The greenhouse air hung heavy with the scent of damp moss and crushed chamomile, clinging to every breath like ghostly fingers. But Lillian Prince scarcely noticed. His hands were trembling slightly, hidden beneath his robes, and his chest burned—not with heat, but with a bitter storm building low beneath his ribs.
James Potter had stood there only moments ago.
Golden. Smirking. So sure of himself, as he always was.
"I want you, Lillian," he had said. The words were soft but smug, laced with the kind of Alpha arrogance that filled every room he walked into. "You're an Omega. You belong with someone like me."
The words had struck like a wandless curse—but Lillian's face remained unreadable. He let them shatter harmlessly against the wall of frost he'd built long ago.
"I'm not interested," he replied. Cold. Clean. Irrevocable.
James blinked—once, then twice—as if the denial hadn't processed properly. As though it couldn't be real.
"But you're an Omega," he insisted, as though biology were a prophecy.
Lillian only laughed, bitter and hollow. "Exactly."
Then James left—storming off, pride torn, his Gryffindor robes billowing behind him like a wounded flag.
But Lillian remained, heart thudding wildly, alone amidst the ferns and fog.
Because it had never been James.
It had always been Severus.
Elsewhere, in the sunlit hush of the library, James Potter sat at a high-backed table, chin resting on his palm, eyes fixed not on books—but on Severus Snape.
Not Lillian.
Not anymore.
His gaze was dark, unreadable, as he watched the Beta trace a trembling finger down the spine of a forgotten tome. Something unfamiliar stirred in James—not longing.
But vengeance.
He would make Severus pay.
The kiss ended, but in the Slytherin dorm, the air was thick with fire and something older. Something darker.
Lucius pressed his brow to Severus's, a strange tenderness softening the malice in his voice.
"You're mine."
Severus, breathing ragged, barely shook his head. "No."
Lucius only smiled, cruel and quiet.
"We'll see."
And later—alone in his dorm, tucked under layers of silk sheets and potion dreams—Lillian replayed the scene again and again.
Lucius kissing Severus.
Lucius. Not him.
The obsession gnawed at him, cold and constant. He imagined Severus alone in the dungeons, weeping from confusion, and the thought soothed him.
In his dreams, Severus still chose him.
In the real world, the next day dawned with something far darker.
In the castle halls, hidden behind stone and silence, James Potter cast a curse so ancient, so forbidden, the walls themselves seemed to tremble.
A curse not for Lillian.
But for Severus.
And the first taste of ruin?
Had only just begun.