The room was made of obsidian.
No torches. No doors. No heat.
Just the pulse of ancient magic and the smell of scorched parchment.
Severus lay on the floor, twitching.
His robes were burnt through at the sleeves. His pulse was steady—but low. His lips moved, mouthing words not meant for ears.
Across from him, Voldemort stood with his hands behind his back. He did not speak. He only watched.
There was something unreadable in his expression—if it could be called that. There was no fury. No amusement.
Just quiet, reptilian calculation.
"I should destroy you," he said softly. "It would be easier."
Severus coughed.
"Then why haven't you?"
Voldemort tilted his head, like a curious cat watching a wounded bird.
"Because I'm beginning to wonder," he murmured, "if someone else already owns you."
Severus's hand curled into a fist.
The Dark Lord's eyes glinted red. "An Alpha?"
Snape bared his teeth. "I am a Beta."
"And yet," Voldemort whispered, stepping closer, "someone's scent lingers beneath your glamour. Someone… older than bloodlines. Someone clever enough to weave you into two rituals and still walk away untouched."
The air tensed.
Severus didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
At Hogwarts, Lillian stood beneath the old oak by the Black Lake.
He wasn't alone.
James Potter stood beside him, arms crossed, trying not to shiver.
"I felt him vanish," James said. "Like a bond snapping."
Lillian didn't look at him.
"You're feeling echoes," he replied. "Nothing more."
James hesitated. Then, "You knew this would happen."
"I made sure of it."
"Why?"
Lillian finally looked at him.
His eyes were still green—but there was something behind them now. Something older. Not cruelty. Not power.
Strategy.
"Because the moment Voldemort tries to unravel Severus," Lillian whispered, "he'll find me knotted through every spell and binding in the boy's body."
James stared.
"You… bound yourself to him?"
"Not bound," Lillian said.
"Branded."
In the dark chamber, Voldemort circled the Beta like a shark.
"You stink of him," he muttered. "Omega-born, scentless to most. But I am not most."
Snape's magic cracked the stone beneath him.
"You want me afraid of a designation?" he spat.
Voldemort laughed quietly.
"No, child. I want you aware. Of what's coming."
The air snapped.
And then, Voldemort leaned down, his voice a whisper against Snape's ear.
"Your Omega… has always been playing chess while you played knives."
Flashback.
Eleven years old.
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
A quiet boy with messy black hair and sharp eyes bumped into a taller one—quiet, controlled, cold.
"I'm Lillian," the boy said, brushing off his sleeves. "You're Severus, right?"
Severus blinked. "How do you—"
"I dreamed of you," Lillian said. "Last year. Before the Sorting Hat even knew your name."
Back in the chamber, Voldemort hissed a phrase not in Parseltongue—but something older.
"Nulli axis. Nulli order. He belongs to no Alpha."
The walls pulsed red.
And Severus screamed.
Not in pain.
In awakening.
Because he remembered.
The ritual.
The blood.
The real purpose.
He was never meant to be owned.
Hogwarts shook.
Books flew open in the Restricted Section.
The Binding Rune under the Astronomy Tower burst into blue flame.
And far beneath the castle, Lillian smiled faintly, speaking to no one:
"I told you, Severus," he whispered. "The only Alpha I ever needed—was my own plan."