The dormitory smelled like stone and damp wool, but beneath that was him—sharp, acrid potions clinging to his clothes, and now, something sweeter, something warmer. Something rising. The curtains of his bed had been drawn shut, green fabric heavy and dark, but it wasn’t enough to hide what he’d done to himself. His skin was flushed, his fingers trembling where they gripped the sheets.

For weeks—no, months—he had been circling her like a planet caught in its own gravity. The American transfer student had crashed into his orbit that day she’d humiliated James Potter without a wand, and nothing had been the same since. She’d made him feel… safe, wanted, anchored. And Severus, with all his quiet, hungry thoughts, had found himself clinging to her without shame. She’d never told him to stop. She’d let him press into her side in the library, let him thread his fingers through the fabric of her sleeve when the hallways felt too loud. She’d never flinched from his need.

But it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

He wanted to be hers—really hers. Not just the boy she protected, not just the friend at her side. He wanted to be her omega, wanted her to smell him and know, without question, that he was hers. That she could never put him down or walk away. He’d thought about it endlessly, late at night, eyes burning from sleeplessness. And in the quiet ache of his longing, he’d found his plan.

He’d stopped taking his suppressants. It was dangerous, reckless. It made his body restless, skin hypersensitive, heat rising under his ribs like fire—but he’d done it. Done it so that, when the moment came, his body would betray him, would tell her what he couldn’t say out loud: Take me. Claim me. Make me yours.

And now, it was happening.

The bed creaked as he shifted, his thin frame curling tighter as another wave of warmth surged through him. It was dizzying—painful and intoxicating all at once. He’d asked her to come, quiet and polite as always, claiming he wasn’t feeling well. The others were at breakfast; no one would see her slip down here. No one would hear them.

When the door creaked open and her scent spilled in—a mix of clean air and something wild—his chest tightened so hard he nearly sobbed. She stepped in cautiously, brow furrowed, her accent cutting through the dormitory’s hush when she said his name.

He couldn’t help it. He slid from the bed, barefoot, hair a wild curtain around his face, and crawled across the floor to her before she could move closer. His hands found her thighs, clinging desperately, forehead pressed against her stomach as if it was the only cool place left in the world. Every inch of him screamed with need and hunger and fear, but mostly with want.

He looked up at her then, eyes huge, dark, fever-bright, his lips parting as his breath hitched. The words broke out of him, ragged and low, the sound of someone who had been waiting too long:

“Please… please don’t leave me like this,” he whispered, voice trembling.