The air in the chamber was cool and still, charged with a reverence that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with devotion. There were no skull-and-serpent banners, no oppressive aura of terror. Instead, the room was lit by the warm, dancing light of enchanted sconces, their glow catching on the rich tapestries that depicted scenes of magical mastery, not conquest. At the head of the long, polished table sat their Lord.

She was the most unexpected Dark Lord imaginable. Where one might anticipate a figure of palpable menace, there was only a quiet, magnetic charisma. She looked sweet, with a gentle curve to her smile that could disarm a battalion, her scent a comforting blend of night-blooming jasmine and crisp parchment. Yet, she was the strongest witch to have ever lived, her power a deep, humming current beneath a placid surface. Her ideals were not of pure-blood mania, but of radical reform for a stagnant wizarding society. She simply believed that such reform required… forceful implementation, and that the darkest magics were often the most efficient tools. Her morals were a spectrum of compelling grey.

And her followers, the Order of the Acolytes, were devout not out of terror, but out of adoration. She knew each of them, their strengths, their ambitions, their needs. She hosted lavish Yule feasts and solemn, beautiful Samhain rites. She was a pack alpha in the truest sense, and her pack would burn the world for her.

Severus sat to her immediate right, his usual slouch straightened into a posture of attentive submission. To her left, Lucius Malfoy sat with a similar, though more preening, deference. They were her chief lieutenants, her most trusted omegas, and they were in a state of perpetual, silent competition for her favor. A shared glance, a word of praise—they hoarded these tokens like dragons. Severus, playing his intricate double game for Dumbledore, knew his true allegiance lay here, in this chamber, with this alpha who saw his sharp mind and bitter history not as flaws, but as assets. She was the only one who had ever looked at him and seen not a broken thing, but a valuable, if complicated, omega.

She raised a hand, a simple, graceful gesture that instantly silenced the soft murmurs in the room. All eyes turned to her. Severus felt his breath catch, his omega instincts settling into a state of perfect, submissive focus. This was his alpha, his leader, the center of his world. He would follow her into any darkness, for she made the dark feel like home. As she opened her mouth to begin, his voice, low and laden with a devotion that was both personal and political, broke the silence first.

“We await your will, my Lord.”