Chapter Text
In a world where every Alpha strived to find their Omega, Sirius Black avoided them like the plague. It was nothing personal, truly, but to put it bluntly, in his purely subjective opinion, they generally were whiny, annoying little bitches, who reeked like a fucking candy shop. And Sirius hated candies.
His poor nose was far too sensitive for that shit, so he took suppressants, fucked Betas when he needed to scratch the itch, and disappointed his mother by wasting his ‘superior’ dominant genes on those who were unworthy. Now it had all become ordinary, something he could joke at, but before, when he first presented... hell on Earth, that’s what it was.
At thirteen, all those new unknown scents, attaching Sirius at once, caused constant nausea and terrible headaches. His brain just couldn’t process such a shock. It got to the point where he was losing consciousness constantly in the best case scenario and lashing out on near-by Omegas in the worst one. ‘Time would make it better,’ promised dozens of the best healers from Britain and across the Continent, but it did not. Time only helped him realise all these respected professionals were interested solely in his family’s money, not his well-being.
Those who risked offering something more practical than waiting and looking for a perfect mate to appease his violent tendencies quickly disappeared from his life. Sirius was fourteen when he finally took hold of himself enough to notice that. And not a month later, despite his mother’s strict prohibition, he began taking medication, bought them illegally on the black market. He truly didn’t give a flying fuck about his health back then – anything to be rid of that disgusting disadvantage. Indeed, the side effects were risky; he could completely lose his sense of smell as a result, but it was better than enduring the pain each and every day.
Everyone though that the curse was a blessing. They envied him, the youngest Alpha to present in their generation, but Sirius knew the truth. No matter how they named it, the nature remained. Alphas and Omegas weren’t natural. They were artificial creatures, made long ago by bunch of purebloods, desperate to overcome the birth rate crisis caused by witch hunts. It was a genetic disease that had insidiously crept into their society and seized power. And they paid the price for it, a terrible price, slaves to their instincts, to bloody pheromones.
Sirius refused to play into that role. He refused to be a predator, to force people to obey him, to turn into an animal ready to fuck whatever moves once a month. He wished, too often, to be born into a normal muggle family, where even a concept of secondary genders was a mere joke, not even a possibility. He wished for it naively and stubbornly, despite complete futility of such fantasies.
Everything erupted when he turned fifteen. Many things happened at once: his mother found out about suppressants, Sirius found out about her wish to marry him off to his own cousin (Evan, fucking, Rosier, of all people!) and they both found out that they hated each other’s guts. It ended in Sirius becoming the notorious Black sheep, blood traitor, pathetic runaway and all those other delightful titles.
It was safe to say that Alpha bullshit ruined his fucking life. It turned Sirius into more of a breeding stallion than he already was and society still viewed him that way, even after all disgrace he diligently brought to his family. Therefore under no circumstances did he allow himself to stop taking pills, shag an Omega or get close enough to one to become affected. These were the three pillars of his common sense, the only rules he could not break.
All that said, lately, something was wrong. His meds weren’t working properly. Usually, they helped him breathe normally, akin any Beta, without feeling excessive pheromones in the air. But neither Remus, nor Peter felt the persistent faint smell that had been following him everywhere he went. That alone ruled out the possibility of perfumes or other girly things.
The problem was… James couldn’t catch it either. Figured, Prongs’ senses were weaker and he had eyes only for Evans, but that scent… it was impossible to ignore that scent, even a whisp of it. It wasn’t strong or pungent, rather something very simple, earthy, like nature after rain. It crept into his nose, raw and refreshing, filling his mouth with saliva, prickling his skin.
Sirius hated it. He despised it. And he couldn’t get enough of it.
It was humiliating. There he was, Sirius Black, a grown Alpha two month apart from graduating Hogwarts, back to the boy who couldn’t control his desires. Wetting his panties because of an anonymous shameless slut, who blasted their bloody pheromones all over the place. Who could parade themselves around so openly that even he, medicated, mind you, could taste it in the air?!
There weren’t that many Omegas in Hogwarts. They were as rare as Alphas, if not more so. Nobody wanted to reveal themselves as one, afraid of being treated poorly, of being viewed as the spare womb. Recently, Omegas had been dying out as a subspecies, less and less of them born each year. A win for evolution, a loss for inbreeding. Sirius rejoiced at this tendency, as he did at the demise of every toxic pureblood tradition.
He was not shy to admit that he knew them all, starting with his cousin Evan Rosier, who was the only Omega in Slytherin lucky enough to make it to the seventh year, and ending with the pompous little Gilderoy Lockhart, third year Ravenclaw, who was the only Omega stupid enough to reveal his secondary gender to everyone the moment he determined it himself… Sirius was taking his task of avoiding the threat of mating rather seriously.
There were two explanations for the phenomenon at hand. Either someone was rather poorly attempting to hide their newfound status, or someone was messing with him, Sirius Black, specifically. The more he thought about it, the more his suspicion grew. How could anyone have conjured up a fragrance that met his needs so perfectly? Even he struggled to imagine what that would feel like… Could some evil genius truly create it from the thin air to simply torture him? Or was he losing the plot?
The words ‘evil genius’ involuntarily brought to mind one particular git who had every reason and ability to ruin his peace. Did a talent for potions have such a wide range of applications? Could Sirius have fallen for the most obvious trick in the book, the bloody Amortentia?
The sensations were not the same. With all those spiked sweets and perfumed gifts, he could consider himself an expert on the subject. Sirius was still himself, completely in control of his actions. He had no desire to melt into a pathetic puddle at the feet of any filthy bastard, especially not one named Snivellus Snivs.
Sirius tried to stay fair in his investigation, but it was so easy and convenient to blame the usual suspect. The scent did become stronger around Snape and that fucker had the motive, the means and some burning desire for vengeance, especially after the dramatic little breakup with his girlfriend. The truth often laid on the surface, so why bother? Either way, the git could use a little lesson.
Better test his theory before moving on to others, no? Desperate times required desperate measures and for the past week that bloody smell assaulted all of his fucking senses, anywhere he went! He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, because it clung to his clothes, gagged his tastebuds and kept him on high alert day and night. It was safe to presume that Sirius Black was, indeed, desperate.
Surely, it was done on purpose, with some kind of ill intent. Otherwise, Sirius was afraid to imagine what caused such a rapid decline in Snivellus’ personal hygiene. He had never been particularly clean, with his rugged clothes and disgusting greasy hair, but at least it used to be obvious that he bathed occasionally.
Alas, if that little punk had truly forgotten about such an important habit, it was his noble duty to remind him, innit?
***
In a world where everyone strived to turn out Alpha, Severus Snape, to his own shock, never wished to be one. Truly, sometimes that instinctive fear made him question his own sanity. Was he that much of a coward? Was he so utterly muggle that magic traditions refused to take root in him? Was it his dirty blood? His shameful upbringing?
Most of all, Severus longed to belong. Belong to all magical, for all muggle never brought him any good. He was a creature of two vastly different extremes and, at times, he was certain that he would have no place in either, no matter how hard he tried to fit in, no matter what parts of himself he sacrificed to make it happen.
Alpha identity seemed to be such an obvious path to satiate his restless desires and yet he saw the fate only in nightmares. Alphas were cruel. They had no patience, no tolerance and no desire to change. It was not what terrified him, for Severus often displayed such traits himself. His fear grew from within, from unforgettable scars of experience, from long-established knowledge that addiction never leads to anything good.
And Alphas were addicts, each and every one of them. Slaves to their own bodies, to their predatory instincts, incapable of common sense and self-control. Pheromones affected them like bloody alcohol, turned them into mindless puppets.
The only thing Severus had was his brilliant brain. If he was to lose it, he would be doomed to starve forever, bound to always dream and never achieve. He had no looks, no charm and no money to his name. He didn’t even have a name, at least not the one that brought him any good…
As for the other option… well, there was no other option. No options at all. He, Severus, was a half-blood and like most of his kind he was a Beta. Which meant he was normal, at least in his father’s eyes. He was normal. Average. Far past the age of presenting.
Absolutely. Fucking. Normal.
He was simply overthinking. Severus Snape feeling like shit, what a shocker! It could be anything: seasonal flu, food poisoning, depression, some unknown prank by his annoyingly consistent bullies. Anything but what he had initially thought. He didn’t even want to think about what he had initially thought. It made him even more nauseous than he already was.
But, well.. a whole week had passed, and he still didn’t feel any better, no matter how many potions he took. They temporarily relieved the symptoms, but didn’t get rid of the cause of the mysterious illness. His head was still spinning, his body aching, and his emotions running wild. Soon Severus would not be able to postpone a visit to Madame Pomfrey any longer. But he hesitated, afraid of what she might say, afraid that she would confirm his initial fears. He would rather die on a spot.
His evil subconsciousness was once again searching for the best ways to torment him, that’s all. It was surely just a prank. No doubts. There was no other reason why Black kept staring at him like that, this crazed beast with his perverted sense of humour. The look of a hunter, of a dog that noticed a juicy bone. Yes, that was it, he somehow spiked his drinks and now was eagerly waiting for the reaction.
Severus had no idea what was that supposed to be, but, knowing Black, something humiliating, as always. He had to deal with it before the wanker got what he wanted. If he was sure that all four morons were involved in the prank, he would have beaten the truth out of the fat one, but something told him that it was personal. Only one set of eyes followed him, gleaming like cold steel.
Oh, speaking of the devil, he was suspiciously quiet today. Severus didn’t see Black throughout the entire walk around the Great Lake. He never was that lucky, especially in the wild, where the already meager authority of their professors ceased to exist altogether. That couldn’t be good…
“Didn’t your mommy teach you not to start games you cannot win, Snivellus?” Deceptively sweet murmur chimed right above his ear, hot breath a burn on his sensitive skin. He walked right into this one, innit?
Chilling goosebumps ran down his spine at the mere sound of that harsh voice, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He’d gotten too caught up in his future plans for revenge and dared to forget about the present. What a pitiful mistake. Severus Snape, after all those years, should have known better… It was too late to cry now when Black loomed over him, sucking the air far too loudly, more akin to a drooling bulldog than a human being.
Something was wrong with the bastard. Severus could count on two hands those fortunate occasions when Black displayed anything but mocking smile in his presence. Most of those happened when poor mutt just presented and had blooming problems with his newfound identity. Hell as it was, Sev held those memories dear to his heart – he suffered, but Black suffered more.
Even now, in immense danger, with an enemy behind his back, Severus smirked, for Black’s breathing was chaotic, poorly controlled. Whatever caused that, it was a blessing from magic itself. It might not save him from another humiliation, but it certainly would help him to drag his torturer along.
Half-heartedly, Severus reached for his wand, but, as he predicted, Black caught his arm mid-air, roughly pushing it to his torso. He tried to fight him off with another one, elbowing him in the stomach, but all he achieved was a pained gasp (music to his ears). Not a minute later, both his hands got into shackles of the bastard’s fingers. Change of position brought them closer, their bodies pressing together, and Sirius Black, all-mighty Alpha who always won and never knew shame, for some mysterious reason whimpered at that.
Merlin, something was wrong with him. Very, very wrong. Sev’s smirk widened, evil giggle almost escaping his sealed lips.
He could struggle, he could beg, but neither would help him now – Alphas were notorious for their strong build and naughty temper. Severus had no means to overpower that. But today, on the best of days, his wicked tongue would suffice.
“Didn’t your mommy teach you that sniffing people is quite indecent?” Severus had no talent for foolery, but he did his best to mimic the intonation of Black’s snide remark. “One could confuse you with a brainless mutt.”
And they wouldn’t be far away from the truth…
“Oh, shut your trap, you greasy git, and keep your fantasies in the shower,” the man hissed through his teeth, squeezing his imprisoned wrists harder. If the bruises bloomed there tomorrow, Severus would wear them like the badge of honour. “What did you do to me?”
Well, that was one question he did not expect to hear. Black messed up all the lines, the moron! It was his to ask. Severus set to correct the mistake immediately, with appropriate amount of pure disdain.
“What did I do to you?” he huffed, scandalised beyond measure, “Better ask that yourself.”
“You stupid or what? Why would I ask you, if I knew it myself?” Black was never the sharpest tool in the shed, but that level of atrocity was a new high even for him. Maybe he got infected with some brain-eating bacteria along the way, could explain his behaviour.
“The question is: what did you do to me?!” Severus finally raised his voice, his patience evaporating in thin air. “I know it’s one of your stupid pranks! I feel worse with each passing day and you keep glaring at me! Don’t think I’m blind.”
“I keep glaring at you, Snivellus, because you messed with my suppressants, you slimy snake!” Black barked back, matching his hysterical mood, “You hate me, you’re good with potions and, most of all, you’re the only one desperate enough to go after my nose!”
“Why would I go after your fucking nose?!” Sev denied instinctively, although, admittedly, it was a great idea. Too bad he didn’t come up with it himself. Should write it down for later, wouldn’t want it to go to waste. “You, on the other hand, would have a blast poisoning me!”
“You think I’m that deranged?” Black cackled maniacally, reassuring Severus once again that he, indeed, was just the right amount of deranged. Sadly, he couldn’t share that bright thought with the class, for, the moment he opened his mouth, an undeniable feeling of losing touch with the ground hit him like a train wreck.
That bloody bastard let go of his hands and gave him a light encouraging push towards the Great Lake. Severus was no acrobat, but the inevitable glide of the water awakened in him unprecedented flexibility and instant speed, allowing him to turn mid-flight and grab Black with a dead grip.
They plunged into the lake together with a deafening splash and although bringing Black down with him was satisfying, the perspective of drowning under the ogre wasn’t nearly as enticing. Severus writhed like a real viper, trying to throw off that enormous body and failing miserably. By the time he finally reached the surface and took a breath of sweet air, involuntarily tears rolled down his cheeks, wheezes tore from his throat.
Black towered over him, wet, dishevelled, but no less terrifying than usual. No, on the contrary, he was more so. A demon stood before him, a siren, ready to devour his next victim, his face contorted in an expression of uncontrollable fury and irrational hunger.
Severus took a cautious step back, towards the depth, despite his inability to swim. Black blocked him the path to the shore. His self-preservation instinct screamed to run, but no one could guess when the next step on a muddy, uneven terrain would turn into another unpleasant dive. So he froze, like a rabbit before a hound, waist-deep in water, breathing unevenly through his open mouth.
Black measured the distance between them with a feral gaze, but stayed where he stood. If he’d turned into a lion right now, his tail would have swung wildly from side to side. His upper lip twitched nervously.
“Why doesn’t it wash off?” He mumbled to himself, notes of panic breaking through the anger. His hands covered his nose, his mouth, his nails clawing red scars on his cheeks. “Why can’t I stop smelling it?”
It was evidently much worse than Severus had imagined. Black was going loony right before his eyes. And as much as he enjoyed mocking his lack of self-control on the shore, it miraculously lost its charm when his life depended on it.
“Black,” he called softly, as if talking to a wild beast, “it’s alright. Everything is alright, yeah?”
Kindness never did Severus any good. Black lunged at him, sharply and mercilessly, leaving him no chance to escape. His fingers dug painfully into his bony shoulders through the worn wet robe. They were surprisingly hot, despite the cold water.
One hand roughly grabbed him by the chin and pulled his face up, forcing him to look into the furious stormy eyes. “Why wouldn’t you just stop poisoning my air with your bare presence?”
“I-I…” His breath caught at how terrifyingly gorgeous Black was at that moment and he couldn’t squeeze a word. His vision tunneled on him and him only, on his long lashes, his soft wavy hair, his thin aristocratic lips. They were so vastly different that Severus couldn’t believe they were the same species most of the times. It was such a rare occasion to see him so closely…
Oh, fuck…
No…
No, no, no.
Not that again.
He didn’t… he was staring. Severus was staring at his mortal enemy. But he didn’t want too. He never did. It just… happened. His will betrayed him, his eyes betrayed him, even his brain betrayed him, all for this mere whisper of appreciation at the cost of his pride and dignity.
Severus Snape was normal. He was fucking normal. But Sirius Black wasn’t. He was far too pretty not to stare sometimes. That’s all. And it wasn’t anybody’s fault. It wasn’t anything, but weak humanly obsession over superficial beauty.
Felt like losing, but Sev forced himself to shut his eyes closed. It helped him overcome the lump in his throat, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Black chuckled darkly and Severus tensed up, preparing for the blow. He was mistaken, but what followed next made him wish for it. The man took his head in his grasp, delicately, as if they were lovers. His heart threatened to stop from horror. If he was to move, his neck would snap, he had no doubts in that.
Warm calloused fingers gently brushed his hollow cheeks.
“Black…” Sev whispered pleadingly and, before he knew it, he was under water again, strong grasp pushing him down, keeping him in place. Suffocating substance was everywhere – in his mouth, his nose, his lungs. He dug his bitten nails into the bastard’s wrists, trying to pry himself free.
When he surfaced, dragged back by the hair with the same hand that had drowned him, he kept his eyes wide open, trained on Black.
“Why. Is. It. Not. Washing. Of. Off. You?” The psycho roared, emphasising every word.
Severus threw a fist in his face instead of answering. He did it again and again, long after he understood that Black was just standing there, taking it, without even trying to defend himself. It did nothing to calm the thrill in his bones when that bloody awful aristocratic nose cracked under his knuckles.
Sadly, it also pulled Black out of his stupor and he imprisoned both of Sev’s hands again, staring at him with some unreadable expression, blood running down his face. For a second, one short brief second, it suddenly seemed that he was studying his lips.
The illusion was ruined with the voice calling from the shore, cold and strict.
“Mister Black, mister Snape, what are you doing?” scorned professor McGonagall, surrounded by the bunch of gaping students. Severus didn’t even notice their arrival in the heat of a fight. Lily stood there as well, her red hair a beacon in the sea of unrecognisable grey faces. She scowled at them, mirroring the expression of her favourite teacher. Was she the one to call for help? His foolish stubborn heart surely hoped so.
Despite obvious disappointment she displayed, Severus’ body relaxed instinctively. He did not care for punishments. He had the feeling that whatever Black wanted to do to him just now was much worse. Something unreversible, something that could destroy his life to the point of no return.
“You’re punished, young men, both of you,” professor continued, pacing back and forth at the water’s edge like an angry tigress, unable to jump in and yank them out by their scruff. “You’re punished for the rest of the school year, you hear me?! Eighteen years old and you’re still at each other’s throats! You shall serve your punishment together, for it seems nothing can beat those old habits out of you! Now, out, before I drag you here myself!”
Black tried to object, his wicked mouth opening in silent plea, but Severus heard none of it, deafened by his own pulse throbbing in his temples. He obediently moved towards the shore, bumping bastard’s shoulder hard on the way out. It was all his fault. His bloody fucking fault. Should have cursed him before professor got involved, at least would have made it worth the severity of the consequences.
Severus Snape walked away without saying a word, disturbed by no one in the crowd, while the rest of the onlookers fussed over Black, lamenting his broken nose and bruised face. Little slumped figure against the backdrop of Hogwarts, so insignificant, so indescribably alone. He didn’t notice that the girl with auburn hair was watching him, an insurmountable turmoil in her bright green eyes.
***
Evans was still pining over Snivellus.
Sirius didn’t know what to do with that information.
It pissed him of to even think about it, although he couldn’t answer why for the life of him. Had he been a good friend, he would have told Prongs straight away, but... well, he had an unfinished business with Snape and didn’t need any additional participants. It became far too personal after that embarrassing dive into the Great Lake. And…
The door slammed loudly, snapping Sirius out of his brooding just in time to hear a heartbreaking click of the lock and fading footsteps of professor Slughorn. Those sounds marked the retraction of his beloved wand and the beginning of their endless punishment. It was the first day of many and he was about to climb the wall already.
The dungeons were still cold, dark and damp, uninviting as ever. Snivellus was still glaring daggers at him from the opposite side of the Potions classroom, exactly like he did approximately thirty minutes ago. Nothing changed, except, well, the presence of the old Slug.
On this particular evening, poor Prof broke his own record of dullness, so Sirius naturally missed all his instructions. He couldn’t concentrate on his mutterings at all, not when he was letting James down with this whole bloody thing. They had the last Quidditch match of the year in a month, against fucking Slytherin, but McGonagall wasn’t joking about this punishment. She really went all in.
He ‘assaulted’ Snivellus on Saturday and by Sunday he was already serving the penalty. His every evening till the very end of the course was to be spent in the company of that greasy git. Figured, Snape had no life outside of studies anyway, but Sirius was quite busy, thank you very much. He had a reputation to uphold, the one that involved heavy drinking, lots of sex and long nights out with his mates.
His only hope was that, over time, McGonagall would turn her anger into mercy. It was far too obvious that Sirius and Snivellus would never get along. The endeavour was completely pointless. And till then… well, he had to simply endure.
A mighty task with those charcoal eyes trying to set him on fire. If Snape could use wandless magic, Sirius would have been reduced to ashes the second the door closed. To be fair, he would have answered in kind.
What terrified him the most was that bloody smell. The longer they stayed locked together in the confined space, the more power it had over him. Sirius ordered new suppressants already, but they couldn’t arrive less than a week later, so the old ones had to suffice for now. Snape wasn’t even an Omega, for fuck’s sake! And he claimed to be innocent in all that (which was hard to believe).
The lake incident solidified his suspicions about whose scent it was. The second he got close enough to Snivellus, it choked him with a deadly intensity, poisoned his mind, stole air out of his lungs. And no matter how hard Sirius tried to wash it off, it only grew stronger.
He almost did something very foolish back then, when Sniv’s ugly face got all red and blotchy from the mix of fury and fear. Merlin, the git broke his nose, but all Sirius could think about was how wet and dishevelled he looked, how desperately he gasped for air, holding back tears. It was such a pretty picture that he almost got a boner… good thing that the water was ice cold. Good thing that McGonagall happened to walk by.
Sirius banged his head on the desk with a mournful sigh and allowed himself to lay there for a quick second, his face hidden in his long, soft curls. He heard Snape’s robes rustle cautiously as he emerged from his dark corner, timid as a bird, and, apparently, set to work, taking advantage of the fact that Sirius was not looking.
Suspiciously high chuckle escaped his lips. This sudden caution was… uncharacteristic for Snivellus, to say the least. The Marauders tried to knock some sense into him for seven bloody years, one swim couldn’t possibly surpass all that.
“You are slow, aren’t you? Took you long enough to finally learn to behave,” Sirius drew out unpleasantly, his voice poisoned with false sympathy.
“No, but I do believe you are,” Snivellus shot back childishly, without thinking. “Forgive me if I do not feel safe in the company of a giant ogre who has no control over his barbaric instincts. With no wand, I might add, and no means to call for help.”
Never had such sincere words been spoken between them, fragile in their frankness. Despite the sarcasm and contempt that seeped through that deep, measured voice, it was almost a confection, almost an acknowledgement of a shameful defeat that Sirius had been diligently pressing for since their very first meeting on the Hogwarts Express. But, for some reason, the thought of Snape's fear did not satisfy him. On the contrary, it hung over him with oppressive heaviness, clamping his heart in a vice.
Snape could not fear him. He just couldn’t. There was no such possibility in this world. It was... lame. It devalued their little game, stole all the fun. Sirius realised with horror that he never intended to win, not this way. Not when his bloody nose was driving his actions. He promised himself long ago that he would never be defined by those stupid pureblood rules, by his secondary gender… all to be proven wrong by the bastard whose mere presence pissed him off?! It was a loss he might not recover from.
Alphas bended the rules and forced others to abide them. Alphas took what they wanted without asking for permission. Alphas blamed everything on pheromones to justify their terrible decisions and gruesome crimes. Sirius did not. All he did, his every poor choice and every evil act, were his own. And he was proud of it. As a matter of fact, it was the only thing he could be proud of, despite his wealth, his noble blood and gorgeous face. It was the only thing he clawed for himself.
That’s why he did something he never expected in relation to Snape. He acted… decent.
“I won’t touch you, I promise,” Sirius muttered quietly, partly hoping that Snivellus would not hear. A deep inhale indicated that the wish had not come true, a simple sound conveying a mixture of suppressed shock and disbelief. He changed the topic immediately, “So, what’s the task for today? To be honest, I heard none of it.”
When he finally dared to glance at the git, he was standing in the middle of the room, thoughtfully tracing his pouty mouth with one long, thin finger. Sirius recognised that habit of his – it meant he was contemplating something. How and why he learnt this information was a mystery for all. Know your enemy and all that shit, innit?
Finally, Snape made up his mind.
“Perhaps you could open the door?” he asked rather uncertainly and looked as if he regretted it the very next second.
“Oi, Snivellus, I didn’t expect you to encourage me to break the rules. Are you late somewhere? Missing one of the boot-licking sessions with your Death Eaters pals?” It was a rather lazy insult, but Sirius had to uphold at least some semblance of normality, preferably, without causing a fight.
Snape ignored it completely, shaking his head with more passion than he ever displayed before Sirius. “No, you go, I will finish here myself. I prefer to work alone.”
It was a sweat deal. Far too sweat of an offer without a price, especially from a Slytherin. Whatever evil plan the git bore in mind, Sirius was not about to play along. He snorted dismissively, “Yeah, fuck off. We got in this together and I will serve my part.”
Snivellus slumped down on the nearest bench, as if his legs could no longer hold him. Sirius was about to mock him – working together wasn’t that bad, but the words stuck in his throat when a familiar scent filled his nostrils. It was even more concentrated than yesterday, uncontrollable, overwhelming. He braced himself against the table to stay still.
Breathing was hard, for both of them. Sirius tried to distract himself with something, anything, really, but nothing in the dull room was more interesting than Snivellus, writhing in silent agony. Suddenly, he became the centre of his existence, each slight move, each little gasp – a tingle down his spine.
“W-what’s wrong with you?” he chocked out hoarsely, his gaze desperately searching for a glimpse of his ugly face behind a veil of oily hair. What was intended to sound like reprimand came off suspiciously close to worry.
“I don’t know,” Snape whispered, his voice weak and shaky, “I don’t know.”
The git trembled as if in fever, his spidery hands searching in vain for something solid to cling to for support. Simultaneously, an irresistible desire to become said something and undeniable panic swept over Sirius. His eyes darted from Snivellus to the door, his thoughts swirling around in a chaotic whirlwind, pushed out of his head by that damn smell.
It was so… perfect. He wanted to cry.
“Black,” the fool whispered, his name something new entirely on his lips, neither a curse, nor a prayer.
Sirius rushed to the door and banged wildly on it, shouting Professor Slughorn’s name at the top of his lungs. No one came, no one intended to come, no footsteps echoed down the corridor. Snape was frantically gasping for air behind him. He furiously stamped his foot on the wood, again and again… to no avail.
“Stop,” an ungrateful brat ordered, exhaling sharply.
“Stop what, you bloody idiot?!” Sirius roared, hiding his fear in familiar wrath. “I’m trying to get us out, now!”
“No, not that, keep trying that,” he sobbed. He fucking sobbed. Sirius was afraid to turn around. “But stop chocking me. I can’t breathe.”
Oh, Merlin, no. That couldn’t be… it couldn’t possibly be… Betas couldn’t smell pheromones...
Sirius chuckled.
No, he was overthinking it. Probably just a flu, or some other magical sickness, or whatever the fuck it was. He wasn’t the only person in Hogwarts ready to curse that git. Omegas generally presented before fifteen. Alphas likewise. Snivellus did not possess traits of either of those groups. He was small and frail, yes, but undeniably ugly. And he hadn’t got an obedient bone in his body.
Sirius had to ask all the standard questions anyway and hope for the right answers. “Are you burning? Do you feel hot? Or… wet? Or, maybe, thirsty? All of the above?”
He left the door to reach for Snape, intending to touch his forehead to feel how hot his skin was, and froze mid-step, unable to believe his own actions. He was losing his damn mind.
Snivellus noticed it as well, but couldn’t manage to get up from his seat to run away to his dark corner. The realisation terrified them both equally. Sirius barely stopped and Snape barely moved. What could go wrong?
“Don’t come near me,” although the Slytherin could still give his voice a defiant depth, his black eyes betrayed his true feelings, all the uncertainty that shackled him.
“Calm down,” Sirius raised his hands in the air and demonstratively showcased them from all angles. “See, ‘m not touching you. I promised.”
Snape’s dark hazed gaze lingered on his fingers, following their every move. He licked his dry cracked lips, leaving them wet and invitingly open. Sirius swiftly returned to the door and crouched down in front of the lock, hiding from the feeling that threatened to catch him again.
The Muggle way wasn’t quite his forte, but he had to give it a shot. He took the sword-shaped pendant from around his neck (who would call his love for flashy accessories useless and performative now, ha, Prongs?) and awkwardly inserted it into the slot, trying to recall Remus’ lessons on lock-picking.
“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he insisted again, as he worked, desperate to keep his mind occupied with something other than what he kept returning to. Hungry eyes on his fingers… Wet lips… Delicious scent all around him.
“What you said…” Snape paused, gathering either his thoughts or his courage. Maybe, both. “I feel it all. At once. And empty, too. Need something… don’t know what.”
‘You need my cock. That is what you need, little Omega,’ Alpha inside him spoke, finally getting his confirmation. His stupid fucking mouth with its stupid fucking questions. Those dirty thought had been gnawing at the back of his mind all week long, but now they infiltrated every part of his consciousness.
Fuck him.
Claim him.
Isn’t he perfect?
He smells like that for you. Just for you.
He called for you all this time. You have to reward him. Isn’t he a good boy?
Sirius buried his hands in his hair roughly, digging his nails into his skull, and howled madly, releasing all his frustration in one scream. The lock was abandoned and forgotten, all of his slight knowledge on the subject washed out with the wave of uncontrollable lust. Fucking Snivellus. Always him, always that greasy disgusting creature. Why did he have to always get under his skin, find the most vulnerable parts of his broken soul?
He rummaged through his pockets, searching for the cigarettes, and inhaled only when the bitter smoke clogged his nose. It didn’t help much, Snape’s pheromones already imprinted in his memories. Merlin save them. Sirius could only pray to all the gods he did not believe in that he wouldn’t go into Rut along with the Omega. He never fancied one enough to be at risk of finding out what that would be like.
Judging from Sniv’s experience it was nothing to strive for.
“Give me one too, please,” Snape whizzed, unnaturally polite. Sirius fixed his gaze on him again, noting how red his whole face got, the blush running down his neck and hiding below the old robes. “My nose… I never felt… I never though… I feel…”
“Sh-h-h, yeah, I know, baby, that’s a lot,” he reduced to calming murmurs on instinct. It was nothing more. Nothing. He would never call Snape baby, if it wasn’t for pheromones in the air. Fuck it, but Sirius never dealt with Omega in Heat before, how was he even supposed to act? What was he to do? How was he going to keep his wits about long enough to get them out without shagging Snape into oblivion? “Can you catch a pack with a lighter?”
“No, I don’t think so,” he expressively pointed his bottomless eyes on his trembling hands.
“Alright,” Sirius nodded to himself, “Alright. May I approach you?”
Snape snickered joylessly. “I’m not in the position of giving out permissions, if you missed it somehow.”
On that he was mistaken. Now, in this room, no person held more power than Severus Snape. Sirius felt it in his blood, the need to please the Omega, the desire to turn his gaze upon him. He was a bird, showing his feathers, a wolf howling his song. It was the most frightening experience of his life. And he didn’t want it to end.
“Fine!” Snivellus snapped, mistaking his courtesy for mockery, “Please, come, come and do whatever you want, just give me that bloody cig!”
Magic was testing him today, questioning his every vow. If wizards had saints, Sirius would have already gotten a place among their ranks for his immaculate self-control.
“I strongly advise you not to say that in front of any Alpha anymore,” he said, taking a step towards the bloke.
“As soon as we get out of here, I’ll find a way to get rid of it. If it’s truly caused by a spell, then there must be a counter-spell,” Snape spoke with such confidence that Sirius almost believed him.
And that false hope, even a glimpse of it, touched a nerve. He launched into an instructive tirade, approaching him angrily, “Yeah, because you’re the first genius who thought of that. It’s a hereditary curse, dumbass, not some childish spell. It’s in your blood, passed down through generations. It can only be washed out by marrying someone untouched by it. That’s why my family and other purists fear muggle-borns so much.”
When he finally found the strength to shut himself up, despite everything he had yet to utter, he loomed over Snape, blocking him from the rest of the world with his sturdy frame. The git looked at him fearlessly, defiantly, as if he were not sitting defenceless before him, unable even to get up from the bench.
“Well, that got your knickers in a twist,” Snivellus huffed, rather dismissively, a shadow of a smirk on his lips a remainder of their rivalry. Even now, in his lowest, he was documenting Sirius’ distress to use it later against him. He almost admired the devotion.
It was his duty to knock him down a peg or two, for he too remembered who the man before him was, despite his disarming scent. Sirius’ smile was cruel when he asked, rhetorically, “Is that your first Heat?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Snivellus giggled hysterically, his previous glimpse of triumph instantly extinguished. Sirius liked the sound. It was high and pure, intriguing. He never though Snape could do that. His mirth… he wished to see what sound that made. “Do you think I would voluntarily let them lock me up here with you if I knew I could do that?!”
“No, I actually don’t,” Sirius’ smile widened, as his words spewed, although his mind was still stuck on the blurred image of laughing Sniv. “I just think you haven’t grasped all the charms of this situation yet. When the pheromones squeeze your throat and rip your mind, when you can’t think about anything except the knot inside your tight arse, then we’ll talk.”
Snape shuddered and seemed to shrink even smaller, slumping into himself. His breathing became rugged against his will and clear shame reflected it on his face. A single tear rolled down his hollow cheek, and he quickly wiped it away with his sleeve, as if he could hide it from Sirius. His broken, defeated figure instantly destroyed all the pride he felt for his small victory.
“I just want to salvage what dignity I have left,” he whispered, glaring at him through his long, wet lashes, hate boiling his insides, “I didn’t ask for it.”
Sirius wished to comfort him, to apologise. He gave him a cigarette instead. Brought it to his mouth, waiting for his seductive lips to grasp it firmly before lightning it. He lingered there longer then necessarily, enjoying soft innocent touch, his warm unsteady breath on his fingertips. Merlin knew what forced him to give his own weakness in return, but he did, as he admitted, “Nobody asks for it.”
Snape nodded and it seemed uncomfortably close to some form of understanding between them. Sirius felt immense relief when the moment shattered as the git took one deep drag and coughed immediately, his peace offering falling to the ground in silent defeat.
“It’s fucking poison,” Snivellus squeezed out, still choking on smoke. “How do you take it?”
“Well, that’s kind of the point,” he shrugged, quite entertained by such a display. When you got a nose of a hound, it was hard to win over it without losing something in a battle. Smoking was an effective and quick method, like an emergency contraceptive potion, but it had some drastic side effects as well. Mainly, it was puke inducing.
Unfortunately, Sirius doubted that the toxic smoke would save them for long. Snape wasn’t yet in the throes of his heat, but once his instincts took over completely, there would be nowhere to run, and his will alone wouldn’t suffice. Even if he ate his entire year’s supply of suppressants at once, it wouldn’t help. The door had to be broken down. Fast.
Neither of them made a move towards it.
“Give me another one,” Snivellus asked firmly.
“I won’t waste another cig on you,” Sirius snorted dismissively, but lit one anyway, for himself. He had already finished the first one. It wasn’t looking good. “How come you’re eighteen and you’ve never had a Heat before?”
“You want to discuss technicalities right now?” Snape hissed, clenching weak fingers into even weaker fists. His clear inability to control his own body broke something in his resolve, “I’m going to die! I’m going to fucking die and you keep asking your stupid questions!”
Sirius took him by the chin and forced to look up straight at him, their eyes clenching in usual battle, black against blue-grey, cold night against rainy day. And then he leaned over. Just leaned over and froze, their faces at the same level, inches apart. He never saw Sniv’s face so close before, his every mole, his every imperfection and insecurity on the palm of his hand.
The Omega closed his eyes in defeat. Maybe, it was wishful thinking, but he saw his lips opening again, ever so slightly. Sirius blew a puff of smoke directly into this inviting mouth, inches apart from claiming it with his own. His bitter gift, ridiculous almost a kiss. Snape’s gasp sounded like a moan. He could have made it real if he had moved just a little closer, the distance between them thinner than a paper.
He was not that intoxicated.
Not yet.
“No Omega before you died of Heat, you will be fine,” he reassured with confidence he didn’t feel. ‘No Alpha before died of Heat either’, he repeated for himself. Too bad they were the exact kind of people to try. Too bad his entire body protested as he moved away.
“Bet they didn’t die of embarrassment either,” Snape remarked ironically and Sirius couldn’t help but chuckle. At least they were both in high spirit, innit? “What an honour to be a pioneer in both.”
“Why would you, thought?” Sirius latched onto the topic like a hungry vulture, trying to wipe the taste of a kiss that never happened from his lips. He sat down on the desk, Snape’s frail hand near his muscled leg. Now they faced the same grim wall, not each other. He couldn’t force himself to get away from the git, but a change of position turned their interaction from something on the brink of sexual to… friendly? Just two mates sharing their misery. And actively avoiding eye contact.
“You know why,” the git grumbled, unimpressed by his efforts. They had opposite methods of dealing with stress: Snape clearly wanted Sirius to finally shut his trap, while Sirius simply couldn’t, desperate to fill the awkward tension between them with something, even if it was just a useless chatter.
“Maybe I want you to say it,” he shrugged indifferently, although he felt he was dancing on a very end of the blade.
“You get the kick out of it, don’t you?” Snivellus sneered contemptuously, poison in his unsteady voice. “You like to have this greasy ugly git that you despise at your mercy, ready to beg you to fuck him. You know what I want, you sick fuck. And I will never say it aloud.”
Sirius suddenly felt like punching him in his enormous crooked nose. It was the first for him too. He never had an Omega in Heat before. He never truly liked someone’s smell before. But he was patient, and he was nice, and he was treating this piece of shit better than half of his actual flings. And the bastard was still spitting his venom. Why would he keep up the act?
“Too bad. Maybe I would have fucked you, if you asked nicely, Snivellus,” he spat out, ready to jump of the desk and try his luck with the lock again.
Snape’s body abruptly convulsed from his impulsive promise. Poor bloke folded in half and sobbed loudly, his fingers finding Sirius’ thigh, his blunt nails digging into his flesh. It was painful, but all he could think about was Omega’s hand so near his crotch. He was already hard… now it got worse. Tremendously.
“I don’t want my first time to be like this,” the Slytherin confessed, each word sharp and surprisingly clear, hammering straight into his head. His grip on his leg tightened punishingly, “Do something.”
Why would he say that? Why would he fucking say that? First time? Like in first Heat? Or first shag? Or first time with a bloke? Just how many of Snape’s firsts could become his? Why, in the Merlin’s name, did he even care?
Sirius generally preferred not to screw virgins. That was his personal rule. Too much hassle. So why did it seem so important now? Was it an element of humiliation, invariably mixed into their game? Was it desire to finally get an upper hand over his enemy, to explore his vulnerability? Was it simply an instinct, primal and pathetic, demanding to claim an Omega he found fitting?
“I will,” he promised, stoically defying all of his urges, wherever they came from. Snape was on the brink of falling – if his scent got any stronger, Sirius would drown in it. And as much as he hated to admit it, he was part of the reason. It felt as if he was provoking him on purpose, as if he couldn’t control his tongue… or his prick, “But you, you don’t cry. You’re not allowed to fucking cry, got it? Or I don’t know what I might do to you… Now, I’m going to break this bloody door and we’re going to get you to the Hospital Wing, alright?”
Snape nodded obediently, but his hand stayed on Sirius’ thigh, keeping him in place. It held no real power, but, somehow, he couldn’t just push it away and leave. It was burning hot and so slender, so frail, that it woke a sudden protectiveness in him. Oh, how he wished to touch it.
Sirius thought it was the worst thing that could possibly happen to him. He was proven wrong when Sniv’s head lay down on his lap next to his hand, pleasantly heavy. The git pressed his cheek against him, as if he was a bloody pillow, and stared straight ahead, not daring to look up.
“Black…” Snape called timidly, exhaustion emanating from him.
“What?” Sirius growled, trying not to shake his leg from stress. He felt as if a giant venomous snake had wrapped itself around him and was prepared to bite at the slightest misstep.
“You’re... not that bad,” Snivellus shyly buried his large nose deeper into the fabric of his trousers, “I suppose I’m grateful that, of all possible options, I'm stuck here with you.”