It began with a glance.
Severus had grown used to Lucius's presence in his days now, like a shadow draped over his shoulder. At meals, in corridors, in the hush of the library—Lucius was there, not always near, but always watching. Severus should have resented it. He told himself he did. But the truth was more complicated.
It was recognition. A crown, invisible but heavy, placed upon his head by Lucius Malfoy's notice.
And it was unbearable when Lucius withdrew it.
Three days passed with no lessons, no summons, no sly words in Severus's ear. He waited, restless, hungry for the approval he despised.
By the fourth night, he could not stand it. He stormed into the unused classroom, fists clenched, breath ragged with unspoken need.
Lucius was there, as though he had known Severus would come.
"You've grown impatient," Lucius murmured, amusement dancing in his pale eyes.
Severus stiffened. "You left me to—"
"To crave," Lucius interrupted, his voice like silk pulled taut. "Craving sharpens desire. Desire sharpens obedience."
Anger flared. "I am not your dog."
"No," Lucius said softly, stepping closer. "You are my pupil." His hand lifted, brushing Severus's chin, tilting his face upward. "And pupils must learn."
Severus should have pulled away. He should have spit a curse, stormed out, torn himself free from the invisible threads Lucius spun around him.
But he didn't.
Instead, his breath caught as Lucius's thumb grazed the line of his jaw. The touch was not tender.
"You want power," Lucius whispered. "You want to stop being their mockery. Their shadow. Their scapegoat. You want to be more."
Severus's throat was dry. "Yes."
"And you'll take it however it comes."
"…Yes."
Lucius's smile was slow, dangerous. He leaned down, and before Severus could think—before he could decide—Lucius's mouth pressed against his.
The kiss was not gentle. Severus froze, shock holding him captive—then fire swept through him, burning away hesitation.
He kissed back.
It was messy, desperate, nothing like the smooth poise Lucius wore like armour. Severus's hands fisted in Lucius's robes, clinging as though he might fall if he let go. Lucius's grip tightened at the nape of his neck, keeping him close, keeping him his.
When they finally broke apart, Severus's chest heaved, face flushed, lips swollen.
Lucius studied him, pale eyes cool despite the heat that had just passed between them. "There," he murmured. "Now you understand."
"Understand what?" Severus rasped.
"That power and desire are the same. That to want is to bind yourself. And that you are bound now, Severus."
Severus swallowed hard, shame and triumph and hunger twisting within him. He hated Lucius in that moment—hated how right he was, how much Severus already craved more.
But he also knew: for once, he had not been alone.
And he would not be again.
Later, in the stillness of the dungeons, Severus replayed the kiss until his lips tingled with memory. He told himself it was nothing but another lesson, another manipulation.
Yet his heart betrayed him with every frantic beat.
The line had been crossed.
And there was no going back.