Caring for the Professor and Stockpiling

The potion office door was ajar, letting out a dim yellow light.

Skofot had only been passing by, but glimpsed an unusual scene through the gap.

--Filch was fussing over Snape, helping him sit down, and the Potions Master, always wrapped in his black robes, looked uncharacteristically disheveled.

The trouser leg of his left leg was torn, a large patch of the dark fabric soaked through. The air was filled with the scent of blood and something... a musky odor unique to canine saliva.

Filch was quickly dismissed by Snape's icy words.

The door closed, leaving only Snape's heavy breaths and the faint clinking of glass bottles as he searched for potions in the office.

Skofot stood outside the door for a moment, a faint ripple passing through its calm eyes.

An injured Snape, that was a rare sight.

It gently pushed open the unlocked door and glided in like a phantom, its movements so agile it didn't disturb a single speck of air.

Snape, with his back to the door, was bent over, taking out Dittany and some other ingredients from the bottom cabinet.

His movements were slower than usual, and every time he moved his injured leg, fine beads of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

The pain and blood loss seemed to have interfered with his usually sharp senses.

Skofot didn't approach, instead silently moving to the innermost part of the office, to the corner near the storage shelves where the shadows were thickest.

It stood there, almost blending into the darkness, quietly watching Snape somewhat clumsily tend to the wound on his leg.

The wound was deep, flesh and skin curled up, with clear bite marks.

After a long while, just as Snape carefully applied a white ointment with a fresh scent to the wound, letting out a barely audible gasp, Skofot spoke in its characteristic, uninflected tone, in a low voice:

"Professor, does it hurt?"

The voice came too suddenly, too close, as if right by his ear.

Snape's back instantly stiffened, and he spun around!

His wand almost instinctively slipped into his hand, pointing towards the source of the sound.

His hollow black eyes were sharp as a falcon's in the dim light, locked onto the black-haired boy in the corner's shadows, who had appeared at some unknown time.

Skofot!

When did it get in? How long had it been standing there? How much had it seen? Filch helping him in? The entire process of him treating his wound? How much noise had it heard?

A string of questions, a mixture of shock and anger, instantly flooded Snape's mind.

Compared to the sharp pain in his leg, this feeling of being watched, especially by this extremely dangerous boy, sent a cold shiver down his spine.

He hadn't noticed at all!

Had his injuries affected his judgment, or was this kid's stealth far beyond his estimation?

"What are you doing here?" Snape's voice was hoarser and colder than usual, with undisguised killing intent, "Who allowed you in?"

He didn't attack immediately, but kept his wand steady, his mind racing.

Skofot had seen his injury, and likely guessed it was related to Fluffy.

Would this kid leak the news?

Was its appearance now purely schadenfreude, or did it have another motive?

Skofot ignored the wand pointed at it, its gaze still fixed on Snape's small leg wound, which had been bandaged but still looked gruesome.

"The door wasn't fully closed," it explained calmly, as if stating the simplest of facts.

"I saw Mr. Filch helping you in... you didn't look well."

Snape's lips thinned into a pale line.

He was assessing how much truth and how much falsehood was in that statement.

Skofot's eyes were too calm, so calm that one couldn't fathom the undercurrents beneath.

"Get out," Snape's voice was irrefutable, the tip of his wand unwavering.

"Now. Otherwise, I don't mind letting you personally experience the consequences of provoking a wounded professor."

He was testing, and warning.

He wanted to see if the boy would obediently leave, or continue its incomprehensible actions.

Skofot was silent for a few seconds, something seeming to flash in its dark eyes, too quickly to grasp.

Then, without a word, it simply nodded slightly, turned, and silently walked towards the door, opened it, and left.

The office returned to silence, leaving only Snape's somewhat disordered breathing and the waves of burning pain from the wound on his leg.

He slowly lowered his wand, his brow furrowed.

Skofot's arrival and departure were both eerie.

It hadn't inquired about the source of the injury, hadn't used it to blackmail him, and hadn't even shown any curiosity or sympathy.

It had only asked "Does it hurt," and then left.

This is not normal.

Snape leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as exhaustion and pain washed over him like a tide.

But the alarm in his mind rang even sharper.

Skofot Leoqi was like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples spreading, disrupting all established trajectories.

He had to treat his injuries as soon as possible, and then... he needed to re-evaluate everything.

The guards for the Sorcerer's Stone, Quirrell, Dumbledore's plan, and this biggest variable named Skofot Leoqi.

The way that kid had stood in the shadows just now, like a predator lurking in the darkness, calmly assessing its prey's weakness.

And he, Severus Snape, would never allow himself to become anyone's prey.

The Quidditch stadium was roaring with noise, the green field covered by the chill of early winter, yet the stands were burning with excitement.

Skofot tightened his second-hand black robe and found a relatively secluded corner to sit down. He habitually summoned the system panel and glanced at the shop.

[Today's Item: [Restoration Potion - 1 Emotion Point] (Various colored drinks in potion bottles, with a slight benefit to the body)]

1 Emotion Point? It's practically free.

He bought a bottle casually.

A deep purple potion bottle, with a glass-like texture, appeared in his hand, warm to the touch. A matching colored, soft straw extended from the bottom, a clever design.

He took a sip through the straw.

The viscous, shimmering deep purple liquid rose through the straw. It tasted slightly sweet like tea, with a hint of minty coolness.

A warm current flowed from his throat into his stomach, slowly spreading to every part of his body. It was indeed comfortable, apart from the somewhat frightening appearance.

His body felt warm, and the cold wind from the stands didn't seem so biting anymore.

He squinted, feeling the slight nourishing effect, and took several more sips. The taste was indeed good.

When his mood improved, his desire to spend increased. He had accumulated quite a lot of Emotion Points recently anyway.

He simply bought 80 more bottles. Looking at the potion bottles, which instantly piled up in his system inventory, shimmering with various eerie lights, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction. Stockpiling always brought a sense of security.