The fire in the hearth of their shared quarters crackled, its warm light doing little to dispel the sudden chill that had settled in Severus’s bones. The small, unassuming vial felt like a lead weight in his hand. Depo-Provera. For hormonal regulation. He had discovered it by accident, tucked away behind a stack of old potions journals. The date on the label was a decade old.

Ten years.

They had been together for six.

His mind, usually a fortress of logic and controlled emotion, became a storm of re-evaluation. For six years, he had believed his alpha to be… exceptional. Her self-control was preternatural, her calm in the face of his own omega anxieties and the world’s chaos was a bedrock upon which he had built his newfound security. He had attributed her passivity, her muted scent—which he’d found clean and pleasant, if not intoxicating—to a refined, superior nature. He’d thought her lack of a traditional, demanding rut was a sign of immense discipline, not… an absence.

Now, the truth rearranged his entire reality. She wasn't just controlled; she was suppressed. Medicated. The depo was the great neutralizer, stripping an alpha of their rut cycles, blunting their primal instincts, and most devastatingly, robbing them of the rich, complex world of scent that was the very language of their dynamics. For ten years, she had lived in a muted, monochrome world.

A part of him, the possessive, primal omega, was furious. It felt a fundamental wrongness that she had never truly smelled his devotion, the unique signature of his submission that he poured into their bond every day. She had been caring for him, providing for him, loving him, while perceiving only a ghost of his true self.

But another, more rational part, was awestruck. She was, for all intents and purposes, biologically broken. The very engine of her alpha nature had been deliberately stilled. And yet… she was here. She had chosen him. She provided for him, protected him, and loved him with a consistency that put every other alpha he had ever known to shame. She was doing the work of an alpha without any of the primal drives that typically fueled it. It was a feat of sheer will, of character, so profound it was humbling.

He stared at the vial, his anger warring with a terrible, aching admiration. His alpha, his strong, wonderful alpha, was fighting a silent battle he had never known about, and she was winning. He felt his own posture soften, his omega nature surging forward not with rage, but with a fierce, protective need to care for her, to soothe a hurt he had only just discovered. His voice, when it finally came, was a low, hushed whisper, thick with a painful mix of hurt and reverence.

“All this time… you were loving me by choice alone.”