Undercurrents Under the New Rules

The days after the Stabilization Ritual were like a set of dice thrown again. The rules had not changed, but the numbers had.

The most noticeable change occurred in Potions class. When Professor Slughorn assigned them a Calming Potion that required a high degree of emotional stability, Snape's movements remained as smooth and practiced as ever. Yet through the now more "open" bond, Lin Yanqing could clearly sense that he was not entirely without emotional fluctuations. The instant a negative emotion surfaced, however, a gentle restraining force from the contract itself quietly intervened, like an invisible cushion smoothing away the irritation or anxiety that might affect the potion. Snape's finished potion was flawless and once again earned Slughorn's lavish praise, but as he stared at the crystal-clear vial, his expression was darker than ever.

He seemed to see it as a deprivation—a deprivation of his right to feel "real" emotions, even if those emotions were negative.

In Charms class, while learning a Cheering Charm that required a measure of passionate emotion, the situation became even subtler. James Potter successfully made his quill flutter like a little flag, drawing a wave of admiration. When it was Snape's turn, he pressed his lips tightly together and tried to summon the utterly unfamiliar feeling of "passion," but achieved little. Yet just as he was about to give up, a faint but unmistakable emotional ripple of "determination" and "focus" flowed through the bond from Lin Yanqing's side. At the time, Lin Yanqing had been trying to recall the sense of accomplishment he had felt after completing his first important project before crossing over.

Snape's quill suddenly jerked. Though it did not wave about like James's, it gave off a brief yet steady golden glow.

Professor Flitwick pushed up his glasses in surprise. "Oh! Mr. Snape! A very good attempt! It seems you've found your own way! Three points to Slytherin!"

Snape froze. He stared at his quill, which had returned to normal, in disbelief, then abruptly turned to look at Lin Yanqing. His black eyes were filled with shock and a kind of offended anger. He had succeeded, but that success seemed to have been mixed with that person's power. That was even harder for him to accept than pure failure.

Lin Yanqing looked back at him calmly, his face expressionless. He had not meant to help; while focusing on himself, his emotions had simply flowed across naturally. But this accidental incident revealed a possibility under the new rules—they might be able to subtly influence each other's magical performance without realizing it.

To Snape, this was nothing short of a nightmare.

"Host, Host! The bound target's emotional fluctuations have been detected as intense! (⊙﹏⊙) Stability is declining!" System Cub warned urgently.

Sure enough, over the following days, Snape began a new and more covert round of resistance. He no longer attempted dangerous magical experiments. Instead, he tried to use Legilimency techniques to forcibly seal off his emotional outlets. Lin Yanqing could feel that the emotions coming from the other end of the soul bond were becoming increasingly blurred and intermittent, like a radio with poor reception. But whenever Snape's emotions became too intense, the barrier he was trying to build would shake violently, even rebounding on him with a severe headache.

He was trading mental pain for emotional "privacy."

This almost self-destructive behavior left Lin Yanqing feeling somewhat helpless. He knew that forced intervention would only backfire.

The turning point came one Friday afternoon. While looking for reference books on Ancient Runes translations in the library, Lin Yanqing accidentally found a thin notebook wrapped in dragonhide on the top shelf of an obscure bookcase. The notebook bore no name. Written inside, in an extremely ancient variant of runes, were scattered observations and speculations concerning Symbiotic Magic Contracts. It happened to mention the cause of "emotional channels" and the theoretical possibility of "limited shielding."

This was not a method for dissolving the contract, but more like... a guide to managing it.

Lin Yanqing was moved. He did not immediately take the notebook away, but memorized its location. The next day, when Snape appeared at his usual place in the library again, Lin Yanqing casually sat at a table near that obscure bookcase and placed the dragonhide notebook somewhere conspicuous.

He did not need to hand it directly to Snape. That would only invite deeper suspicion. He merely needed to provide an opportunity for him to "discover" it.

Sure enough, while pretending to leave to return other books, Lin Yanqing caught glimpses of Snape's gaze sweeping over the dragonhide notebook several times from the corner of his eye. When he returned, the notebook was still in its original place, but the taut air around Snape, as though he were trying to seal everything away, seemed to have loosened slightly.

A few days later, Lin Yanqing "passed by" that bookcase again and discovered that the dragonhide notebook was gone.

He did not ask, and Snape gave no indication of anything. But from then on, Lin Yanqing noticed that the obstructed feeling of being forcibly shut out had vanished. Snape's emotions could once again be transmitted with relative clarity. Only when he did not want his emotions exposed would they become exceedingly "calm," like a windless lake—this was conscious control rather than brutal suppression.

He had learned to "manage" rather than "resist."

It was a small but deeply significant improvement. He had accepted the fact that the contract could not be easily dissolved and had begun trying to coexist with it within his own boundaries.

However, just as Lin Yanqing thought things would slowly improve from there, the system issued a new task—and this task was almost certain to shatter the hard-won, fragile peace.

[Ding! Long-term main quest issued: [The Beginning of Bonds]]

[Quest description: Establish an initial, non-contractually forced interactive relationship with Severus Snape. Current progress: 0/100.]

[Stage One Quest: [The Meaning of Sharing]]

[Quest requirement: Successfully share food or drink with the bound target once, and ensure that he accepts it.]

[Quest reward: Bond Value +10, special reward [Memory Crystal (Blank)] x1.]

[Failure penalty: None. (But Bond Value growth will stagnate) (????)]

Share... food?

Lin Yanqing looked at the quest requirement and felt a wave of absurdity. Make Snape, who repeatedly questioned even potion ingredients provided by others, accept food shared by him? That was as difficult as making a troll dance ballet.

But he had no choice. The system's task was clear in its direction. If he wanted to advance their relationship, this seemingly childish interaction appeared to be a necessary step.

He began observing Snape's eating habits. He noticed that Snape always appeared in the Great Hall either earliest or latest, chose the most inconspicuous seat, quickly finished the food before him, and almost never touched dessert. He seemed reasonably accepting of mashed potatoes covered in gravy.

As the spring sunlight gradually warmed, students began sunning themselves in the courtyards of Hogwarts. One afternoon, Lin Yanqing brought a History of Magic textbook and sat beneath a beech tree in the courtyard. He saw Snape sitting alone on a stone bench nearby, a thick Potions Book spread open before him and a dry-looking sandwich wrapped in wax paper by a house-elf at his side.

This was an opportunity.

Lin Yanqing took a deep breath and removed a soft, appetizing-looking oatcake wrapped with honey and nuts from his lunch basket. Inside were pastries and fruit more suited to his tastes, which he had exchanged for from the kitchen with system coins. Then he walked toward Snape.

He could feel that as he approached, Snape's emotions instantly shifted from focus to complete wariness, like a startled hedgehog raising every one of its spines.

Lin Yanqing stopped several steps away, not getting too close. He raised the oatcake in his hand and spoke as evenly as possible, as though stating an objective fact.

"The kitchen just made these. They taste pretty good. I took too many. Want to try one?"

Snape abruptly raised his head, his black eyes filled with undisguised shock and suspicion. He looked at the cake in Lin Yanqing's hand, then at Lin Yanqing's face, as though deciphering an extraordinarily complicated Dark Magic symbol. His lips were pressed tightly together, and he made no move to take it. The aura of rejection around him was almost tangible.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps between the leaves, casting mottled shadows between them. The air carried the scent of fresh grass and a silent standoff.

Sharing—the simplest of childish acts—felt, for them, as though it were separated by an uncrossable chasm.