry sees the needle, adrenaline and fear pulse through him hard. He closes his eyes and in a desperate attempt, he feels out the walls of his empathy before frantically pushing it all OUT.
Rough hands that were previously clinging to him are ripped away and Harry opens his eyes to see himself surrounded by Sentinels in pain. Some lay on the ground and clutch their heads while others are doubled over and crying out for their Guides. Passersby look on at the scene in confusion and alarm.
Not sparing a guilty thought for it, Harry takes this as his opportunity.
He just manages to bolt past the indisposed Sentinels when he's abruptly slammed into from behind and thrown to the ground. In the next second, Harry's not-so-gently cuffed and can feel something sharp jab him in the side of his neck. He cries out until the leathery texture of a collar being placed on him gets him into a real panic.
He wants to fight against it, search out the walls of his empathy again and do something. But the injection from before makes his vision swim and his limbs uncooperative. Harry barely manages to let out a last, despairing yell before everything goes completely black.