You expect judgment. Cold indifference. But when Snape speaks, his voice is steady, controlled—quieter than usual. “You think I don’t notice?” His dark eyes bore into you, searching. “That I don’t see the way you are fraying at the edges?” You tense, but his gaze doesn’t waver. Then, softer—“I won’t let you destroy yourself.” It’s not kindness in the usual sense—it’s something sharper, more raw. But as his hand rests, fleetingly, on your shoulder, the weight of his presence is enough to steady you.