The bell finally rang, breaking the atmosphere in the Transfiguration Class classroom—a mixture of academic focus and some invisible pressure.
As if granted a pardon, the students began packing up their books, chairs scraping noisily against the floor.
Harry was about to leave with Ron and Hermione when he suddenly felt a chill down his back, as though an icy snake had crawled along his spine.
Before he could react, a slightly cold hand rested lightly on his left shoulder, followed by a weight pressing down.
—Skofot Leoqi had actually lazily rested his chin on Harry's shoulder!
Harry's entire body instantly stiffened, as though his blood had frozen in that very moment.
He could clearly smell something on the other person... an indescribable scent with a hint of coldness.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his heart hammered frantically in his chest.
He's going to kill me! If I dare to dodge away, he'll definitely kill me as easily as crushing a bug!
The thought stabbed into Harry's mind like an ice pick, leaving him unable to move.
He could even feel Skofot's steady breathing lightly brush against his ear. That tiny sensation brought immense terror.
He stood rigidly in place, his face pale, cold sweat nearly soaking through his robes.
Beside him, Hermione abruptly covered her mouth, her brown eyes filled with undisguised worry and tension.
Seeing Harry's stiff expression and Skofot's seemingly casual yet strangely intimate posture, she instinctively took a small step forward,
as though she wanted to say something, but wary of the unsettling wrongness around Skofot, her lips moved, yet no sound came out.
Her hand clenched tightly around her bag strap, her knuckles turning white.
In stark contrast to Hermione's concern, after his initial shock, Ron's face uncontrollably showed a trace of schadenfreude, though he quickly suppressed it.
Ron: ...Hold it together.
He looked at Harry's frightened state, then at the Slytherin freak clinging to Harry. Though he felt a little creeped out himself,
he felt more of a subtle, You seemed pretty sympathetic toward him before. Now you know what he's capable of, kind of satisfaction.
He even shifted a little farther away, seemingly wanting to keep his distance from the bizarre pair in case he got caught up in it.
[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 lightly brushed against Harry's shoulder, as though he were merely adjusting into a more comfortable position,
then he whispered into Harry's ear in a languid tone that somehow sent chills down one's spine:
"Next time... let's walk together again, Potter."
His voice was soft, audible only to Harry, but the cold breath and the faint implication in his words made Harry tremble even harder.
Only after saying that did Fotkai slowly straighten up, withdrawing his hand and chin as though nothing had happened.
Without even looking at the pale-faced Harry or the differently expressive Ron and Hermione, he walked straight past them,
the hem of his black robe cutting a cold arc through the air as he left the classroom first.
Only after that unsettling figure disappeared through the doorway did Harry suddenly let out a breath, his legs going weak enough that he nearly lost his balance.
He gulped down air, feeling as though he had just been dragged out of water. A patch of his robes was already damp with cold sweat.
"Merlin... what does he even want?" Harry muttered, still shaken.
Hermione immediately stepped forward to support him, her brow tightly furrowed. "Are you okay, Harry? He... he didn't do anything to you, did he?"
Ron also came over and patted Harry on the back, his tone complicated:
"Mate, you really had it rough just now... but you were way too scared. Couldn't you have just shoved him away?"
Harry shook his head sharply, his voice still trembling slightly:
"No, Ron, you don't understand... that feeling... it was like something had its eyes on me. If I moved, then I would..."
He could not continue. That icy fear, like being locked onto by a natural predator, still lingered.
Hermione looked worriedly at Harry, then toward the empty classroom doorway, her eyes filled with confusion and vigilance.
This Skofot Leoqi was even more dangerous and... harder to understand than she had imagined.
The dungeon corridors were always colder and damper than the rest of the castle. Dim torches hung on the stone walls, their flickering flames stretching shadows long and short like lurking specters.
Skofot walked alone on his way back to the Slytherin common room, his footsteps making faint echoes through the empty corridor.
At a corner piled with discarded barrels and miscellaneous clutter, he sharply caught another familiar set of footsteps, carrying a distinctive rhythm.
—Steady, restrained, with the faint sound of wind stirred by swishing robe hems.
It was Severus Snape.
He immediately stopped, then, like a panther melting into the shadows, silently slipped into the narrow gap behind a pile of old barrels.
He held his breath, exposing only one eye as he peered through the gaps between the barrels.
Soon, Snape's tall black figure appeared at the other end of the corridor.
His expression was as gloomy as ever. He seemed lost in thought, perhaps about some foolish Gryffindor, or perhaps about his precious potion ingredients.
As Skofot watched him, the Killing Intent Visualization ability granted by the [Scavenger] card allowed him to seemingly see the invisible aura around Snape—a calm, meticulous presence belonging to the Potions Master.
An idea stirred in his mind.
Carefully controlling his strength, he sent an extremely faint yet sufficiently sharp strand of killing intent toward the back of Snape's neck, as precise as a poisoned ice needle.
The killing intent vanished in an instant, almost like an illusion, but it was enough to provoke the most sensitive nerves.
Almost at the exact instant the killing intent was released—
Snape's footsteps abruptly stopped!
His hollow black eyes suddenly narrowed. Like a startled venomous snake, he instantly locked onto the direction from which the killing intent had come.
—That dark corner piled with discarded barrels!
That familiar, revolting cold malice had appeared again! This time, he would not mistake it!
He spun around, his wand slipping instantly into his hand, so fast that only an afterimage remained. His black robes snapped sharply from the violent motion.
His icy gaze stabbed into the shadows as though it were tangible, his lips tightening soundlessly while a dangerous pressure radiated from his body.
Yet at the very instant he turned and cast his gaze in that direction—
Skofot moved.
Like a ghost, he silently slid out from behind the barrels. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and strode swiftly toward the deeper, darker end of the corridor, opposite from where Snape stood.
His movements were light and swift, his black robes nearly blending into the darkness, leaving Snape only a blurred silhouette that quickly vanished around the corner.
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