Severus had not meant to use it.
He had sworn, as he stalked from Lucius's lesson that night, that he would not allow himself to become a pawn in another man's games. And yet, the words had lingered, the tone, the weight Lucius had demanded. They seeped into his mind like ink into parchment, impossible to scrub away.
And when morning came, and Narcis smirked at him in the corridor, Severus's resolve shattered.
"Still hiding in shadows, Snape?" Narcis's voice was lazy, but his pheromones flared sharp and taunting. "Or did Malfoy teach you to beg properly?"
The old Severus would have hunched his shoulders, muttered a curse beneath his breath, and fled. But Lucius's voice coiled through him: Again. Stronger. Command.
Severus lifted his head. "Leave me. Alone."
The words cracked through the air like a whip. His voice had weight this time, sharp with steel instead of shame.
For a flicker of a second, Narcis's smirk faltered. Students nearby stilled. The air shifted.
Then Narcis laughed, tilting his head. "Well, well. Malfoy's little project grows teeth." His pheromones rippled again, testing, but Severus did not break. He met Narcis's gaze, jaw tight.
And to his astonishment, Narcis withdrew first, chuckling as he sauntered away.
Severus's pulse thundered. He had won.
For the first time, he had not been the one to yield.
Recognition burned in the eyes of those who watched. They whispered, some in awe, some in unease.
And it was intoxicating.
By the time Potions class began, the whispers had spread. James Potter was among them, lounging at his desk with casual arrogance.
"What's this, Snivellus?" James said as Severus slid into his seat. "Did Malfoy lend you his spine for the day?"
Lillian shot him a warning look, but James only grinned wider.
Severus ignored them. He brewed with steady hands, Lucius's lessons whispering in his mind.
Yet Lillian's gaze lingered, troubled. After class, he caught up with Severus, falling into step beside him.
"That was different," Lillian said softly. "With Narcis. You didn't back down."
Severus stiffened. "Why should I?"
"Because…" Lillian hesitated, searching his face. "Because it isn't like you. Or—it wasn't."
Severus's mouth twisted. "Perhaps I'm done being the weak one you all laugh at."
"I don't laugh." Lillian's voice sharpened, earnest. "Sev, I've never—"
"Save your pity," Severus snapped, harsher than he intended. "I don't need it."
Lillian flinched, colour rising in his cheeks. "It isn't pity," he said quietly. "It's… worry."
Severus's chest clenched. He turned away, unwilling to face the kindness in those green eyes. Kindness felt like chains. Recognition—real recognition—felt like freedom.
And only Lucius had given him that.
That evening, Severus returned to the unused classroom, though Lucius had not summoned him. He told himself it was to study, to escape the noise of the common room. But when Lucius stepped from the shadows as though he had been waiting all along, Severus's heart gave a traitorous lurch.
"You used it," Lucius said without preamble.
Severus's breath caught. "How did you—"
"Rumours travel quickly." Lucius's smile curved. "Narcis withdrew first, I heard. Impressive Severus."
Heat spread through Severus's chest. He ducked his head, unwilling to let Lucius see the flicker of pride.
"Careful, Severus," Lucius murmured, circling him. "Recognition is a dangerous drug. You'll crave more. And once you do, you'll find yourself willing to pay any price for it."
Severus's hands tightened around his books. "And what price do you demand?"
Lucius's eyes gleamed, unreadable. "Obedience"
"And if I refuse?"
Lucius leaned in, his breath brushing Severus's ear. "Well...You won't."
Severus shivered, hating how true the words felt.
Later that night, as he lay awake in the Slytherin dormitory, the ceiling above him blurred with thoughts he could not banish.
James's laughter. Lillian's kindness. Narcis's smirk.
And Lucius's voice, soft and commanding, promising a place beyond humiliation, beyond weakness.
He wanted it. More than he dared admit.
And though he told himself he could walk away at any time, a part of him already knew: the price of recognition was not something he would refuse.