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“What do you think, Prongs? We could—”
James Potter twists around at the sound of something shattering on the stone floor of the Great Hall. Quiet replaces the chatter of the previously clamoring students. The room is rarely anything but loud, as to be expected of a dining hall for hundreds of teenagers. The fact that silence has fallen across the house tables in waves means that this isn’t a casual error. Someone didn’t just accidentally knock over a crystal goblet.
“What is it? What happened?” Sirius Black asks.
“I don’t know,” James replies.
The Ravenclaws crane their necks while staring at the Slytherin table, which at least explains the source of the disturbance. It gives him the where, if not the who. The Ravenclaws rarely act like this, for all that they’re inherently nosy and want to know everything about everything and everyone. Seriously, is there anything more nosy than a Ravenclaw looking for information or gossip?
It’s the stunned look on the Slytherins’ faces that really gets to James, though. He hasn’t seen that many purebloods so visibly shocked in his entire life. All of them are staring at Regulus Black.
Given the attention focused on him, it’s obvious that Regulus is the one who dropped and shattered a goblet. That makes no sense, though. Regulus is especially graceful. James hasn’t ever seen Regulus be clumsy a day in his life. And seeing as Regulus’s older brother is James’s best friend and has been all of their lives, he has a plethora of memories to draw on.
“It’s Regulus,” James whispers, baffled.
“What?” Sirius demands, kneeling on the bench so that he can get a better look, protective fury bright in his eyes.
Regulus Black is the highest-ranked Omega at Hogwarts. He’s widely assumed to be the highest-ranked Omega in Avalon, but James knows that isn’t true. Because if it were, James would feel it whenever they were in the same room. James Potter is descended from Alpha High King Arthur Pendragon himself. On his seventeenth birthday, not long ago, Mother Magic appointed him as the Alpha High King of Avalon.
The sovereign mantle rests heavily on his shoulders, but he’s determined to bear it with as much honor as he can manage.
“He doesn’t look injured,” Sirius states, sounding as if he would like nothing better than to storm across the Great Hall and demand to know what happened to his baby brother.
“No, he doesn’t,” James agrees.
Still, Regulus’s porcelain skin is even paler than it usually is. His stormy gray eyes are distant as if he’s seeing something beyond the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry itself. His tousled black curls are a harsh contrast against the paleness of his skin.
It’s almost as if—
Regulus stands with alacrity, his Omegan aura spreading out across the Great Hall. Shocked-awe and disbelief-honor-anticipation fill the air.
“What is going on?” Lily Evans asks.
“I’m not sure,” James replies. He hates that he isn’t sure what’s going on. Because it’s not normal for Regulus to behave in such a way. And if it’s because someone dared to dose Regulus with some kind of potion, there will be absolute hell to pay.
If Sirius doesn’t get to the perpetrators first (and he will, he’s especially protective of his baby brother, always giving Regulus anything that he could ever want and keeping a watchful eye on Regulus at all times), then James will have the person responsible imprisoned. Or executed. It will entirely depend on the potion that someone dosed him with. If, of course, the peculiar behavior is the result of a potion.
If it’s a love or fertility potion, it’ll be an execution. James will never look kindly upon the attempted despoiling of any of his subjects. Yet, his wrath will be deeper when it involves an Omega from a Most Ancient House.
Some crimes are unforgivable, and he will be ruthless in carrying out swift justice for them. Regulus is a precious pureblood Omega; the thought of anyone tampering with his will and forcing him into intimacies is despicable on every level. The mere thought of it makes James’s magic curdle inside him.
“She’s coming,” Regulus whispers.
“Who’s coming?” several people ask at once.
“James! James!” Regulus yells as he spins sharply to face the Gryffindor table, something wild and primal in his magic. “Issue an edict to keep them seated!”
As various people bark reprimands—
“How dare you attempt to command our king?”
“You’ve no right to order His Majesty to do anything!”
—James stares deeply into Regulus’s eyes. He’s desperate, absolutely desperate.
“Except for Regulus, no one may leave their seat without my express permission,” James commands. His Alpha voice is thick and oppressive as it settles on the occupants of the room.
“Your Majesty, I don’t think that—”
“Silence, Dumbledore!” Regulus snaps, Omegan authority ringing heavily in each syllable. His voice is cold and frosty, but resolute.
For Regulus to order the Headmaster to be silent is just— James’s impression that this is going to be important is clearly understating the matter. Whatever this is, whatever has Regulus acting in this manner is not important; it’s clear, now, that it will be monumental.
“Reg?” Sirius asks, voice plaintive.
“I’m fine, Siri,” Regulus answers absently. “I promise.”
Sirius breathes a sigh of relief, though his gaze is still sharply fixed on his brother, as he slides off his knees and sits properly on the bench once more.
Regulus walks away from the Slytherin table and heads to the middle of the room, not far from the doors that lead out into the Entrance Hall. The stunned-disbelief in his scent is changing to REVERENCE! with each step he takes. It smothers all of the confusion-worry and other scents that are leaking past stuttering scent-blocking spells room-wide.
It’s certainly not the done thing, in polite society, to flare one’s scent in such a blatant manner. It’s too invasive of a person’s privacy to broadcast an emotional landscape so freely. The scent-blocking spells are usually only removed with family or pack or in private.
For Regulus to leave his scent completely bare to the world is just— Merlin, whoever is coming, it’s going to be life-changing, isn’t it?
“James?”
“Yes, Regulus?” James queries, intrigued by the immovable tone that lingers in Regulus’s voice at the moment.
Regulus glances back at James and issues an Omegan command, saying, “No matter how tempting it is, stay seated, James.”
Before anyone has a chance to respond to that, before James can even process the fact that he—the Alpha High King—has just received an order from an Omega that Regulus knows cannot bind him without his consent, Regulus flows down to his knees. He places his forehead on his hands, which are palm down on the ground, right before a woman comes into sight.
She walks through the open doors and into the Great Hall as if she owns the castle itself.
The witch is about average height with sleek ebony hair. Her dark eyes are vibrant and cutting as she surveys the room. There’s an Olde Rune engraved in gold between her brows. She’s … Merlin and Morgana, she’s Divine-Touched. She has high cheekbones and a pert nose and various other exquisite features that scream her pureblood heritage to The Abyss and back.
James’s pulse races as he takes her in. She is absolutely glorious.
“High Omega Slytherin,” Regulus breathes, eyes firmly fixed on his hands as he kneels prostrate before her, “Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We are honored by your presence. What do you require of me?”
The silence of the room deepens and becomes more pervasive as James processes Regulus’s words. It’s difficult to breathe.
By Mordred the Betrayer.
A Slytherin. This stunning witch is a member of the presumed-dead-till-now Oligarchy House. And she’s not just any bloodline Slytherin, though that alone would earn her reverence. No, she’s an Omega.
Covetous desire spills into the air in a tidal wave from every direction in a disgusting display that enrages James. The room smells like something that should never be scented outside of bonded mates in privacy, only thicker and headier on account of the number of people in the room. He can almost taste his fellow students’ lust on his tongue. It’s revolting.
She wrinkles her nose and then grimaces as she scans the students and staff. She looks anything but impressed with what she sees. “How uncouth,” she states with a wealth of condemnation in her voice.
James doesn’t blame her in the least. It is uncouth. He wandlessly and wordlessly casts a widespread odor-neutralizing charm to vanish the stench of the filthy, base lust. For an Oligarchy Omega to be subject to such crass reactions on her first exposure to pureblood society is unacceptable on every level.
That’s no way to treat an Omega of The Just and Most Olde House of Slytherin.
It’s an inexcusable lapse in self-control that is unjustifiable regardless of a person’s blood or social status. Yet, it’s especially galling that she will forever remember that she was greeted by arousal-desire instead of respectful-attention.
“I’ve come to meet the Alpha High King, Omega Lord Black,” she says, sounding the slightest bit impatient.
There’s a second of stunned silence.
“James?” Sirius whispers from beside him, sounding well and truly stunned.
James’s heart thumps in his chest at a rapid clip. He hasn’t fully absorbed the fact that an Oligarchy Omega exists, and now he’s expected to process that she came to Hogwarts just to meet him. True, James is Alpha High King, but that’s—
It wouldn’t have been improper for her to request James’s presence at a secure location. Oligarchy Omegas are protected to the highest possible degree at all times. Their offspring are immensely powerful. Unscrupulous people have been known to attempt to secure that power for their bloodlines in ways that often result in blood baths and entire houses becoming extinct.
If she had summoned him, James would have been honored to meet her wherever she felt most secure. Instead, she is here, exposed to randy teenagers with an insulting lack of decorum.
“I didn’t know,” James tells his best friend softly.
Regulus flows back up to his feet as smoothly as a professional dancer, earning him a favorable glance from High Omega Slytherin, and offers his wrist to her. “May I escort you to His Majesty, High Omega Slytherin?”
“You may, Omega Lord Black,” the witch allows, her dark eyes piercing as she glances dismissively at most of the people in the Great Hall. It’s not even contempt or disgust, though most of the occupants of the room have earned such a reaction with their behavior. It’s just the way that someone looks past something that is of no interest whatsoever.
James watches a few people bristling throughout the Great Hall because of it. He will not allow them to become even more of a problem. The edict will keep them in place, but it won’t keep them from speaking. And they’ve already proven that they can’t be trusted to control their scents.
It’s inexcusable.
He stretches his aura across the Great Hall, silently commanding his fellow students and the professors to hold their tongues and remain silent. They have caused enough damage to Avalon’s reputation for the day.
“His Majesty is this way, High Omega Slytherin,” Regulus says, keeping his chin tucked in deference.
Regulus leads her over to James with the most textbook-perfect posture that James has ever seen Regulus exhibit. Given how thoroughly educated he is, that proves exactly how seriously Regulus considers his current duty.
James doesn’t stand, because Regulus ordered him not to do so, even though it feels obscene to meet an Oligarchy Omega while sitting. He freely admits that, believing all Oligarchy Houses defunct before he was elevated to High King of Avalon, he didn’t dedicate himself as thoroughly to Oligarchy etiquette as he should have when he was younger. It’s on his list, but learning the Royal Court etiquette must come first.
There are only so many hours in a day and, even though he is a king, James is still mortal. He applies himself diligently, but there’s a great deal to learn. Though, he will have significantly more hours to dedicate to learning such things when he graduates from Hogwarts next month.
When she and Regulus reach him, she doesn’t tilt her head in supplication, as tradition demands, and there isn’t an ounce of submission in her intelligent, dark eyes. The curtsy she offers, her gloved, elegant hands not even needing to lift the skirt of her emerald silk dress robes, is the shallowest James has ever received in his life. It’s akin to acknowledging one’s equal, not the Divinely-Appointed Sovereign of Avalon.
Regulus, who James knows tirelessly studied every form of etiquette imaginable with Omega Lady Narcissa Malfoy née Black for pleasure, gives no indication that it’s intended disrespectfully. James takes that as a sign that he hasn’t somehow, all unknowingly, displeased this glorious witch he didn’t even know existed until a few minutes ago.
“High Omega Slytherin, I present His Royal Majesty James Potter, Alpha High King of Avalon as so decreed by Mother Magic,” Regulus says.
It’s telling that James, the High King of Avalon, is lower-ranked and is thus being introduced first. He has never met one of the Divine-Touched before; it’s such a rarity that he’s certain he will never encounter another if he lives for five centuries.
“Your Majesty, I present High Omega Slytherin,” Regulus concludes, before taking a step backward and folding his hands together.
Only immediate family members are allowed to know an Oligarchy Omega’s given name. Names are very powerful and spells and rituals exist that can be used to control or influence people when in possession of a full name. Such a thing cannot be allowed to occur for any reason. Mother Magic might unmake Avalon if such a thing were ever attempted.
Oligarchy Omegas are Sacred.
“It is the greatest of honors to meet you, High Omega Slytherin. What petition do you bring before Avalon this day?” James asks.
To the best of his knowledge, before she came here today, not a single magical in Avalon knew of her existence. The Just and Most Olde House of Slytherin has been believed deceased in every line for centuries. For her to abandon the security of that anonymity now to seek out James implies something momentous.
“My heat will commence in three days’ time. I desire pups. You have Mother Magic’s favor and will be a worthy sire. I request that you mate me,” she says, challenge and determination ringing in each word.
For a moment, James almost loses control of his scent, spilling awed-reverence into the room. Thankfully, the control his beloved mother, Omega Lady Dorea Potter née Black, taught him prevails. Not even a wisp of his emotions drift into the air.
His heartbeat gallops and his lungs ache in his chest as her words replay inside his mind. Of all the reasons she could have come to Hogwarts, James never would have dared to even imagine this one. She’s an Oligarchy Omega and she wants to bear pups for him.
It’s a miracle of divine pro—
Jealousy spills across the room; it’s thick enough to taste and nauseating in its intensity. He’s going to institute a remedial class on scent-control and require everyone who has behaved in such a vulgar manner today to attend it.
Her eyes darken with cold calculation, even as her lips curl with disgust. The glance she casts across the room could freeze Fiendfyre. “If you intend to act like Muggles, I shall have you banished to the Muggle World. None of you are allowed to have an opinion on my decisions. My choice on who is worthy of entering my nest and body is inviolable.”
Eyes turn towards the floor as shoulders hunch and heads duck from every direction. The show of contrition does nothing to temper James’s ire. He casts an odor-neutralizing charm so sharply that several people in the Great Hall wince and yelp.
“Your decision, Your Majesty?” she queries without a hint of hesitation. Her confidence in her appeal is understandable and, honestly, alluring.
“I would be honored to do so,” James says, heart fluttering. It’s such an understatement that it almost feels blasphemous to speak the words.
He’s spent the last several years trying to win over Lily Evans, a Beta. James can only be profoundly grateful now that all of his endeavors in that arena failed. While Lily has many commendable qualities, she is not fit to lead Avalon at James’s side.
An Oligarchy Omega is.
She slides her emerald lace gloves off and holds them out to Regulus, who readily accepts them. Her fingernails are varnished so that they shimmer as black diamonds do in candlelight. She reaches behind her elegant, pale neck and unclasps a gold chain. From beneath the neckline of her gown, she withdraws a heavy gold locket. There’s a serpentine ‘S’ inlaid on the front in glittering green emeralds.
It’s unmistakably High Lord Salazar Slytherin’s locket, one of the most famous pieces of jewelry in all of Avalon.
“I need to approach His Royal Majesty, Paladin Black,” she says, staring directly at Sirius. “I give you my word that I intend him no harm.”
Sirius, the first of his knights, his Royal Paladin and Champion, nods and says, “You may approach.”
She closes the distance between them and clasps the chain around his own neck. The tips of her fingers brush against his bare skin; they’re warm and soft and magic resonates between them with each gentle touch.
“It’s a Portkey that will bring you to Slytherin Castle when it is time,” she says.
“The activation phrase, my lady?” James asks, already knowing that he will be completely useless in classes for the next three days. If he manages to complete and submit any assignments whatsoever, they are sure to be incoherent rubbish.
In three days, he will be allowed to mate with this magnificent Omega. Pondering anything else will be unpalatable in the extreme.
She wandlessly and wordlessly erects a sound-void barrier, opaque so that no one with the skill might read her lips, and speaks the answer. Then she swiftly cancels the spell, accepts her gloves from Regulus when he offers them, and slides them on before sauntering out of the Great Hall without glancing back once.
James watches her leave with longing in his magic and the name of his future High Queen echoing through his head in her throaty, taunting purr.
Maia.