Cake and Note

The sunlight was bright, falling across Snape's pale, taut face. It was even possible to see his nostrils flare slightly as he suppressed his emotions. He stared at the soft, appetizing-looking oatmeal cake in Lin Yanqing's hand, the suspicion in his eyes nearly tangible, as though it had been spread not with honey but with some undetectable poison or even stranger potion.

Time passed slowly amid the silent standoff. The laughter and chatter of other students drifted faintly from the courtyard, making the deathly silence in their corner all the more pronounced.

The arm Lin Yanqing held the cake with was beginning to ache. He knew that continuing to hold it out would change nothing. Snape's resistance ran deep, born from the distrust and fierce self-protection shaped by his entire upbringing. One piece of cake was not enough to crack that heavy shell.

He let out an almost inaudible sigh and was about to withdraw his hand, ending this failed attempt at the task.

Just then, an exaggerated burst of noise approached from afar.

"Look who it is. Snivellus and his... little Ravenclaw lackey?" James Potter's voice carried undisguised malice. He and Sirius Black swept into the quiet corner like a gust of wind, smirking as if they had come to watch a show. Their gazes flicked back and forth between the cake Lin Yanqing held out and Snape's stormy expression, full of curiosity and mockery.

"What's this? Sharing afternoon tea?" Sirius leaned lazily against a nearby stone pillar, a nasty curve tugging at his lips. "How touching, Snape. You finally made a friend? Or is this some kind of... transaction we don't know about?" He deliberately drew out the word "transaction," the implication unmistakable.

Snape's face instantly turned livid. Humiliation and the embarrassment of being watched churned in his chest like magma, clearly transmitted to Lin Yanqing through the contract. He shot to his feet, moving so abruptly that he nearly knocked over the stone bench beside him. He did not even look at the cake, only shot Lin Yanqing a vicious, ice-cold glare that plainly said: Look what you've done!

Then he snatched up the Potions Book from the stone bench and strode away without looking back, as if fleeing a plague. The hem of his black robe cut a resolute arc through the air before he quickly vanished into the castle's shadows.

James and Sirius burst into laughter behind him.

"Ha! Look how badly he got scared!"

"Looks like we interrupted someone's 'kindness,' Ravenclaw."

Expressionless, Lin Yanqing withdrew his hand and placed the now slightly cooled oatmeal cake back into his basket. He ignored the Marauders' mockery and silently packed up his things.

"Task [The Meaning of Sharing] failed. (′;ω;`)" System Cub gave a dejected notification. "Bond Value progress has not increased."

Failure was within Lin Yanqing's expectations. He even felt that, because of the Marauders' sudden appearance, Snape might take this unpleasant experience out on him, making their already difficult relationship even worse.

However, things developed somewhat differently from what he had expected.

Over the following days, Snape's attitude toward him did become colder. In public, he almost treated Lin Yanqing like air, but it was not anger at the act of "sharing" itself. It was more like resentment born from having his embarrassment witnessed. Through the contract, Lin Yanqing could sense that beneath Snape's usual gloominess was an additional trace of... sensitivity and rejection toward the definition of "transaction," brought on by the Marauders' words.

He did not seem to regard Lin Yanqing offering him cake as pure malice or calculation. Rather, he seemed to have written it off as a "stupid and ill-timed" act, while the Marauders' appearance had magnified the embarrassment caused by that ill timing.

That subtle distinction allowed Lin Yanqing to glimpse a crack in a door that was not entirely shut.

A few days later, during Potions class, Professor Slughorn asked them to independently brew a more complex Invigoration Draught. Lin Yanqing discovered that he lacked a supporting ingredient that was not particularly rare but was not on hand at the moment—Dried Billywig Worm Stinger Powder. This powder was usually used to counteract the side effects of certain irritating gases.

He frowned slightly, considering whether to borrow some from the student at the next table or simply skip the step altogether. It would affect the potion's purity, but it would not make the brew impossible to complete. Then he felt someone's gaze land on him.

He looked up and happened to meet Snape's eyes as they quickly shifted away. Snape was lowering his head over the ingredients in his cauldron, every movement meticulous, as if that glance had merely swept past by accident.

But in the next instant, a small glass vial filled with pale blue powder was pushed over from the edge of the neighboring worktable by a long, thin hand. It moved with astonishing speed and silence, stopping just within Lin Yanqing's reach.

It was Dried Billywig Worm Stinger Powder.

Lin Yanqing froze. He looked at Snape, but the other boy did not spare him even a glance, wholly immersed in his own world of potion-making, as though the little vial had grown legs and run over by itself.

This was not sharing. It was more like... a precise supply delivery based on mutual benefit. Perhaps Snape wanted to prevent Lin Yanqing from making a mistake due to incomplete ingredients and triggering another unpredictable contract disturbance.

But whatever it was, it was a response. A cold interaction without the slightest trace of warmth, yet one that undeniably existed.

Lin Yanqing did not thank him. He knew that would only make Snape uncomfortable. He silently picked up the vial, took the small amount of powder he needed, and gently pushed it back to where it had been.

The entire exchange was completed in silence, drawing no one's attention.

After class, while Lin Yanqing was packing up, he felt a small folded note tucked into the gap of the bookshelf where he was returning his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

His heart stirred, but he casually slipped the note into his sleeve.

After returning to Ravenclaw Tower, he unfolded it in an empty corner. The familiar, slightly ornate handwriting contained only a few brief words, like an order and a notification at once:

"Mooncalf Fur. Two bundles. Before next week."

There was no preamble and no closing, but Lin Yanqing understood immediately.

This was not a request, not gratitude, and not even cooperation. It was a confirmation. A confirmation that the twisted yet real channel connecting them, built from the contract and their shared goal of stability and avoiding trouble, still worked.

Snape was defining their relationship in his own way—a one-way relationship of supply and demand based on pragmatism. He issued instructions, and Lin Yanqing carried them out. That allowed him to feel in control and kept him from entering the territory of "sharing" or "friendship," concepts he could neither understand nor tolerate.

Lin Yanqing crushed the note.

He was not disappointed. Instead, he understood. For Severus Snape, being able to send another note like this was already a form of "progress." It meant that the failed cake-sharing attempt in the courtyard and the embarrassment that followed had not made him sever their only connection completely.

He had merely set a new rule for their interactions, one that suited the boundaries of his inner sense of safety.

And for the time being, Lin Yanqing chose to follow that rule.

New task triggered: [Material Collection II]

[Task Description: Obtain two bundles of Mooncalf Fur and deliver them to Severus Snape before next week.]

[Task Reward: Gold Galleons x30, potion ingredients (random) x5.]

[Failure Penalty: None.]

Looking at the task list, Lin Yanqing knew that his attempt at "sharing" had failed for now. Yet the thread woven between them from the contract, potions, and secrets remained stubbornly connected, slowly tightening in an extraordinarily peculiar way.