‘I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me’
Kim Addonizio
Tell Me; from ‘For Desire’
A jug of lilac flowers sits on the kitchen table, heavy with purple blossom.
The scent…
It perfumes the room - Severus can smell nothing else. It brings him strange comfort. And strange pain.
Just a quiet morning, the same as any other. The light outside is a haze, waiting to be burnt off. Mist infused with bright sunlight, glowing in gold. Undulating on the ground like smoke. Mist busy conjuring dreams.
Bare feet in the kitchen. Sunlight slipping between the blinds, leaves of light. Coffee brewing in the pot, but the taste is burnt wood. The quiet sounds of hot water hissing. Small actions - he has no energy, now. If the trunk of a tree is made up of layers, then Severus is just the peeling bark, worn down to thin strips. He is a man of charcoal and ashes.
Eliot, his black cat, watches Severus through narrowed eyes.
The lilac flowers are beautiful.
This will be the last year that he sees them.
Severus sits at the kitchen table, and he burns.
Outer Bark
Like a shield, the trunk’s outer bark protects the tree from its outside surroundings.
Seven days ago…
His eyes are dry. It must be the heat. If Severus were a forest, he would be old, deciduous wood. A Hawthorn forest, adorned with spikes. He is nothing but stagnation: a man made of bark and dead leaves.
I need... a way to clear out all this dead wood. A flood. A fire? A storm, metaphorical at least. Some great event, to just let me breathe...
Dust motes swirl on the air. The shelves creak. His cramped little shop (‘SpellBound Books’) feels even smaller than usual.
Probably due to… the scents.
Severus crinkles his nose. He has had a handkerchief soaked with pine essential oil grasped in his hand all day, fingers clenching. Whenever a customer stinking of Rut-enhancement gets too close, he holds it up to his nose - sometimes discreetly, and sometimes… not.
“Severus? I need advice. There’s something wrong with my Omega.”
“Wrong?” Severus spits out. His friend is dressed for the festival: Lucius wears the traditional Alpha fur cape and antler headdress. Some of Severus’ regular patrons are casting strange looks in his direction.
“He’s sick,” Lucius sighs. “Won’t get up. Just lies there.”
“Perhaps he's bored?” Severus mutters.
“No, he's… mournful. I fear he may have… the Pining Sickness!” Lucius says, with a shudder of fear.
“Pining Sickness is a myth, Lucius,” Severus snorts. “And he’s not an actual Omega!”
“How dare you - he is!”
Severus sighs.
“Look, I’m just a bookseller. Try the ‘Omega Romance’ section, buy something stimulating for him. And then - talk to him when you get home!”
“Stimulating, eh?” Lucius says, perking up. He hurries away between the shelves.
“Ooh, gracious me!” Albus says, nudging his way into the shop. “Some kind of event on this weekend, my boy?”
“The Midsummer Mating Festival,” Severus says, with asperity. “I normally close the shop for the weekend, I can’t stand the stench of this Rut-inducing muck,” he adds, loudly. Some of the Alphas browsing the shelves cast dark looks in his direction. “However… business has been slow, and so I took the risk. I regret it. Eliot hates the scents. I haven’t seen him since Thursday evening.”
“You’re an Alpha, aren’t you?” demands a customer, putting a book down on the counter. “Or are you a bit repressed?”
Severus sneers at him.
“Severus is the person who they invented the word ‘repressed’ for,” Lucius interrupts, sticking his head around the bookshelves. “He’s all dried up and desiccated like an old Christmas tree, aren’t you, Severus? After all the pine needles fall off?”
Burn away all the dead wood - and then give me the pouring, thundering of the rain, to wash it all away -
Severus sneers at him, too.
“Yes. This weekend is purely for heathens - for mating in the woods rather than getting to know each other properly,” he says, not at all bitterly.
“In the woods - really? Those were the days, eh?” says Albus, looking wistful. Severus gives him a black look, which he jovially ignores. “Have you never fancied going?”
“You can come with me, tonight?” Lucius’ voice floats, disembodied, from the Romance section. “It’s Hunting Night!”
Severus shudders.
“You know you won’t actually see an Omega, Lucius? No-one ever sees them.”
“They do! That’s where I met my Neville!”
“Neville isn’t an Omega, you know,” Albus murmurs, to a customer, who blinks back at him in surprise.
“He is!” Lucius snaps back.
“The real Omegas make their Nests in a secret glade - an Alpha has to be given a password to find it,” Albus continues, with a longing sigh. The customer’s eyebrows rise.
“How do you know - I thought you’d never been?” Severus spits out. “It sounds like a wonderful evening - oh, to be high on artificial Rut-enhancements, blundering about in the forest like a beast. And, if one is lucky enough to catch one of the handful of actual Omegas, to get so over-excited and bite them, and form permanentlifebonds - all for a few hours of animalistic insanity? I am… above those sorts of activities, thank you,” Severus sniffs, disdainfully.
“Not mated yourself, then?” a customer asks him.
“No,” Severus snaps.
“Who would mate with you, you old Crab Apple?” Lucius calls out. It is good-natured, in a mean sort of way, but it still gives Severus pause. Finding a mate based on animalistic instincts has always sounded more terrifying than enticing. Severus has never wanted to take the risk of being overcome by Alpha hormones, biting someone, and becoming enslaved by lust or pheromones. His own Omega mother mated during heat, and look how disastrously that turned out.
And yet… Severus sighs. He is like patterned bark, rough and knotted, and grown around barbed wire. Gnarled and harsh on the outside, but at the centre -
A gaggle of festival-goers huddle into the already cramped-shop, and ruin his brooding. Every one of the Alphas in the shop goes still, and Severus frowns at them all - before he realises.
Omegas.
In his shop!
He has not seen an Omega in years, and now there are three of them!
Severus winces, and goes to hide himself behind a stack of books, clutching his handkerchief. What will they smell like? Are they all on artificial Heat-inducements too, for tonight's fun? What are they doing, wandering in town like this?
The three of them pass him by - Severus peers through the bookcases, despite himself. One has red hair, adorned with a crown, and his red and gold kimono robe is painted with dogs and dancing suns. The female has bushy hair, tightly pinned up atop her head. She wears a veil embroidered with leaves, and her robe is dark blue and decorated with silver otters. Her arms and neck are painted with watery patterns. The third figure follows them, and it is then that Severus first smells… a scent that is so unlike any of the others… The sweet scent of… are those lilac flowers?
Severus peers around the shelf of books which constitute his ‘True Crime’ section, his handkerchief forgotten…
A shaft of golden light filters down from the high windows, illuminating the Omega who stands between the bookshelves, perusing silently.
The creature wears a delicate floral crown of real flowers - lilac and lavender and dark green foliage - perched in his midnight-black curls. He wears an Omega kimono-style robe in light-green silk, decorated in embroidery with sprigs of purple flowers and beautiful stags in silver thread. Severus can see that his hands and throat - beautiful also, delicate - are painted with patterns like the bark of a Sycamore tree. His face is bare, and Severus gazes upon him; his creamy skin, dark lashes like moth’s wings, and a full, red mouth…
The sight of this boy makes Severus’ heart clench, as though somebody has struck a match inside his chest. Such a shock should instantly set all the dry books around him alight. Books were once trees, after all…
Is this what I needed, what was coming? A combustion, finally, of all that was snarled up and dead within me?
Fuck, one look at this boy - and Severus burns.
Severus has never seen anything like this young man before. Slender, shy-looking and gorgeous, the young Omega studies the books earnestly, ignoring his companions.
Severus watches him, mesmerised, lightning-struck. For the first time in his entire life, he feels… like an Alpha. All these years of repressing it, over in seconds - a poor forest destroyed, and left as scorched earth. He feels a jolt of pain in his groin - what on earth? He has to grip his crotch, the ache is so bad. He wants to scent and taste the boy so desperately that he finds his mouth filling with - what is this foul taste? Mating venom? He spits it out into his handkerchief, wiping his mouth bitterly. He can almost feel his body rearranging itself, preparing to go into Rut; he wants to scent everything, to mark the bookshop as his own -
A voice cuts into his reverie.
“Harry, can we hurry up a bit? We shouldn’t have come into town - can you smell the scents? We should be making our Nests! And - there’s that Alpha band ‘The Marauding Stags’ on soon. I don’t want to miss them.”
(Harry. Of course it is. Severus feels like he does not learn the name, he only… remembers it.)
The dark-haired boy winces.
“Yes, I remember. I just want something to read tonight, while you’re both off, running about in the forest. Do you think it… smells funny in here?”
“Severus was just grumbling about that, his cat’s walked out on him for the weekend because of it!” Albus says, beaming as he restocks the shelves.
“You don’t need to read, Harry - you should be working on your Nest!” a voice calls out.
Harry gives the redhead a withering glance.
“I’ll just read, thanks. I’ve done the dancing. I’m not interested in Mating.”
“I’ll read a bit too,” says the girl with bushy hair. “I’ve already finished my Nest anyway.”
“I don’t know why you bothered with a Nest, Hermione,” snorts the redhead. “You said the festival practices were archaic.”
“She’s not wrong, they are archaic,” Harry scoffs.
“One never knows,” Hermione sniffs. “I’ve still got my Heat planned: it should arrive precisely by four o’clock.”
“Well I won’t be in Heat by tonight,” Harry snaps. “So I don’t need a Nest.”
“I think mine’s already starting - will you help me with my Nest then, Hermione? Please?” The redhead whines.
“Oh my goodness - look at this Omega section! Harry, come and choose one of these! There’s even Regency period romances!”
“I’ll just buy this, and then we can go and finish Ron’s Nest,” Harry mutters, and Severus realises that he is required - and is still hiding behind his bookshelves, hand on his crotch, looking almost demented. Horrified, he shrinks back into the shelves, hurriedly trying to comb his hair with his thin fingers. Why didn’t he shave this morning, blast it? Oh, because he was looking for Eliot, the little fiend. He feels half wild.
Severus forces himself to stagger back to the counter, and -
All else falls away, like fire ripping through the bookshop and burning it to the ground. The boy stares at Severus in rapt amazement. Nobody has ever looked at Severus this way! There is only the two of them standing there, staring at each other.
One look from him, and Severus is an Alpha, now. He wants to be.
The young Omega steps up to the counter. Severus watches him as he… sniffs the air, red lips parting.
Are you a wood nymph, or a creature of the forest? Severus thinks, desperately.
“Hello,” the young man murmurs. He places a book down upon the counter between them, almost with reverence. He gifts Severus a soft, enchanting smile.
He is enchanting. Evergreen. A fairie. Why is this boy not already Mated?
As if sensing Severus’ thoughts, the young man turns his head, lifts a hand - and pulls back his silken collar, ever so discreetly. To show his neck, unmarked, and… beautiful. The boy drops his hand, quickly. He must be, what… perhaps all of nineteen? Twenty?
“I like your… bookshop,” the young man breathes. His green eyes glow like faerie pools.
Unmated? Severus thinks, miserably. Then he realises that… he has not even said hello.
“Ah… Good afternoon,” he murmurs, his eyes never leaving the boy’s. “What book have you chosen? Proust? You are aware there’s six other volumes, after this one?”
“Oh, I… Well, if I like this, perhaps I’ll come back, for the rest,” the Omega says, and the young voice is low and full of promise.
Severus nods. (He also sells the entire set in one large volume, but… he is suddenly less inclined to mention that, for some reason.)
“Are you going to read it now, or should I wrap it up?” he asks, and his voice is quiet too - as though the bookshop still burns around them, cutting them off from the world.
“I… I was, but…” the boy suddenly swallows hard. He gives Severus a penetrating stare. Because of the otherworldliness of his eyes, it feels as if his gaze comes straight from another dimension. “Are you going to the festival, later?” the young man asks.
“I don’t, usually,” Severus confesses.
“Why? You’re an Alpha. It’s… it’s HuntingNight, tonight.” The eyes glow. “You should… you should come. It’s the last night, we go home tomorrow. I could… I could give you… this?”
A slender hand slips across the counter, towards him… The boy picks up Severus’ pen, and on the corner of his purchase ledger, he writes a single word.
Severus swallows hard. The young man blushes.
“I’d love it if you came,” the Omega says, earnestly. He leans across the counter, biting his lower lip, and adds, in a whisper: “I’ve got a… I’m building a Nest, in the glade…”
Severus’ breath catches in his throat. Their eyes lock. If the bookshop were truly on fire, Severus would not even notice. Something in his chest, something dark and long dormant, raises its head and howls.
“Erm… the band starts in ten minutes?” comes an awkward voice from behind Harry.
The spell broken, Harry steps back. He pushes some coins across the counter towards Severus, and collects his book.
Harry’s two friends grab him by the arms, and march him outside.
“Er… Harry, what was that?” Severus hears the redhead hissing. “Did you give him the code?”
“I can’t talk now, Ron - I need to finish my Nest!” Harry wails.
“But you said they were stupid!”
Their voices trail off.
Fuck, Severus thinks, miserably. A Nest. He is doomed. He looks down at the ledger. The word ‘willow’ is written in a scrawl on the corner of the page. Severus was never interested in Omegas and their Nests, before - but now, he will go to the festival tonight even if he has two broken legs. If there is even a chance that he could share a Nest with this beautiful young Omega. His Alpha nature has awoken for this boy, sparking to life.
The scent of the lilacs lingers in the shop for the remainder of the afternoon, and he cannot concentrate. As Severus hastily darkens the shop, Eliot slips in through the door before he can close it.
“There you are!” Severus cries. “I was out four times in the night, looking for you! It’s the Omegas, isn’t it? You don’t like the smell?”
Eliot shoots him a look which seems to say, ‘I know where you’re off to tonight, you hypocrite! Now, bring me my fish.’
Inner Bark
The inner layer of bark is where food and nutrients are passed through the tree.
This layer has very short lifespan. It eventually dies, and becomes part of the outer layer.
At sunset, Severus enters the woods. The lilacs are blooming. He keeps the hood of his cloak up, as many of the other Alphas do. He does not have the traditional antler headdress, but he hopes that… the Omega will not reject him. He still cannot believe what he is doing. He walks nervously towards the bonfire; towering flames crackle merrily. The twilight-lit field bustles with Alphas and Omegas, all dancing, drinking, laughing merrily. In marquees hung with flowers and foliage and fairy lights, couples sit at long wooden tables or around fire pits, toasting and sharing food. The scents perfuming the air are thick and heady: Heats and Ruts, almost ready to begin.
Severus looks around. The bonfire blazes high.
Where does he have to go, to give this code? Where is Harry?
“Maybe he’s not coming,” says a girl dressed like a squirrel, and Severus recognises the bushy hair instantly. Beside her is Ron: his russet-red hair matches his fox mask almost perfectly.
“Don’t say that - Harry will be devastated. He’s been sipping that special mead, hoping it sends him into Heat! We spent four bloody hours on his Nest this afternoon, and he’s still not happy with it…”
“Any sign of him?” comes that soft voice, and Severus’ breath hitches. The spark inside his chest smoulders; the wild animal within him stirs again. He wants to hunt.
“I recognise the lilacs in your hair,” Severus whispers, into the boy’s ear.
The Omega spins around, gasping with delight.
“Oh,” he breathes, gazing up at Severus; fingers slipping into Severus’ dark green velvet cloak already, to pull him close. “You look amazing. I’m Harry, by the way.”
“Severus.”
“And I’m Ron, and this is -”
“Oh hush,” the squirrel snaps. “He doesn’t care who we are. Harry - we’ll see you later, in the glade?”
Harry nods. Severus bows slightly to them both. The younger man is standing so close. Illuminated by firelight, he looks… unearthly, somehow. Severus tries to think straight, to speak to him, but his chest is hot and tight, a snarl of internal combustion…
“Ah - how’s the Proust?” Severus rasps out.
“I’ve been a bit, erm… preoccupied,” Harry mutters, blushing.
Severus’ chest tightens again. He has to restrain himself from reaching out, from touching the boy. He has to force himself to speak words, even as his body reacts so physically to Harry’s presence.
He swallows.
“Proust writes that… he likes the old Celtic belief, that lost souls can become captive in animals or plants. Until we happen upon them, passing by perhaps the tree in which they are imprisoned. Then, they ‘tremble, they call us by our name, and as soon as we have recognised them, the spell is broken’,” Severus recites, softly.*
Harry stares up at him. His eyes are glassy.
“That’s beautiful,” he whispers. “I could spend as much time in the company of trees as I could with people.”
-
The pink moon is rising over the forest, and Severus does not know himself. He must be dreaming. The twilight sky is blue, violet, ochre. The trees are all silhouettes. The woods sparkle with faerie magic, a hive of activity, as Omegas scramble to finish their Nests before midnight.
They watch folk dancers winding ribbons around the maypole, and Harry lets go of his hand to dance and whirl with them. Severus is awestruck, watching him. Is this Omega pheromones, working on him already? He presumes that, if Harry does go into Heat by midnight, that his own Rut will soon follow. He has not thought to take any of the artificial hormones - perhaps he should have.
He hopes that his own desire for the boy will be enough.
Harry is soon by his side again, linking their fingers together, palms sliding. Fingers interlocking, like the weaving of a Nest…
“Have you cast some kind of spell on me?” Severus murmurs. High up above them, the stars are emerging, glittering in a velvet cloak of midnight blue. The candlelit forest around them is alive with Midsummer magic, but Severus barely takes it all in. He only has eyes for the Omega.
Harry leans up; scents the skin behind Severus’ ear…
“How long until midnight?” Severus murmurs, his fingernails digging half-moons into his palms. He could bite through his own tongue in frustration.
“An hour yet.”
Severus grinds his teeth.
-
They drift around the festival grounds, stopping to watch the bonfire, or the singers, or to nuzzle and scent each other, their hands exploring, lips almost touching…
Every interaction between them feels erotically charged. When Harry glances at him with those limpid eyes, Severus feels something inside his chest smouldering, his organs alight with dark embers. He feels alive.
Harry’s fingers slip inside Severus’ shirt, to graze the skin of his back. The touch is wild, electrifying. Harry’s face is so close - he leans up for a kiss - but Severus holds back, a small smirk on his lips, and Harry’s eyes spark alight. He smiles a little too, and turns his neck. Severus caresses the skin with his nose, with his parted lips - and then he suddenly opens his mouth, pressing the flat of his tongue against Harry’s neck, over the bonding gland… He cannot believe he is being so bold! This is not like him at all, normally so reserved. He has a moment of fear - this is too possessive! - but Harry just gasps, and clings to him.
Severus feels almost feral. What is happening to him?
“You said that… you had a Nest?” Severus growls.
The young man gives him a smug, secretive little smile. He lifts his mouth, his lips brushing, featherlight, against Severus’.
“When the Hunt begins, then… Remember your code.” Harry whispers, mouth now at his ear. Severus realises, then, why he pulled back from their kiss, just now. Because he knew, instinctively, that Harry wanted him too. There is knowledge between them that surpasses even words.
-
The Hunt begins on the stroke of midnight. Harry has been sipping from his cup of mead, but he throws it away, saying simply, “I don’t need that anymore.” His eyes look a little wild, pupils blown. His cheeks are flushed. And his scent… Severus has to restrain himself from dragging the boy into the woods and fucking him. He knows the smell, even though he has never been so close to it, before.
The scent of Heat.
Severus looks at him as all the Alphas take their positions on the dark, fire-lit starting line, ribbons fluttering. There are some Omegas here, too, but many are waiting in the forest already. Harry is watching him too, a small smile playing about his lips, and Severus feels a pang of guilt. What is he doing? He must not bite the boy. He must not lose himself so much that he forgets what this is: one night. One Hunt.
The horn sounds.
“Two minutes head-start,” Harry whispers, eyes sparkling. He kisses Severus once - on the mouth - and then, as Severus reaches eagerly for him, the boy is gone, darting away into the forest.
Severus growls in frustration. All around him, other Alphas are waiting impatiently for the second sound of the horn. Some know who they’ll be hunting, others do not. What if another Alpha captures his Omega? Severus snarls. He will not allow it! He will -
The horns sounds again, and away they go, into the dark woods!
Run. Run! Hunt!
Severus kicks off his shoes and sprints away into the trees, his heart bursting; fully alive, for the first time in his life -
He cannot see Harry, but when he reaches a tree, he suddenly finds himself pausing to sniff… Scent has been left here! Are the trees playing a part in their mating dance? Is the boy leaving a trail? Severus prowls after him.
“Where are you?” he snarls. Then - he hears a bright laugh! He is following the scent, and the glimpses of Harry that he can make out between the trees - but the boy does not slow down! Does he not want to be caught? Is he doing this on purpose, little tease, to drive Severus into madness?
Harry darts in between the tree trunks, a flash of pale green. Severus’ eyes sparkle, dark obsidian. He bares his teeth. He is becoming feral. He wants to undress. He wants to be covered in dirt and leaves, and have the Omega on its back -
A strange call - clear, like a howl - drifts upon the night air.
A Mating Call.
He suddenly realises that the forest is full of them - but he had not noticed.
Not until Harry’s.
He tries to answer, but all that he can manage is a desperate growl. Then, from behind a nearby tree, he hears a shocked gasp. He rounds the tree - to find Harry panting, staring at him.
“That growl is the most powerful aphrodisiac I’ve ever heard,” the boy moans.
Severus’ teeth part. Breathing heavily, his tongue slips out and runs slowly over his upper teeth, over the sharp canines glinting in the moonlight. Harry shivers, his eyes bright. Alert. Ready to run again. Severus wants to devour him! Oh God - to be covered in the Omega’s scent! His Alpha nature is taking control now. Harry’s Mating Call has unlocked some mad passion within him -
He shoves Harry up against an Oak tree.
“You liked making me work for that, did you?” he snarls, panting into the beautiful white neck, whilst Harry laughs and struggles and clings to him in exhilaration, wrapping his legs around Severus’ waist. Their noses and teeth clash; then Severus shoves his tongue into Harry's mouth, hot and moist and urgent. The scent of the boy!
“You caught me!” Harry giggles, breathing heavily, his beautiful curls glistening with sweat. “I’m going into Heat now, can you smell it?”
“Yes,” Severus groans. “The Nest, now!”
-
They do not need the password. Harry simply holds his hand, and Severus follows him through the trees, until they step through into an enchanted glade; a sanctuary, covered with moss and lit with flickering candles. There are bushes of lilac flowers; tumbling roses climb the painted trees, spilling from the branches. A babbling stream rushes through the dimly-lit glade, the water strewn with flowers - and Severus can see Nests, dotted all over. Some are occupied already. Omegas have no interest in someone else’s Nest - they must have their own.
He knows, instinctively, which Nest belongs to Harry.
The boy has made his Nest under a bush of lilac flowers: a great cocoon of twigs and leaves and purple blossoms. Harry pauses to brush his fingers over the doorway, softly.
“I’ve always dreamed of someone like you,” Harry whispers.
“You hardly know me,” Severus gasps out, a feeble attempt to stop the burning sensation rising in his chest - because he too has dreamed of someone, of course he has.
“I do. I recognise you. Come on - let’s go inside.”
Cambium Cell Layer
The growing part of the trunk.
It grows in reaction to hormones passed down from the leaves, called auxins, which cause new cells to grow.
The night that follows after is… like a dream. It must be real, though, for Severus could never dream of this.
Or, if it is a dream, he hopes never to wake again.
Severus lies on his back in the Nest, and looks around. The sight of the boy’s Nest, handwoven, has unlocked something primitive, deep within him. The earthen scent is beautiful, as are the little golden paper stars and the flowers that Harry has woven into the sides of the Nest -
He can hardly believe that he could have this, even just for a night. Severus has always been afraid of being overcome by animal instincts, of binding himself to someone ghastly and unsympathetic, but it never occurred to him that a Mate could also be an… an almost spiritual thing. The way Harry looks at him, eyes all aglow - and Severus is aflame. That is the nature of the Alpha-Omega connection: primitive, and yet also… spiritual. A physical and a soul bond.
“Oh, God,” he hears Harry whimper, and Severus sits up, alarmed.
“What’s happening?”
Harry turns to look at him, his green eyes huge and unfocussed. His skin shines with perspiration. He trembles as he reaches for Severus.
“It’s… Heat. Please!”
-
This is not ordinary sex. Severus forgets how to speak. He becomes single-minded in his purpose - to give Harry everything that the Omega needs. Harry crawls into his lap, shedding his own clothes in desperation, tearing at the fabric, gasping for help as though he is drowning. Severus strips him bare, then starts on his own clothes, even as Harry attacks any newly-bared skin with his mouth. The young creature’s body is streaked with sweat; there is something animal about him now, as well as human, and Severus feels it too. Both of them succumbing to some long-dormant beast within. Harry’s green eyes are glazed, pupils blown, his skin slick and perfumed with pheromones - Severus licks it all from the boy’s collar bones, sweet as nectar. Intoxicating. He can feel his own Rut coming on, in reaction to the boy’s Heat, and it feels like a thunderstorm approaching; that sticky heat, the heaviness, the growling thunder and sparking lightning. He reaches down between them to grip Harry’s cock, and the boy moans brokenly. The Omega’s prick is already pink and dripping. Harry’s red, wet mouth fastens itself to his neck, sucking wildly.
“Rut?” the creature moans, imploringly, and Severus pushes Harry onto his back in the Nest. Inside his chest, the beast is howling, baying for blood, calling out for its Mate -
Rut hits him like a ball of fire, like a lightning storm. He forgets his own name. He sees Harry parting his thighs, revealing the open hole between his legs that drips with slick - and the scent of the Omega turns him wild; drives him almost into madness. He is worshipping at an altar. If Harry demanded to plunge a knife into Severus’ chest, Severus would have allowed it. But Harry does not - he holds out his arms with a ravenous expression. Then, when Severus hesitates, Harry rolls over, presenting his buttocks to the Alpha. Slick trickles down the backs of his thighs. He trembles as he holds himself up, begging to be mounted. Severus tears off the last of his clothes, leaving them on the ground in tatters.
He has a moment of hesitation; his cock is large - and thick, overly so - and Harry’s body is small and slender…
“Alpha, please!”
Alpha - that is his name, now - Severus moulds his chest over the boy’s back, and shoves into him. Harry is shaking, his smaller body stretching to accommodate Severus - Harry groans, and there is another wet gush of fluid. Harry sinks even further onto his cock, accepting him as though he were moulded around him. Severus is no longer a man; this is his deeper nature, the part of him that he has so long denied: the animal part. The part that wants to take a Mate, and can only be fulfilled by one. Is the boy having a unique experience too? Severus will never recover from this, he knows it already. (Or does Harry spend every Heat like this?)
The primal urge tobite is strong. His mouth fills with venom, the paralysing agent that freezes the Omega’s bonding gland as permanently broken, temporarily paralysing a newly-mated Omega: frozen and knotted and possessed and - no! He must not bite! This is one night, one Heat!
He wants to, desperately… and Harry seems to wish for it too. Several times, Harry turns his head, and even groans out “bite!”, his beautiful, tempting neck on display… Severus has to spit out mouthfuls of venom onto the ground. He must not!
-
They fuck and fuck and fuck, his body crushing Harry’s into the dirt; Harry on all fours with Severus slamming into him from behind; Harry thrashing and squirming in his lap - the sex has no end. Every time the Omega orgasms, Severus has to grit his teeth to prevent himself from following suit. He feels like a beast. Smeared with leaves and saliva, they fuck in the dirt, and it is celestial, a paradise unlike any other -
He has no concept of time, but it is early morning by the time he orgasms; light is just filtering down into the Nest. His orgasm is blinding, brighter than the sunrise; he fucks Harry so roughly that Harry screams in delight as the larger body hammers into him, his fingernails digging furrows into Severus’ shoulders. They claw at each other. They cry out. Severus has to swallow the venom - there is so much, and he feels giddy. Their bodies are one, but also… something else fuses together too. Something more fundamental. A knot, like the knots of trees -
“Yes!” Harry screams. “Oh, knot me, knot me please!”
Severus is panting, exhausted, as if he has run a marathon - athletes could probably run an entire marathon in the hours he’s spent fucking the Omega! He slumps on top of Harry, who just groans. Severus tries to roll away a little, but Harry suddenly howls - and Severus realises. He has knotted him. This cannot be normal. The realisation sends a flood of protectiveness, of ownership, hot and sharp, through his chest - he wraps his arms around Harry tightly.
“You’re safe,” he growls out, breathless.
“I know,” Harry whispers, panting, entwining their limbs together.
Sapwood
New wood, the pipeline delivering water to the tree.
The morning sun slips into the Nest; fingers of light, nudging Severus awake. He is still naked. He burns with shame. What kind of man is he? But, he was not a man, last night. He was something else. An animal.
Severus extricates himself, burdened by regrets. For how rough, how bestial he was; how hard he took the young Omega last night. He was… like a beast. Severus shudders with humiliation.
Is Harry alright? He looks down at the sleeping boy; so beautiful, so perfect and serene in slumber. At least he did not bite the poor creature, and burden him with a life stuck by Severus’ side, that is some consolation. The boy was clearly not thinking, clearly strung out on pheromones when he asked Severus repeatedly to bite him. Harry is fresh and sweet - he should not be forced into mating after one night of passion, not with someone as dry and desolate as Severus is…
Severus checks over himself, and the sleeping Omega, just to make sure. He does not feel mated - but then, he was not himself, last night. He had many opportunities to bite the Omega -
The boy’s neck is unmarked.
Even that feels… wrong, somehow…
He must leave. This was only one night - the boy said as much: he was glad he found Severus for the last night, he was going home tomorrow. Wasn’t that what he said?
Something else occurs to Severus, too - if he stays, he cannot face the thought that… the boy might reject him. He could not bear to see Harry’s beautiful face as the boy says “Oh, did you think it was more than one night?”
Severus must just go, now.
He gathers his clothes - such as they are, torn and tattered - and scrambles out of the Nest. Once outside… He cannot help himself. He takes one last look back at the sleeping boy - and he sees, even in slumber, that the young man has already started to reach for him -
Severus tears himself away, hurrying back through the trees, buttoning his dirt-smeared shirt hastily as he walks.
-
He does not open the shop. He goes home, to his little cottage on the edge of the village. It is Monday morning; he will take the day off, or even perhaps the week…
He stands in the shower, under the scalding spray of water, washing away the dirt and leaves and sweat and slick and saliva… All the scent. His shoulders smart under the hot water: the scratches Harry left on his back. Severus buries his face in his hands; lets the painfully-hot water gush over him. Imagines his own skin smoking, like the burnt forest reduced to blackened embers.
-
By Tuesday evening, Severus is beginning to suspect that he has caught a cold. He feels feverish. He wants only to sleep - but, even then, he dreams so vividly of the boy, of Harry, that he wakes, dripping with sweat.
Severus is lying on his back, and Harry is straddling his hips, riding his cock. Their fingers are laced together, and Harry is sweating, trembling - and calling for him, over and over! That howling sound, awaiting an answering call.
I’m right here, Severus thinks. Why are you calling for me?
-
He does not fancy breakfast on Wednesday. His stomach is in knots. He cannot taste food, and when he tries to eat, he feels sick. Every smell is unpleasant. When he sleeps, he dreams the familiar scents: the lilac flowers, and Harry’s sweat and scent and slick… He dreams them so vividly too, that he wakes with a jolt over and over, ready to bite… All he can taste is mating venom, his mouth stings with it.
What is happening to him? Has the Omega left some sort of lasting impression, with those hormones, those Heat pheromones? Has Severus been… cursed?
-
By Thursday, Severus has begun to realise that… something is very wrong. He is consumed by a melancholy which will not leave him. But it is more than regret, it is becoming… obsession. He fancies that patches of his skin are turning a pale green - his foothold on reality is slipping. He sees the boy’s face everywhere, even in the bark of the trees and the shapes of the leaves. (Oh, why did he fucking shower after he left the forest? He washed off so much of the boy’s scent, and now he feels as if he cannot bear to live without it.)
Did he… did he leave part of his soul behind, back there in the forest? Or, perhaps, Harry has left some of his soul embedded in Severus, like a burning torch shoved into Severus’ chest?
Severus finds himself standing by the kitchen sink, clinging onto the porcelain, gasping. This is ridiculous - he only spent one night with the boy! So why does he feel like he’s been desolated? This longing, this pining, it hurts like a physical ache.
Eliot looks at him most peculiarly these days, like he knows something Severus doesn’t.
-
“Gosh - Severus. You look… awful!”
“Thank you,” Severus says drily. “I feel bad. You’re an Alpha, Albus - have you ever felt pain like this?”
“What is it that you are experiencing?” Albus looks grave. His pitying look causes Severus to grit his teeth before replying.
“I cannot think of anything else, except… of the Omega whom I met at the festival. It is unbearable - an ache which overwhelms everything.”
“Severus, did you… forgive me, this is rather awkward… Did you spend the night with the Omega?”
Severus swallows hard.
“Yes, he had a Nest,” he admits, ashamed, keeping his gaze fixed upon the floor. Then he looks up. “Why, do you think the Omega has… done something to me? Is it a curse?”
He half expects Albus to laugh. To his surprise, however, Albus simply… takes Severus’ hand.
“Oh, my boy. You have Pining Sickness. That’s all it can possibly be.”
“P - What?”
“It is a serious affliction, for both Alphas and Omegas. Brought on when you meet a Mate, but do not solidify the bond between you.”
Severus pulls his hand free.
“This is rubbish,” he snaps. “It was one night! A man cannot die from spending one night with an Omega!”
“But you must find him, Severus. Stop being so stubborn!”
-
Pining Sickness?
He has heard tales of it, of course, but he had always thought that tales were all they were. He has always avoided hearing too much about his deeper nature. It seems, however, that he cannot avoid it.
From what he remembers, Pining Sickness is a sad and lovesick wasting disease. He once read the ancient myth: the Omega who fell in love with a selfish Alpha, who was interested only in looking at his own reflection in the waters… The young Omega pined so much, by the water’s edge, that… she turned into a Weeping Willow tree. A mythical misfortune - a fairy tale, surely?
-
Severus lets himself in via the back door of his bookshop, in the middle of the night.
He searches the shelves in a frenzy, opening the all books which he never cared for before. The old folk tales: the ones on Mating. He finds the tale of the Omega and the narcissist Alpha, and stares at the page in shock. The drawing is of an Omega, slowly turning into a Weeping Willow tree. The tale describes Pining Sickness as a soul-deep burning, and a yearning to be close to water in order to cool the ache.
Other details are scarce. The books do not agree on many details - apart from, once the Sickness takes hold, the only cure: to Mate. Without a Mate, they fall into a dream of the other, from which they never wake.
Does Severus becoming sick mean that Harry will be suffering too? Severus cannot find the answer - some books describe it as mutual, and others, like the Willow Tree fable, have only one half of the pair suffering. Could Severus just be pining - and Harry be blissfully unaffected? Getting on with his life, going to work -
Severus turns the page - and there is a drawing of a Weeping Willow tree, with the Omega imprisoned inside, mournful even in this form.
Is this to be Severus’ fate, too?
What aboutHarry? Is he alright?
-
He goes back to the woods at dawn, determined to find the Nest. Could he possibly meet Harry in the forest again?
But the Nest is not there - no, it is Severus who is lost. He cannot find the Glade! The mossy bank that he thinks once held the Nest must be wrong, for there is no rushing stream, no lilac flowers. He blunders around in the forest for hours, but he cannot find the place!
Was it even real? Did he dream that entire night?
He comes across a spot where lilac flowers grow, and the scent calls out to him, soothing him. Severus cuts handfuls of lilacs from the bush and carries them with him, and when he finally finds his way out of the woods, he takes them home, placing them in a jug on his kitchen table.
-
He is dreaming. He must be. He has found the Nest, but… the Glade is a scene of desecration. Harry’s Nest has been destroyed. And not by the elements - a deliberate hand has pulled one side off, and dashed it to pieces on the ground! Did Harry do this? Was he angry with Severus for leaving? Would Severus know, somehow, if Harry also has the Pining Sickness; should he sense it? Or has the boy just gone home, annoyed at being abandoned, and forgotten all about Severus already?
-
Severus wakes to a sound. He sits up sharply, his heart in his mouth. He knows that sound! A Mating call. From somewhere out in the forest! He must find the Omega, if only to satisfy himself that Harry is alright.
He tries to stand - and finds himself falling from the sofa and waking with a jolt, and a cry of pain.
Did he dream the call, then?
Or was that really Harry, calling out to him from the forest?
-
Morning comes, but he does not know what day it is. The Sickness has worsened. He is unable to rise from where he fell into a fitful asleep on his worn sofa. None of the books said that it could take hold so fast! Severus thinks, in despair.
He aches deeply for the boy, so much so that his whole body is aflame. Severus rolls over, groaning. This will be how it all ends for him: the animal part of his nature will be his undoing. The animal, which glimpsed the sun and the moon and stars when it beheld the beauty of the Omega… and now is fated to wither away in the dirt, pining eternally in the face of its loss, forever changed by the experience.
-
Severus aches for his Omega. It it a physical pain: everything in his body is becoming stiff and knotted. He scarcely has the energy to move; he only feels slightly better when he finally drags himself to the kitchen and sits on the window seat, in the warm sunlight.
He sits in silence, staring out of his window at the trees outside, and wonders: is this what he is soon to become? Why does Pining turn Alphas and Omegas into trees? Is it a form of death? Or… is it to prevent them from truly dying, that their body takes on this form, to keep the soul in some way safe from human death?
He should feel anger at the Omega, perhaps, but… he cannot find it within himself. Severus has never experienced love before - and yet, now, it will be love that finishes him. He had been longing for something; for a burning, a clearing - but oh, the devastation once it arrived, in the form of a boy to light the spark! To burn down everything that Severus once was.
The jug of lilac flowers on his tiny kitchen table are all starting to wither.
-
Eliot stalks into the sitting room. In his mouth: the keys to Severus’ shop. His eyes hold a stern expression. Severus, supine on his threadbare sofa, buries his face in the pillow.
“Not today, Eliot. I’m too… sick.”
His cat jumps up onto Severus’ stomach, clambers across him - then drops the keys onto his face.
“Will you stop it! What’s gotten into you? I’m too sick to open the shop!”
Eliot gives him a pitying look - then nips him sharply on the ankle.
“Ouch, fuck!” Severus snarls. “What’s wrong now? Do you not like me anymore?”
The pining is too much: Severus has not gone to the shop again. It occurs to him that the boy might have gone there, to talk to him -
It is too late, now.
He is slipping into a dream - the Sickness has taken its hold on him.
He is on fire.
He longs for water. He dips his fingers into his water glass, like the branches of the willow trees dip into the water of a stream…
Perhaps he should take himself outside, and take root in a corner of his tiny garden…
Will he turn into bark and sap and wood, and know longing no more - or will he still burn for Harry, even as a tree? Still feel desire and loneliness and pain, but be unable to do anything about it? Perhaps his desire will set him alight, and burn the entire forest to ashes around him…
-
Eliot, however, will not leave him alone.
“Leave me in peace!” Severus croaks out. His throat is charcoal.
But Eliot will not be subdued. He paces back and forth by the door; he scratches at the wallpaper; he pushes things off the shelves. He knocks over the vase of lilac flowers, and this is the last straw. Severus hauls himself up, with the last ounce of his energy.
“What is it?” he whispers.
Eliot scratches at the door, meowing angrily and hissing at him. Frowning, Severus follows him, barely able to hold himself up.
-
He thinks that Eliot is leading him to the shop, but the cat sets off down the forest path instead. His limbs as heavy as lead, Severus stumbles after him, a man on fire. The cat picks a way through the undergrowth - and suddenly they are there, on the mossy bank, in the woodland Glade! How on earth did Eliot know where it was? There are the Nests - abandoned, of course, and disintegrating now.
The river calls to Severus - the cool water - and he looks around in near despair.
“Why have you brought me here? He isn’t here, Eliot!”
Then, he sees.
There is no boy - but, only a few feet away from the heavy blossoms of the lilacs, by the stream, is…
AWeepingWillowtree?
A young one - newly planted, it seems. Or newly grown there, on the river bank! And, on one branch, hangs - a floral crown, made of dying lilac flowers!
Oh no…
Severus sinks to his knees.
He is toolate! The Omega has been Pining too, and for too long, and it has turned him into this! All Severus has left of him now is… bark to touch, and cold leaves to kiss.
“Are you my Mate?” he whispers, to the tree. Its leaves flutter in the light breeze but, of course, it does not speak. “My sweet boy, how could I have done this to you?” Severus cries out, weeping as he speaks. “I will still love you, even in this form!” he moans.
He takes handfuls of leaves in his palms, oh so gently, so as not to crush them. He runs his hand over the tender bark.
He sobs.
He burns.
If he is to be a tree too, he wants to take root here, beside the Omega.
He lies down on the grass, curls up like Eliot does, and falls into hopeless slumber.
-
The change is… gentle. (He hopes it was for the Omega, too.)
It feels like slipping into a bath of warm sunlight.
Is this death?
Perhaps this is what death feels like.
Is he melting into the soil, or is the earth rising to meet him? Roots bind him to the ground - oh, and how this changes his relationship to the earth, to the sky, to the sun! His roots sink down into the muddy earth beside the stream, and he dips the ends of his branches into the rippling water, and the coolness soothes him, finally.
Is he dead? No! He still has his face, and he knows this because he still breathes and sees - he can still watch the river, and the dear Weeping Willow standing beside him. He hopes to tangle his roots with Harry’s, one day.
He watches Eliot disappearing into the undergrowth.
Severus still keeps his soul, and this surprises him most of all. He still remembers himself. Will Eliot ever come by, he wonders? He hopes that Eliot will not become afraid of him.
But perhaps… all these human concerns will go too, with time.
He feels the sunset in his leaves, as they all turn to face the dying of the light, seeking out the last warmth of the sun…
Heartwood
The innermost part of the trunk, Heartwood is technically dead. Yet it will not decay, and it gives the tree balance and stability.
“Severus?”
The gasp seems to come from the empty air. In the next moment, his Harry is there, human and beautiful, and standing before the Willow trees! His lovely face is a mask of shock.
His lovely and… thin face. The eyes are dark and shadowed; the small frame seems even thinner than when Severus last held him -
Has he been suffering too? Oh, but he is not a tree! That is some mercy!
Harry is peering at him, most strangely. Suspiciously.
Severus rustles his leaves; he lifts his branches to reach out, imploringly, to his dear one -
Harry’s eyes go very round as the tree reaches out to embrace him. Then, he notices Severus’ knotted eyebrows, the tender bark covering his face, and all his features, still just about there -
“It is you! Oh Severus, how did this happen?” he cries out. “You’ve got the Pining Sickness too? But… I thought you didn’t want me?”
Severus wonders whether he can still speak. He can only try.
“Of course I did,” Severus croaks out. His voice cracks, a Willow’s voice. “I was sure you were bound to reject me!”
“I wasn’t going to reject you, I was going to Mate with you! Gods, you foolish, foolish man! Now look what you’ve done to yourself! Oh, your Sickness must have been so severe!”
“Is there no cure?” Severus rasps.
“Perhaps I can peel it away,” Harry murmurs, reaching out a hand, hesitating. He places his palm against the bark that was once Severus’ cheek. Severus cannot feel the touch, not really. He sees Harry’s face fall.
“It won’t come off. What are we going to do? I’ll build my Nest around you, and weave it into your branches and leaves,” Harry whispers. “I was going to rebuild it and stay here, for… however long I had left.”
Then Severus realises: there are bags of twigs discarded on the grass, as though dropped in a hurry.
“Omegas build Nests when ready to Mate, or… to die,” the young man confesses. “I’ve had such terrible Pining Sickness since I was last with you. I waited here for you for so long, after you left. I’ve been looking for you. But, I see you’ve been suffering even worse.”
Severus closes his eyes. He has been such a fool. He desperately hopes that… it is not too late.
-
Harry works on the Nest long into the night, but with it only half done, he falls asleep, draped over Severus’ roots, with his arms around the trunk of the tree. Severus tries to lay his leaves over him to keep him warm. There is peace, at last; he feels it in the Heartwood. And his Harry is here. Even if Severus is always to be a tree, Harry is with him.
-
The sun rises, and with it comes… the rain.
Harry stirs first, blinking into the thin light. As the rain soaks into the bark of the willow tree, it seems to… soften it, somehow. Harry reaches up a hand; hesitant, frowning.
Then, he takes hold of the bark and… peels it away. Underneath, it reveals pink, human skin. As the rain falls, Harry softly strips the bark from the tree, until he is sitting in a pile of dead wood - and, inside -
“Severus - wake up! You’re human!”
-
Severus blinks open human eyes again, and realises that he has skin instead of bark, and bones instead of branches. He is in a circle of discarded wood. The boy’s fingers look raw, as though he has been peeling the bark away with his bare hands.
He looks at Harry, and the feeling of burning has gone. Replaced by a warm, full ache - is this love? Severus thinks. What would have happened to us, if he had not come to me?Would we both have slipped into a fever dream, thinking only of the other?
Harry is looking at him, cautiously.
“You freed me,” Severus croaks out.
“Thank God! Why did you take root here?”
Severus gestures to the young Weeping Willow, a few yards off.
“I thought that was you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. It… made sense at the time.”
“That one is just a tree, Severus. I was at the bookshop, waiting to speak to you! I left my scent at the front door, did you not smell it?” Harry adds, blushing.
Severus shakes his head.
“I only used the back door. I’ve been mostly in bed,” he admits.
“Well, then I tried a Mating Call, but you never responded. And then I was at your cottage - an old man told me where you lived, after he heard me calling for you. But you weren’t there, either. And then… and then, I met this cat…” Severus closes his eyes. Dear Eliot. “And the cat wanted me to… to come down here. Do you have a cat?” Severus nods. “Thank goodness for the cat, then. For you weren’t at home - you were here, turning into a tree.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left, or hid in the way that I did. I just… assumed that you would not be as affected.”
“But Pining Sickness doesn’t happen to only one of the pair! It’s a sign of a soul bond!”
“The books I read didn’t say that,” Severus sighs. “I should have found you, just to be sure.”
“I think your Sickness must have been too severe, to have done this to you… I don’t think you would have had time. I’m just so relieved I found you in time to reverse it.”
-
They shelter from the rain under an Oak tree, and Severus realises that… the young man is trembling.
“What’s happening?” he asks, voice low.
“I… I think I might be going into actual Heat, I’m sorry…” the young man groans, softly. His curls are already damp with rainwater; his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Severus draws him close; cups Harry’s flushed face in his hands; presses their damp foreheads - and then, their mouths - together.
“We should get the new Nest finished,” Severus groans.
Harry goes still.
“Please,” he whispers. “I’ve dreamt of this!”
“Harry… may I Bite you?”
“Oh yes, oh please!” Harry gasps out. “You remember that quote from Proust, about the souls of men imprisoned in trees? I feel like… like you might have found me, in the same way. Like the spell is broken, now that you are here, and I am free. Do you know what I mean?”
“I saw it more as… a forest fire, but yes, of course. My body would have imprisoned my soul inside a tree to save me; to give me enough time for you to find me again.”
They weave the Nest in silence, their fingers wet and raw. Harry’s breathing is laboured and tremulous. Severus feels raw too, and wild, and alive. Like new shoots growing out of blackened charcoal, he has known the pain of fire, the burning - and now, the blessed relief of the rain. The chance of regeneration. Of a new life, in his true self, with his Mate.
He will Bite the young man, this time.
-
The forest is wet with rain. A whispering wind has possessed the trees; they call out, singing with reverberating voices. The leaves flutter, and let fly showers of sparkling raindrops. The soil below is damp and vibrant and alive. The river rushes on by.
A black cat jumps across the stones by the water’s edge. It stares at the Nest for a long moment, then slinks away into the bushes, tail swishing.
The lilac flowers are blooming in the woodland.
Fin.
‘in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream’
E.E. Cummings