Potter: Do My Brothers Think I'm Going to Die?

The bell finally rang, shattering the atmosphere in the Transfiguration classroom—a mix of academic focus and some intangible pressure.

The students scrambled to pack their books as if pardoned, chairs scraping noisily against the floor.

Harry was about to leave with Ron and Hermione when he suddenly felt a chill crawl down his back, like an icy snake slithering along his spine.

Before he could react, a slightly cold hand lightly landed on his left shoulder, and then a weight pressed down—

Skofot Leoqi had lazily rested his chin on Harry's shoulder!

Harry froze instantly, his blood seemingly solidifying in that moment.

He could clearly smell a... indescribable, chilly scent from the other person.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

He'll kill me! If I dare dodge, he'll definitely crush me like a bug!

This thought stabbed into Harry's mind like an ice pick, leaving him unable to move.

He could even feel Skofot's steady breath brushing lightly against his ear, a subtle touch that brought immense terror.

He stood rigidly in place, face pale, cold sweat nearly soaking his robes.

Beside him, Hermione suddenly covered her mouth, her brown eyes filled with undisguised worry and tension.

She watched Harry's stiff expression and Skofot's seemingly casual yet eerily intimate posture, instinctively taking a small step forward, as if wanting to say something, but intimidated by the unsettling "Off-putting" aura around Skofot. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

Her hand gripped her bag strap tightly, knuckles white.

Unlike Hermione's concern, after the initial shock, Ron couldn't help but show a hint of schadenfreude on his face, quickly suppressed.

Ron: ...Tense.

He looked at Harry's "cowering" state, then at that Slytherin freak clinging to Harry. Though a bit creeped out himself, he mostly felt a subtle "You were almost sympathizing with him before, now you know what he's really like" mentality.

He even shuffled sideways, as if trying to distance himself from this weird combo to avoid being caught in the crossfire.

[Emotion Points +25] (from Harry's extreme fear and rigidity)

[Emotion Points +15] (from Hermione's worry and tension)

[Emotion Points +10] (from Ron's schadenfreude and slight fear)

[Emotion Points: 640/100]

Fotkai's chin rubbed lightly against Harry's shoulder, as if adjusting to a more comfortable position, then, in a lazy yet spine-chilling tone, he whispered by Harry's ear:

"Next time... let's walk together again, Potter."

His voice was soft, only Harry could hear, but the cold breath and the implication in his words made Harry tremble even more.

After saying this, Fotkai slowly straightened up, withdrawing his hand and chin as if nothing had happened.

He didn't glance at the pale-faced Harry or the differently expressive Ron and Hermione, walking right past them, his black robe hem cutting a cold arc through the air as he left the classroom first.

Only when that unsettling figure disappeared through the door did Harry finally let out a huge breath, his legs weak, nearly stumbling.

He gasped for air, feeling like he'd just been pulled from water, a small patch of his back robe already damp with cold sweat.

"Merlin... what does he want?" Harry muttered, still shaken.

Hermione immediately stepped forward to support him, frowning deeply: "Are you okay, Harry? Did he... do anything to you?"

Ron also came over, patting Harry on the back with a complicated tone:

"Mate, that was rough... but you were way too chicken. Why not just shake him off?"

Harry shook his head violently, his voice still trembling:

"No, Ron, you don't understand... that feeling... like being stalked by something, and if I moved, I'd..."

He couldn't finish. The icy fear of being locked onto by a predator still lingered.

Hermione looked at Harry with concern, then at the empty classroom doorway, her eyes filled with confusion and vigilance.

This Skofot Leoqi was even more dangerous and... incomprehensible than she had imagined.

The dungeon corridor was always colder and damper than the rest of the castle, with dim torches on the stone walls casting flickering shadows that stretched and shrank like lurking phantoms.

Skofot walked alone back to the Slytherin common room, his footsteps echoing faintly in the empty passage.

At a corner cluttered with discarded barrels and clutter, he keenly caught another familiar, rhythmic footstep—

steady, restrained, the soft rustle of robes in motion.

It was Severus Snape.

He stopped instantly, slipping like a panther into the shadows, hiding in the narrow gap behind a pile of old barrels.

He held his breath, peeking through the cracks with one eye.

Soon, Snape's tall black figure appeared at the other end of the corridor.

His expression was as gloomy as ever, seemingly lost in his own thoughts—perhaps about some foolish Gryffindor, or perhaps about his precious potion ingredients.

Skofot watched that figure. The "Killing Intent Visualization" ability granted by the [Cleaner] card allowed him to almost see the calm, meticulous, intangible aura of a Potions Master that surrounded Snape.

A thought stirred within him; an idea arose.

He carefully controlled his strength, releasing a wisp of "killing intent"—extremely faint yet sharp enough, like a poisoned ice needle—precisely aimed at the back of Snape's neck.

The killing intent was fleeting, almost like an illusion, but enough to provoke the most sensitive nerves.

Almost the instant the killing intent was released—

Snape's steps abruptly halted!

His hollow black pupils contracted sharply, like a startled venomous snake, instantly locking onto the direction from which the killing intent had come

—that dark corner piled with discarded barrels!

A familiar, loathsome, icy malice had appeared again! This time, he would not mistake it!

He spun around, his wand sliding into his hand in a motion so fast it left only an afterimage, his black robes rustling loudly from the violent movement.

His icy gaze pierced the shadow like a tangible force, his lips pressed silently together, exuding a dangerous, low-pressure aura.

Yet, in that very moment he turned and cast his gaze—

Skofot moved.

Like a ghost, he silently slipped out from behind the barrels, without a hint of hesitation, and turned to stride swiftly toward the deeper, darker end of the corridor, opposite to where Snape stood.

His movements were light and swift, his black robes nearly merging with the darkness, leaving Snape only a blurry silhouette that quickly vanished around the corner.