Quidditch Match

He clutched a freshly retrieved potion bottle that glowed with a soft blue light, hunched over, and threaded his way through gaps in the noisy crowd.

His gaze settled on Professor McGonagall, who sat upright and stern-faced in the teachers' section.

He slipped into the shadows beside her seat and lightly tugged at the hem of her robes.

Professor McGonagall had been watching the pitch intently. Feeling the movement, she frowned and looked down, only to see the first-year student who gave her such mixed feelings crouching beside her and looking up at her.

"Professor,"

Skofot held out the blue, thick-looking, bizarre "potion" in his hand, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret.

"This... is a very tasty potion. It's good for your health."

Professor McGonagall looked at the bottle, which did not resemble any proper beverage no matter how she looked at it, then at the boy's small face, which appeared especially earnest amid the noisy backdrop. Her brow furrowed even more deeply.

She recalled everything he had done before, including that "cat-head kiss" that had made the tips of her ears burn, as well as his bloody wrist in the Hospital Wing.

The child's behavior was strange, yet his eyes at this moment were unexpectedly... clear?

She ought to have sternly refused and demanded to know where he had gotten these strange things again.

But the words caught in her throat. Seeing the tip of his nose, slightly red from the wind, and his expression that somehow made her feel he truly believed this stuff was "tasty," she inexplicably did not scold him at once.

After hesitating, she ultimately reached out and accepted it, her fingertips touching the cool bottle.

"...Thank you, Mr. Leoqi. Now, please return to your seat."

Her tone remained stern, but it was a little less sharp than usual.

Skofot nodded without saying anything else, immediately shrinking back and vanishing silently into the shifting crowd just as he had come.

Professor McGonagall held the blue "potion" in her lap, feeling as if it were a hot potato.

Drink it? Absolutely not.

Throw it away? That somehow seemed a little...

In the end, she merely placed it on the empty seat beside her, deciding to deal with it after the match.

Her eyes returned to the pitch, though part of her thoughts inevitably remained on that boy whose actions were always so unexpected.

Skofot had not gone far.

He circled around half the stands and, like a ghost, slipped behind the teachers' section, accurately locating the figure in black robes radiating an unmistakable Keep Away aura.

He sat in an empty seat several rows directly behind Snape. The view was good here—he could clearly see the pitch while also observing the back of Snape's head.

He took out another Restoration Potion, amber-colored this time, put the straw in his mouth, and began drinking leisurely.

Warmth spread through him again. The fragrance of tea mingled with the mellow sweetness of fruitwood, and it really was refreshing.

As he savored the drink and watched Snape's stiff back, he felt the Quidditch match did not seem quite so boring after all.

Snape clearly sensed the almost tangible gaze behind him, as well as the faint sound of someone sipping liquid through a straw.

He did not turn around, but the line of his shoulders beneath his black robes seemed to tense even further.

[Emotion Points +5]

[Emotion Points: 1410/100]

The cheers from the pitch were deafening as the Gryffindors fell into wild ecstasy.

At the height of the uproar, the smell of scorching suddenly spread through the air—

The hem of Professor Snape's black robes burst into flame without warning!

The fire was small, but it spread rapidly, glowing with an eerie blue light.

Professor Quirrell, seated diagonally in front of him, seemed to want to do something, but his view was blocked by excited Hufflepuff students who had stood up in front of him, causing him to miss the best chance to cast a spell.

By the time Snape violently swung his wand and extinguished the flames himself, the hem of his robe had already been burned black, leaving him in a pathetic state. Meanwhile, Gryffindor had already secured victory.

Snape suddenly turned his head. His black eyes, blazing with fury like twin ice picks, stabbed straight toward the back—toward the little monster who had been sitting behind him since the beginning of the match, quietly drinking bizarre potions: Skofot Leoqi.

Skofot was tilting his head back to drink the last of the amber potion.

Feeling that nearly solidified gaze, he paused.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he began looking around, glancing at the flags fluttering in the wind.

He then lowered his head to study his empty potion bottle, as though he knew nothing about the disturbance just now and had not noticed the professor's murderous glare.

He wanted to slip away.

With the crowd still cheering and celebrating, the chaos was the perfect cover.

But the moment he stood up, an icy, powerful hand seized the back of his black robe by the collar, and a tremendous force violently yanked him backward!

Caught off guard, Skofot's several empty potion bottles clinked together in his arms. He staggered as he was dragged before Snape, nearly crashing into the man's chest.

He looked up, and just the right amount of confusion and helplessness appeared on his face.

"P-Professor?"

Snape's face was very close to his. Skofot could clearly see the corner of the man's mouth twitching slightly as he suppressed his rage, as well as the scrutiny and suspicion churning within those unfathomable eyes.

"Just now," Snape said in a low voice, like a venomous snake slithering through grass, every word carrying icy poison, "what did you see?"

He knew the boy hadn't set the fire himself. The kid didn't have the nerve for it, and he hadn't sensed any corresponding magical fluctuations.

But the fire had started too conveniently, too strangely.

It had happened precisely when Quirrell's view was blocked, precisely when this unpredictable little monster was sitting right behind him!

He absolutely did not believe it was a coincidence!

The boy had to know something—or perhaps his very existence was a trigger that had set something else in motion!

Skofot hugged his empty bottle and blinked, his tone carrying a hint of innocent confusion.

"See what? I saw Harry Potter catch the Golden Snitch. Gryffindor won."

He paused, as though suddenly remembering something, then added, "Oh, and your robes seem... uncomfortable? Do you need me to take a look? I have..."

He made as if to reach for his seemingly inexhaustible supply of "potions."

"Leoqi!" Snape snarled, tightening his grip on the boy's collar until it became hard for him to breathe. "Don't play tricks with me! What was that fire?"

"Fire?" Skofot frowned slightly, looking as though he were trying hard to recall.

"Ah, there was a bit of a smoky smell... I thought some House had set off fireworks in the wrong place. Professor, isn't bringing fireworks to a match against school rules? You should dock their points."

He flawlessly avoided every crucial point, steering the subject toward something utterly irrelevant.

Snape's patience was visibly wearing away.

He looked into the boy's seemingly clear eyes, which were in truth veiled in fog, and a sense of helplessness mixed with deeper suspicion rose within him.

Either this kid was a liar with terrifyingly superb acting skills, or... he truly knew nothing about certain matters and was merely a strange, unlucky fool who had been dragged into them?

No. He was more inclined to believe the former.