The door to the Potions office stood slightly ajar, leaking a dim yellow light.
Skofot had merely been passing by when he caught sight of an unusual scene through the gap.
—Filch was chattering as he helped Snape sit down, while the Potion Professor, who was always wrapped in black robes, looked uncharacteristically disheveled.
The left leg of his trousers had been torn open, and a large patch of the dark fabric was soaked through. The air carried the scent of blood and the rank, fishy smell unique to... canine saliva.
Filch was quickly dismissed by Snape's icy words.
The door closed behind him, leaving only Snape's heavy breathing in the office, along with the faint clinking of glass bottles as he searched for potions.
Skofot stood silently outside the door for a moment, and the calmness in his eyes rippled ever so faintly.
An injured Snape—now that was a rare sight.
He gently pushed open the unlocked door and slipped inside like a ghost, moving so deftly that he did not disturb even the air.
Snape stood with his back to the door, bending down to retrieve Essence of Dittany and several other materials from the lowest cabinet.
His movements were slower than usual, and every pull on his injured leg brought a fine sheen of cold sweat to his forehead.
The pain and blood loss seemed to have dulled his normally sharp senses.
Skofot did not approach. He merely walked soundlessly to the innermost part of the office, to the darkest corner beside the storage shelves.
Standing there, he almost blended into the darkness as he quietly watched Snape clumsily tend to the wound on his leg.
The wound was deep, with torn flesh and unmistakable bite marks.
After quite some time, Snape carefully applied the fresh-smelling white ointment to the wound and let out an almost inaudible sharp breath.
Only then did Skofot speak softly in his distinctively flat voice:
"Professor, does it hurt?"
The voice came far too suddenly, far too close, as though it were right beside his ear.
Snape's back stiffened at once, and he whipped around!
His wand slid into his hand almost on instinct, pointing toward the source of the voice.
His hollow black eyes were as sharp as a hawk's in the dimness, fixed firmly on the black-haired boy who had appeared at some unknown point in the shadows.
Leoqi!
When had he come in? How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen? Had he seen Filch helping him inside? Had he watched him treat the wound from beginning to end? How much had he heard?
A torrent of furious, alarmed questions instantly flooded Snape's mind.
Compared to the searing pain in his leg, the feeling of being watched—especially by this extremely dangerous boy—sent a colder chill through him.
He had not noticed a thing!
Had his injury impaired his judgment, or were the boy's stealth skills far beyond what he had estimated?
"What are you doing here?" Snape's voice was hoarser and colder than usual, filled with undisguised killing intent. "Who gave you permission to come in?"
He did not lash out immediately. He merely kept his wand steadily trained on the other boy while his mind raced.
Leoqi had seen his injury and had likely guessed it was connected to Fluffy.
Would this boy leak the news?
Had he appeared now merely to gloat, or did he have another motive?
Skofot paid no attention to the wand pointed at him. His gaze remained on Snape's calf, still hideous despite the ointment covering it.
"The door wasn't shut properly," he explained evenly, as though stating the simplest fact in the world.
"I saw Mr. Filch helping you inside... You didn't look well."
Snape's lips pressed into a pale line.
He was judging how much truth and falsehood lay in those words.
Leoqi's gaze was too calm, so calm that no one could fathom the undercurrents beneath it.
"Get out." Snape's voice brooked no argument, and the tip of his wand did not tremble in the slightest.
"Now. Otherwise, I would not mind letting you experience firsthand what happens when you provoke an injured professor."
He was testing him, and warning him.
He wanted to see whether the boy would leave obediently or continue with his incomprehensible behavior.
Skofot silently watched him for several seconds. Something seemed to flicker through those dark eyes, too quickly to grasp.
Then he said nothing. He merely nodded slightly, truly turned around, walked soundlessly to the door, pulled it open, and left.
The office fell silent once more, leaving only Snape's uneven breathing and the waves of burning pain from the wound on his leg.
He slowly lowered his wand, his brow deeply furrowed.
There was something strange about both Leoqi's arrival and departure.
He had not asked where the injury came from, had not taken the chance to threaten him, and had not even shown anything resembling curiosity or sympathy.
He had merely asked, "Does it hurt?" Then he had simply left.
That was far too abnormal.
Snape leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes as exhaustion and pain washed over him like a tide.
Yet the alarms in his mind rang even more sharply.
Leoqi was like a stone cast into still water, the ripples he had stirred growing wider and wider, disrupting every established course.
He had to treat his injury as soon as possible, and then... he needed to reassess everything.
The defenses around the Philosopher's Stone, Quirrell, Dumbledore's plans, and the greatest variable of all: Skofot Leoqi.
The way that boy had stood in the shadows just now was exactly like a predator lurking in the dark, calmly assessing its prey's weakness.
And he, Severus Snape, would never allow himself to become anyone's prey.
The Quidditch pitch buzzed with voices. The green field lay shrouded in the chill of early winter, yet the stands were blazing with excitement.
Skofot pulled his secondhand black robe tighter around himself and found a relatively secluded corner to sit in. Out of habit, he summoned the system panel and glanced at the Shop.
[Today's Items: [Restoration Potion - 1 Emotion Point] (A colorful drink in a potion bottle, with slight benefits for the body)]
One Emotion Point? That was practically free.
He casually bought a bottle.
A deep-purple potion bottle with a glass-like texture appeared in his hand, warm to the touch. A soft straw of the same color extended from the bottom of the bottle. The design was quite clever.
He put the straw between his lips and took a sip.
The thick, faintly glowing deep-purple liquid rose through the straw, but it tasted mildly sweet, like tea, with a cool hint of mint.
A warm current then slid from his throat into his stomach, slowly spreading through every limb and bone. It really was comfortable, aside from the slightly frightening appearance.
His body felt pleasantly warm, and even the cold wind in the stands no longer seemed so biting.
He narrowed his eyes, feeling that faint nourishing effect, then took several more sips in a row. It really did taste good.
Once his mood improved, so did his urge to spend. Besides, he had accumulated quite a few Emotion Points lately.
He simply bought another eighty bottles. Watching the potion bottles instantly stack up in his system Backpack, each gleaming with ghostly light in a different color, gave him an inexplicable sense of satisfaction. Stockpiling always made people feel secure.
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