Snape's arm shot out like an iron vise, clamping down on his wrist with such force that he felt his bones creak.
Snape yanked him back by force. His hollow black eyes gleamed with extreme danger in the dim light as he fixed him with a deadly stare, his voice low and oppressive:
"Leoqi... what are you doing here? Following me?"
Skofot could feel the anger and icy scrutiny radiating from Snape, nearly freezing him solid.
He struggled once, but failed to break free. Instead, Snape's grip tightened.
[Emotion Points +40] (Snape's anger, vigilance, and sense of being offended) [Emotion Points: 635/100]
Skofot stopped struggling and lifted his head. The trace of awkwardness on his face quickly faded, replaced by an almost innocent expression.
With his free hand, he slowly pulled a small white flower, carefully wrapped in silver-green satin, from the inner pocket of his robe.
The flower looked especially delicate and white in the dim light, utterly out of place amid the tension.
He raised the flower and offered it to Snape, his voice calm and even carrying a strange seriousness. "Professor, this... is for you."
Snape: "..."
He lowered his gaze to the little flower, exquisitely—if clumsily—wrapped, then looked up at Skofot's face, whose true emotions were unreadable in the shadows. His brows knotted tightly together.
Absurd. Bizarre. Incomprehensible!
The brat had followed him in the middle of the night just to give him a flower?!
A furious sense of being toyed with mixed with intense wariness, churning within his chest.
He released Skofot's wrist, where a clear red mark had already formed,
as though he had touched something filthy. His voice turned colder than ice. "Take your... pointless little trick away."
Without even looking at the flower, he turned to leave, the hem of his black robe sweeping out in a decisive arc.
However, the instant he turned around, a gleam of success flashed through Skofot's eyes, and his wrist flicked sharply!
The cursed little flower, as if granted life, traced a precise arc and shot into the slightly open back collar of Snape's black robe!
The cold flower, carrying the fresh touch of a plant, instantly pressed against the skin at the back of Snape's neck.
Snape's departing steps halted abruptly, and his entire body went rigid!
He could clearly feel the foreign object caught between his robe and his neck!
He spun around. Extreme rage and disbelief twisted his pale face slightly as he looked at the black-haired boy, who was spreading his hands with an "innocent" expression.
Skofot took a step back and said quickly, "Good night, Professor!"
Then, before Snape could react in any way, he turned and fled at top speed, his figure swiftly vanishing into the darkness of the corridor.
Snape stood where he was, his chest heaving violently several times.
He reached behind his neck, roughly pulled out the cursed little flower, and pinched it between his fingers.
The white petals looked especially glaring against his pale fingertips and black fabric.
He stared at the flower, then looked toward the direction Skofot had vanished, his hollow black eyes surging with bone-chilling fury and deeper investigation.
[Emotion Points +60] (Snape's fury, extreme discomfort, and intense sense of provocation) [Emotion Points: 695/100]
In the end, he did not throw the flower away. Instead, he clenched it tightly in his hand, his knuckles whitening from the force.
He turned and strode toward his dungeon office, the low pressure radiating from him almost enough to freeze the surrounding air solid.
Having successfully carried out his plan, Skofot returned to his dormitory in high spirits.
He closed the door, sensed the clear location transmitted by the little flower in his mind—now inside Snape's office—and lay down on his bed with satisfaction.
Tonight's gains had been considerable. He closed his eyes, looking forward to seeing what he could "see" through that little flower tomorrow.
Inside the dungeon office, the light was dim. Snape leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping unconsciously against the desk.
Insomnia had long become routine for him, clinging to him like a parasite, but tonight was worse than usual.
That little troll named Leoqi, along with his deeply unsettling "gift," hung over his heart like a dark cloud.
His gaze fell upon the white flower at the corner of the desk. It had been crushed somewhat out of shape, yet remained stubbornly wrapped in silver-green satin.
In the dim light, it looked so fragile, so... out of place.
He did not believe it.
He did not believe that Leoqi, whom the Sorting Hat had declared "Azkaban," who carried a colder, heavier aura than some Dark Wizards, and whose behavior was so bizarre and unpredictable,
would suddenly decide to follow him in the middle of the night merely to offer an ordinary flower symbolizing "purity" or "friendship."
That was absolutely impossible.
Time passed in the silence. Beyond the window, shadows of enormous creatures occasionally swam through the depths of the Black Lake.
Snape remained in the same position for who knew how long, long enough for the fire in the fireplace to nearly die out.
He felt a trace of irritation, along with the torment of curiosity and vigilance stirred up by that brat's bizarre behavior.
He could not keep staring at the ceiling until dawn.
He needed to do something.
He reached out and, with almost disgusted caution, picked up the flower between two fingers.
The petals felt soft, carrying the distinctive coolness of a plant.
He examined it absentmindedly, trying to find any visible irregularity.
Soaked in poison?
Tiny magical runes?
Nothing.
No matter how he looked at it, it was just an utterly ordinary flower, casually picked from a greenhouse.
...Wait!
Snape's body, which had been lounging lazily against the chair back, suddenly tensed like a startled snake.
A sharp gleam flashed across his sallow face.
Too ordinary... so ordinary that it was abnormal!
Given the strangeness and latent danger Leoqi had displayed, how could something he gave away possibly contain no hidden trick?
A powerful instinct seized him.
He abruptly sat up and raised the flower before his eyes. His formerly hollow black eyes instantly erupted with astonishing focus and sharpness.
He held nothing back. Powerful magic surged from his body like an invisible tide, completely enveloping the tiny white flower!
His magic carefully scanned every petal, every delicate vein, the satin wrapped around the stem, and even the exceedingly faint magical traces lingering in the air...
Found it!
At the point where the seemingly harmless satin met the flower stem,
he caught an extremely obscure trace of magical residue, as fine as a spider's thread, yet carrying a certain ominous, sticky sensation!
This was absolutely not a trace of the Protective Charm or Transfiguration taught at Hogwarts.
This aura... was cold, sinister, and carried a clinging quality like a festering parasite lodged in the bone.
It was the trace of a curse!
Though he could not immediately determine the curse's exact effect.
Surveillance? Weakening?
Or something even more vicious...
But there was no doubt that this was a curse cast through the flower as its medium!
Before you continue