The afternoon light, filtered green and murky through the dungeon windows, did little to illuminate the essays on his desk. Not that Severus was reading them. His attention, his entire world, had narrowed to a single, glorious point across the room.

She was reorganizing his private ingredient cabinet, a task he had ostensibly assigned her for its complexity, but in truth, for the view it afforded him. Her back was to him as she reached for a high shelf, and the movement was a study in powerful, graceful lines. She was not a willowy, delicate thing. She was built of solid, formidable stuff—a compact 5'4" and, he estimated, a glorious 250 pounds of pure alpha strength. And damn, if she didn't look good.

His gaze traced the curve of her spine, the generous swell of her hips, the strong line of her thighs. She was breakfast, lunch, and dinner, a feast he was starving for. Every shift of her weight, every flex of muscle beneath her robes, sent a jolt of pure, primal appreciation straight through him. Do me next, his omega side whimpered, the thought so vivid and desperate it was a physical ache. He wanted those capable hands on him, that strength pinning him, that magnificent body covering his.

He was not the only one who had noticed. The castle’s omega population, from the fluttery Hufflepuffs to the more cunning of his own house, had been buzzing about the new American transfer since her arrival. They whispered about her confident walk, her easy smile, the sheer, palpable aura of competence and stability she exuded. They were drawn to her like moths to a flame.

But they didn’t stand a chance. Severus had made sure of it. He kept her schedule packed, her free time occupied with duties only he could assign. He was a territorial dragon, hoarding his greatest treasure. And he had his… other methods. On the rare occasions she left a jumper or a scarf in his office after a late-night grading session, he would wait until he was utterly alone. Then, he would bring the fabric to his face, inhaling the deep, grounding scent of her—ozone, warm leather, and something uniquely her—until his head spun and his knees felt weak. He was marking her, in the only way he safely could, ensuring his own scent was layered over hers in a secret, possessive claim.

She bent down to place a jar of moondew on a lower shelf, and he felt his breath catch. The words left him in a low, reverent exhale, a prayer and a promise tangled together.

"Your assistance has been... marginally useful."