The dungeons were colder than usual. Or perhaps Severus simply noticed the chill more, now that his blood ran hotter than it had before.
He had replayed the scene endlessly: Narcis's smirk, Lucius's calm refusal to yield, the near-kiss that had left Severus breathless though it had not been his own. It haunted him. The press of pheromones, the air between them, the reminder that power could be… intoxicating.
And he wanted it.
Wanted to know what it felt like to stand in such a storm and not bow.
When Lucius called for him the following night, Severus came without hesitation, though he hated himself for it.
They met in one of the unused classrooms off the lower corridor, torches guttering against damp stone. Lucius was already there, leaning against a desk, wand in hand but idle. His eyes flicked up as Severus entered, and something in the look made Severus's stomach twist.
"You came," Lucius said simply.
Severus set his books down. "You summoned me."
"Summoned," Lucius repeated, amused. "As though you had no choice. Interesting."
Severus stiffened. "Do you intend to teach or merely mock?"
Lucius's smile sharpened. "Both, perhaps." He straightened, moving closer, his presence filling the space even without scent. "You are clever, Snape. Brilliant, even. But brilliance unshaped is brittle. You cry too easily."
"I do not—"
Lucius raised a hand, silencing him with nothing but a glance. "You do. Potter proved it yesterday. A single charm, a single laugh, and you shattered. Power is not about avoiding humiliation—it is about mastering it. About turning it back."
Severus's fists clenched. "And you would show me how?"
Lucius's gaze darkened. "Yes."
He stepped nearer. Severus fought not to recoil. The faintest brush of pheromones touched the air—barely perceptible, yet sharp, deliberate. Severus's chest tightened.
"First lesson," Lucius murmured. "Control. Yours may be faint, recessive… but that is not weakness. It is a weapon."
Severus frowned. "A weapon?"
Lucius's hand ghosted near his collar, not touching, but close enough that Severus's breath caught. "The faint scent draws others in. It unsettles. They cannot place you, cannot predict. Use it. Make them underestimate you. And when they do—strike."
Severus's heart pounded. He wanted to step back. He wanted to step closer.
"How?" he forced out.
Lucius smiled. "By practice."
His fingers brushed Severus's wrist, light as silk. Heat flared up Severus's arm, shocking in its intimacy. He swallowed hard, but did not move away.
"Second lesson," Lucius continued. "Presence. Words are nothing without the weight behind them. Watch."
He leaned in, his mouth near Severus's ear, his voice low and commanding. "Say 'leave me alone.'"
Severus obeyed automatically. "Leave me alone."
Lucius chuckled, the sound vibrating against Severus's skin. "Weak. You sound as though you hope they will."
Anger flared. "And how should I sound, then?"
"Like this." Lucius's voice deepened, cold as steel. "Leave me. Alone." The words pressed against Severus's chest as though they carried a spell of their own.
Severus shivered.
"Again," Lucius ordered.
"Leave me. Alone."
"Better," Lucius murmured, eyes gleaming. "Again."
They repeated until Severus's voice sharpened, until he almost believed himself. Lucius's gaze never left him, assessing, approving, demanding more.
When at last he stopped, Severus's throat was raw, his body trembling—not only from exertion.
Lucius stepped back, satisfied. "You see? Power is not pheromones alone. It is command. It is presence. And you, Severus, can learn."
Severus's chest swelled with something perilously close to pride. He had not realised how much he craved the word until it left Lucius's lips.
But even as warmth flickered, Lucius's expression shifted. He leaned in once more, too close, his breath brushing Severus's cheek.
"Final lesson tonight," he murmured. "Never mistake guidance for kindness. I am not here to coddle you. I am here to shape you. And shaping… can break as easily as it can build."
The words were a warning. The closeness was not.
Severus's pulse thundered. For a moment—just a moment—he thought Lucius might press his mouth to his, as he had with Narcis. His breath stuttered, shame and desire twisting.
But Lucius only straightened, smirk curling his lips. "That will do for now."
He turned, striding toward the door. At the threshold, he glanced back.
"Tomorrow night. Same place."
And then he was gone.
Severus sank onto the desk, breath ragged. His wrist still burned where Lucius had touched him. His voice still echoed with borrowed command.
He hated him.
He needed him.
And most of all, he feared what he might become beneath those lessons.