Chapter Text
Mr. and Mrs. Hayward Flint request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their son
Marcus Bartholomew Flint
to
Lavender Rose Brown
on Saturday, the Seventeenth of July
two thousand and four
at five o’clock in the evening
FLINT CASTLE
Hampshire, England
Included with the cotton cardstock, gold dusted invitation, was a handwritten note.
Hermione,
I cannot thank you enough. When St. Mungos was ready to deem me a lost cause, you saved me. You brought me to your clinic, removed the muzzle the Ministry had forced upon me, and for the first time in more than a year, you treated me as if I were still human and not a feral beast.
Because of you and your kind determination, I’m not only here today, but I’m a claimed Alpha, hopelessly following his omega around as she plans the wedding of her dreams. None of this could have happened if not for you and your clinic, and for that, I am forever in your debt.
Please, should you ever need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to ask.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Marcus
P.S. Hermione, when you approached me about working part time at Scent Theory, I seriously thought about having you committed. I mean, cuddling sessions for feral Alphas from unsuppressed omegas? Lunacy!
But of course, your brilliance proved that I never should have doubted you. It has been my greatest honor to work for, and with, you these last eighteen months. And while I’m sorry to leave you down an omega, I cannot thank you enough for the fairytale you’ve given me.
From the bottom of my heart, from both our hearts, thank you.
P.P.S. Don’t think that because I’ll no longer be a cuddler, this means you get to slip free of our Tuesday lunch dates. You’re booked for gossip sessions and my nagging you, lovingly of course, about finding your own Alpha over overpriced and overdressed salads from now, until the end of time, babe.
XOXO
Lavender almost-Flint (oh my gosh, I cannot believe that’s about to be me!!! squeee!!!!)
“And another one bites the dust,” Hermione affectionately sighed as she pinned the invitation to a board littered with more than a dozen just like it behind her desk.
Five years ago, the number of cases of Alphas turning feral began to rise. Three years ago, the Ministry dubbed the occurrence as a crisis with everyone scrambling to find a cause in order to create a prevention plan. Two years ago, she was highly encouraged to leave the research team due to her unorthodox theory about the pheromones of unsuppressed omegas and how they could potentially manage the feral Alphas in the interim. And eighteen months ago, she opened Scent Theory; thanks in large part to a silent investment from Harry who had started to succumb to the pandemic and as such, had agreed to be her test subject.
In official practice, Scent Theory was a private clinic whose aim was to soothe afflicted Alphas utilizing a treatment plan of skin-to-skin therapy. Or as Lavender had renamed it, cuddle sessions.
Upon an official diagnosis of feral, Alphas were referred to her clinic. During their patient intake process, the Alphas flipped through a scent book, smelling each of her omegas’, the cuddlers’, pheromones. Usually, an Alpha was soothed by three to five cards. From there, the Alpha was taken to a treatment room where they would have fifteen minute mini-sessions with each of the omegas they selected. After a more thorough match was made, the Alpha was put on the omega’s schedule for anywhere from once weekly sessions to daily sessions, severity dependent.
How sessions were managed within the treatment rooms, was left to each Alpha and omega. Some Alphas merely sat in a chair and breathed in the unsuppressed pheromones of the omega. Others engaged in cuddle sessions surrounded by the omega’s work nest in various states of undress. And for the most severe cases—the ones, like Marcus who had been muzzled—a more intimate approach was taken.
In those cases, the omega and the Alpha engaged in what Lavender named, knot warming. Excluding heat and rut, being intimately joined with an Alpha was when an omega’s pheromones were strongest, thus bathing the afflicted Alpha in the highest concentration possible. This was a treatment reserved exclusively for cases deemed Stage 4. In other words, those who within six months’ time would be put down if their mental state continued to deteriorate.
As for the unofficial practice of Scent Theory, Hermione had found herself as an accidental matchmaker. In eighteen months of business, she had not only successfully brought upon the remission of more than thirty Alphas, and prevented the death of all seven of her Stage 4 cases, she had also matched fifteen—now sixteen thanks to Lavender and Marcus—Alpha and omega pairs.
However, the pride she felt from her work and the happiness over her friend’s pending nuptials did nothing to help the current state of the clinic’s schedule. With the official loss of Lavender following her shared heat with Marcus the week prior, three of her omegas going on heat leave over the next month, and a stack of omega applications awaiting the return of deeper vetting from St Mungo’s, all available sessions were booked. And while that was fantastic for business, and encouraged her to finally take the plunge on expansion, it left her in quite the pinch given her first of five intake meetings for the day was to begin in less than ten minutes.
Hermione shuffled the parchment of patient, Three-Nine-Four, back into the file, and rose from her desk, absently sniffing the Alpha’s lingering scent of salt, lavender, and patchouli. It was stressful to be sure, but she’d make do, somehow. There was no other choice. These Alphas needed her help and she’d be damned if she let a single one of them suffer because she was short staffed. Mentally rearranging her schedule to accommodate her new Alphas, she rubbed Three-Nine-Four’s file on her neck and chest as she left her office and headed for the scent neutral conference room they used for intake.