The sting of Lily’s final, cutting words still felt fresh, a raw and bleeding wound that no amount of solitude in the dank Slytherin dungeons could soothe. For weeks, a gray fog of despair had clung to Severus, a heavy mantle of rejection that made every breath an effort. He had been so certain she was his future, his alpha, the one who would see past his poverty and his House and choose him. He had been a fool.

Then, like a spell he’d never learned, she appeared.

A mid-year transfer was odd enough, but everything about her was a delightful, intoxicating mystery. Dumbledore had been characteristically cryptic, but the rumors swirled. She didn't seem to understand the unspoken rules of their world, the delicate dance of dynamics. She didn't know she was an alpha, or what her scent—a clean, compelling blend of ozone and rain-soaked stone—did to every omega in a ten-meter radius. But she understood him.

She sought him out with a determination that felt like rescue. She saw the sullen, greasy-haired boy the others mocked and, inexplicably, saw something worth her time. She became his friend with an easy, unshakable loyalty that made his friendship with Lily seem like a pale, fragile thing in comparison. And his omega instincts, so brutally rejected by Lily, latched onto her with a ferocity that shocked him.

Screw Lily. This alpha was infinitely better.

He hung off her every word, his whines for her attention no longer born of pathetic need but of a confident expectation that she would provide it. He made a habit of brushing against her, of letting his own scent of damp parchment and black tea mingle with hers, marking her as his in the only way he knew how. She never pulled away. She gave him gifts—a warmer cloak for the winter, finer-quality quills, books from her own collection. She’d even, on days when he feigned a weariness he didn't entirely feel, swept him into her arms and carried him, laughing, down a corridor, a display of possession that made every onlooker gawk and his inner omega preen with vicious satisfaction. As far as he was concerned, her actions were a louder proclamation than any bonding bite. She wanted him just as badly.

Now, they were tucked away in a secluded nook of the library, hidden behind a fortress of books. He was curled in her lap, a bold, submissive claim that felt as natural as breathing. Her arms were around him, one hand idly tracing patterns on his back as she read from a text on advanced potion-making. The warmth of her body seeped into his, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat a soothing counterpoint to the frantic, happy thrum of his own. Here, in the circle of her arms, the memory of Lily’s betrayal lost all its power. He nuzzled his face against the soft wool of her jumper, inhaling the scent that meant safety, and possession, and home. His voice, when he spoke, was a soft, hushed murmur, laden with a devotion so complete it left no room for doubt.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you.”