If Hogwarts smelled of anything, it was ink, dust, and pheromones.
Sixteen-year-old Severus Snape sat hunched over a Transfiguration textbook, hidden in the shadows of the Slytherin common room, while candlelight danced over his pale skin. His scent was neutral, as always. Beta. The in-between caste. The unnoticed.
But he noticed.
Lucius Malfoy walked into the common room like a storm bottled in blond silk. He was taller than any sixth year had the right to be, his platinum hair spilling over his shoulders like moonlight, and his scent—maker's mercy—his scent—
Sharp, dominant. Spiced amber and cold silver. It hit Severus like a spell to the lungs.
Lucius was laughing, his arm slung around Evan Rosier, and every Omega in the room turned to look. Even the Alphas paused, instinctively sizing him up.
He was that kind of Alpha.
Snape buried his nose in the book. But he felt Lucius's eyes on him. Always did.
"You read too much," came that silken voice, closer now. Too close.
"I do many things too much," Snape replied without looking up, flipping the page even though he hadn't read a word. "Unlike some, I believe in earning my grades."
Lucius laughed—dark, slow, like molasses sliding down a blade.
"And yet, you're still at the bottom of the food chain, Severus. Reading won't change your scent."
A flash of heat, then cold. The ache of truth.
Snape looked up, black eyes meeting grey. "At least mine isn't broadcast across the castle like a siren's whore."
The words came fast. Too fast.
The common room froze. Rosier choked on his butterbeer.
Lucius's smile didn't falter, but his eyes flashed. "Careful, Beta."
"You said I wasn't interesting enough to be dangerous."
"I may have been wrong."
A pause.
Then Lucius leaned in, so close their noses nearly touched. His breath was warm, his scent a noose around Severus's throat.
"You smell like ash and ink," he whispered. "It's infuriating."
Snape swallowed. "Why are you even close enough to know that?"
"Because I want to know what happens when a Beta snaps."
And then he walked away.
Snape's hands were shaking, and he hated it. Hated him.
Hated how much he wanted Lucius Malfoy to come back and say it again.