Extra—I'll Make Sure You Can't Stay at Hogwarts

The following afternoon, sunlight barely filtered through the stained-glass windows high in the castle, casting mottled patterns of light and shadow across the corridor.

Skofot deliberately avoided the crowds and chose a quiet arcade leading to the library's back entrance, a route rarely used by anyone.

Some discarded desks and chairs were piled there, and fine dust drifted through the air.

He had just reached the middle of the arcade when a tall black figure seemed to peel away from the wall itself, silently blocking his path.

Black robes, greasy black hair, a pale, tightly drawn face, and hollow eyes that seemed capable of swallowing all light—

—Severus Snape.

He stood there without speaking, merely staring fixedly at Skofot with that cold, scrutinizing gaze, carrying a storm suppressed to its very limit.

The air around them seemed to drop to freezing in an instant; even the floating dust appeared to hang still.

Skofot stopped, allowing a touch of perfectly timed surprise to appear on his face, as though this were merely a chance encounter. "Professor Snape."

Snape did not return his greeting.

He stepped forward, and the oppressive force of his tall figure was almost suffocating.

His voice was low and smooth, yet like a blade wrapped in velvet, every word steeped in chill.

"Last night's... 'gift.'" He paused deliberately, watching for every shift in Skofot's expression. "Where did you get it?"

Skofot lowered his eyes slightly, avoiding that overly sharp gaze. His hands unconsciously gripped the corner of his robes.

The effect of the [Rabbit Rhymer] card made him look like an ordinary student frightened by a harsh teacher.

"By... chance." His voice was soft, carrying a trace of uncertainty. "I thought... it might mean something to you."

"By chance?" Unconcealed mockery seeped into Snape's voice.

He suddenly thrust out his hand—not to touch Skofot, but to slam his palm hard against the stone wall beside him. A dull thud echoed through the arcade, shaking loose a little dust from the wall.

"Do not insult my intelligence with such a pathetic lie, Leoqi! Tell me where it came from! Now!"

Skofot seemed startled by the sudden movement. His shoulders shrank back, and his eyes quickly reddened, yet he stubbornly kept his head lowered and repeated, "I got it by chance... I, I can't say."

He couldn't say.

Those three words were like a key, instantly unlocking every darkest suspicion in Snape's mind.

Was it the legacy of some Dark Wizard?

Had it been extracted from someone in the know through Crucio?

Or was it... connected to the one whose name could not be spoken? Who exactly stood behind this boy?!

Snape's chest heaved violently once as he forcibly suppressed the urge to use Legilimency at once—

—he could not be certain what kind of backlash might lie behind the boy's strange mental defenses, especially if Dumbledore was watching.

He changed tactics, lowering his voice further, lacing it with serpentine temptation and threat.

"Do you know who she was? Do you know what consequences come from touching... certain forbidden parts of the past?"

His gaze was almost tangible, trying to pierce Skofot's fragile disguise. "You are playing with fire, boy. And those who play with fire will eventually burn themselves."

Skofot raised his head. At last, tears rolled from his eyes and slid down his pale cheeks.

But within those damp eyes, aside from fear, there seemed to flash an exceedingly faint, elusive stubbornness.

"I know it was Lily Evans..." he choked out, his voice breaking.

"Harry's mother... I know she was important to you..." He used the word "important" with precision, rather than anything more direct or more hurtful.

Those words were like a needle, piercing precisely into the softest and most unhealable wound in Snape's heart.

For a moment, his breath caught. His face grew even paler, and the pain surging in his eyes nearly overflowed.

But he swiftly concealed it beneath deeper coldness and fury.

"Shut up!" he snarled, sparks bursting uncontrollably from the tip of his wand. "You are not worthy to speak that name!"

Skofot immediately fell silent, only looking at him through tear-filled eyes like a small animal frightened beyond measure.

Snape stared fixedly at him as the two faced off in the silent arcade.

He could tell the boy was acting. Those tears, that fear—at least seventy percent of it was fake!

But he had no proof, nor could he pry open the boy's mouth.

That feeling of powerlessness made his anger boil.

At last, Snape took a step back, putting distance between them that had become far too dangerous.

He adjusted the sleeves of his perfectly unwrinkled robes, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were putting that cold armor back on.

"Remember my words, Leoqi." His voice returned to its usual smooth, emotionless tone.

Yet the warning within it was clearer than ever. "Mind yourself, and stay away from things you have no business touching. If I discover that you use any means again to... desecrate that memory, I promise you, Hogwarts will no longer have a place for you."

He did not look at Skofot again, as though one more glance would taint his sight.

He turned sharply, his black robes cutting a fierce arc through the air, and strode away, leaving the boy—still standing where he was, silently weeping—alone amid the silence and dust.

Only after Snape's figure had completely vanished around the end of the arcade did Skofot slowly raise a hand and wipe the tear tracks from his face with his sleeve.

Calm returned to those eyes in an instant, even carrying a trace of the indifference of a scheme successfully executed.

He had succeeded.

He had cast the bait with precision, witnessed Snape's most violent emotional reaction, and... emerged unscathed.

Next, all he had to do was wait.

Wait and see what that wounded big fish, driven by rage and pain, would do.

He straightened his robes as though nothing had happened and continued toward the library, his steps light.