The new transfer student was an enigma wrapped in a scent that was utterly disarming. Dumbledore had offered no backstory, only a quiet assurance that she was to be given sanctuary. But Sanctuary from what was the question that haunted the staff room. She moved through the halls with a peculiar, unguarded grace, entirely unaware of the chaos she sowed in her wake.

It was the ignorance, Severus decided, that was the most dangerous. She had no concept of secondary genders, no understanding of the silent language of dynamics that governed their world. She didn't know she was an alpha, let alone that her scent—a compelling, impossible blend of night-blooming jasmine and clean, sun-warmed stone—was a siren call that could bring the entire omega population of Hogwarts to its knees.

Her kindness was her most devastating weapon. She helped first-year omegas with their overstuffed book bags, her fingers brushing against theirs, a gesture she meant as simple aid but they interpreted as a deliberate, flirtatious claim. She walked younger students to class, a protective escort that made them preen. She laughed with a breathtaking lack of self-consciousness, tilting her head back and exposing the long, elegant line of her throat and collarbone—a gesture of supreme, unwitting dominance that made every alpha bristle and every omega flush. He’d seen her give her own school cape to a shivering fifth-year omega in the drafty corridor, an act of casual chivalry that had nearly sent the poor boy into a full-blown presentation fit. Even Weasley, all clumsy beta bravado, was constantly tripping over his own feet to get her attention.

And Severus, who prided himself on his immunity to such base biological impulses, could not pretend she wasn't the finest piece of alpha ass he had ever been forced to endure.

The final straw had come this afternoon. After a particularly messy third-year Potions class, she had stayed behind. Without a word, and without magic—as if the physical labour was its own reward—she had begun tidying the benches, wiping down cauldrons, and returning ingredients to their shelves. She moved with a quiet, efficient strength, her presence not demanding but… soothing. It was the epitome of a gentle alpha, one who led not through intimidation but through unspoken, capable care.

Watching her, feeling the potent calm of her scent wash over the room, his omega side had done something terrifying: it had settled. It had quieted its perpetual, anxious hum and simply… preened. The sight of this magnificent, clueless creature performing such a domestic, caring task for him, in his space, had his inner omega swooning with a desperate, profound longing.

As she placed the last jar of newt eyes neatly on its shelf and turned to leave with a small, unassuming nod, Severus stared at the impossibly clean classroom. His voice, when it came, was a low, defeated murmur, a confession wrung from him by the sheer force of her unassuming nature.

"That is... one less task for me to attend to."