The air in the living room of the Black mansion was thick, as always, a mixture of old dust from magical relics, wood polish, and the pungent smell of Dark artifacts. But today, there was something else in the air. Tension. It vibrated between the two figures standing by the fireplace.

You pushed open the massive oak door of the study, and a thin, invisible burden of endless scrolls, reports, and plans fell from your shoulders. War required not only blood, but also bureaucracy, and your ancestral home became its headquarters. The silence in the corridors was deceptive, but here, in the living room, it was different—alive, prickling against the skin.

There were two of them. The Dark Lord, seated in your chair like a throne, his pale, long fingers drumming on the hilt of his wand. His scarlet eyes, devoid of any human warmth, were fixed on another figure.

Severus stood at attention, his back a straight rod, his hands clasped behind his back. His usually pale face was cast in wax, and his gaze, fixed on the void somewhere above the mantelpiece, was completely blank—the kind of blank that only an Occlumens master can have, desperately trying to lock away a hurricane behind seven seals. His scent, always so carefully concealed beneath layers of potions and mental barriers, was barely perceptible now, but your alpha instinct caught the faintest, uncontrollable notes—of anxiety, exhaustion, and—something foreign. Gentle. Alive.

“Ah—our generous host,” Voldemort hissed, his voice cold and high, sliding over your skin. “We were just discussing loyalty. And its—consequences.”

You entered the room slowly, feeling the atmosphere thickening even more. Your gaze flicked from the Dark Lord's face to Severus's, searching for any clue.

Voldemort made a short, dry sound, like the crack of breaking bones. It was laughter.

"Severus has just presented us with some... interesting news. News that will test his loyalty. And your house, Black."

Snape didn't move, but a muscle in his jaw twitched. He took a tiny, barely perceptible breath, and his black eyes finally flickered to you before returning to their original position. There was an ocean of emotions in that fleeting glance—panic, warning, shame, and a bottomless, animalistic terror.

"Speak, Severus," the Dark Lord commanded in a soft but unyielding tone. "Share your joy with your Alpha."

Snape closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, there was only the icy emptiness of tempered glass. His voice, quiet and lifeless, cut through the heavy silence, falling to the floor like drops of poison.

"I... I'm carrying a child."