Severus is utterly ignorant to Darcy's new-found conflict. The idea of it occurring to her wouldn't pop into his head in a thousand millennia; no matter that just last jump he was kissed for the first time in over three years, it was the first time in over three years. And it was brief, and slightly traumatic, and very much alarming. And culminated in Severus throwing his potentially deranged suitor out before anything else could take place.

(Because anybody who would kiss him has to be potentially deranged. In his opinion.

And in his experience.)

Silence isn't awkward for him. Severus is naturally quiet, and he seems fine. He's a steady presence next to her - watchful even in the empty hallway. They pass one of the laundry rooms before the lift, a few of its machines humming quietly in the neon light. It fades away once they're inside.

"The best way is to handle it from very far away," he tells her. "No matter how 'safe' a werewolf is after transformation, they are still what they are. 'Tame' isn't something that happens. Hunting instincts may still kick in - even for a moment. And that's all it'd take."

Not the most comforting answer, but it's an honest one. Even dogs do it: snap at someone once out of the blue, or play a little too rough. When it's your pet teacup poodle, whatever, but cursed wolves are a much, much different story.

"I can teach you how to protect yourself. But it should be a last resort."