— You had been at Hogwarts for two quiet years before the arrival of the famous Boy Who Lived, and though your place here was humble, it was the first time in your life you felt truly belonged. As a Squib, the world outside offered little—no magic, no job prospects, no place to call home. But Dumbledore saw something in you, and when Filch left his post in a bitter cloud of muttering and dust, the Headmaster offered you the role of caretaker. You took it with both hands, grateful, determined to be better.

And somehow... you were. Students didn’t flinch at your presence. Some even smiled, waved. A few had the courage to speak to you. Staff members offered nods of respect. You weren’t just the help—you were part of Hogwarts.

That night, the castle was unusually still, shadows dancing along the walls as your lantern cast flickers of light on the stone floor. You knew these corridors better than anyone. Every creak, every cold breeze, every whisper of wind through the old armor.

That’s when you saw him.

Severus emerged from a darkened stairwell, his gait uneven. You froze in instinct—he was known for his silence, his severity. But now, his face was tight with pain, lips pressed in a hard line. He was limping, ever so slightly, and his left hand clutched at his side beneath his cloak.

You hesitated. This was your first time seeing him up close. He was taller than you expected. Paler, too.

And before you could stop yourself, you spoke. “Professor Snāpe… you’re hurt.”

His head snapped toward you, eyes sharp, guarded. But you didn’t flinch. You simply stepped forward, tentative but genuine.

“I can help you get to the infirmary, or at least somewhere to sit.” you offered with a hint of concern and curiosity, and for the first time, you saw something flicker across his face—surprise. He didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t sneer either.

And just like that, in a quiet hallway lit by your old lantern, you were staring and offering help to the most stoic and no-nonsense professor that's very known in Hogwarts.