Ever since Sirius's warning, Lin Yanqing had been more keenly aware of the intermittent scrutiny directed at him from the Marauders whenever he moved about the castle. James Potter now looked at him with undisguised curiosity, along with a trace of offended displeasure—as though Lin Yanqing approaching Snape constituted an intrusion into some invisible territory belonging to their Gryffindor clique. As for Snape, he seemed to have completely shut off his perception of the outside world. Not only toward Lin Yanqing, but toward everyone, he had become even more gloomy and silent, like a bottomless pool of black water that refused to admit any light.
Yet the existence of the soul contract greatly diminished the effectiveness of that deliberate "isolation" in front of Lin Yanqing. He could clearly sense the restless undercurrent beneath Snape's calm exterior. This agitation did not stem from the Marauders' attention. It was more like... the stifled frustration of a desire to research and control an unknown power that could not be satisfied. He was like a child who had received a fascinating new toy but could not find the instructions—except this "toy" was an ancient contract connecting two souls.
This state lasted for about a week. During that time, there were no further situations in Potions class requiring "supply replenishment," nor did Snape leave any new notes. The two of them seemed to have returned to the purely hostile stalemate from the beginning of term, yet something had changed—the bond between them had become more resilient and... sensitive.
The change came on a Wednesday afternoon, during History of Magic.
Professor Binns was recounting the tedious history of medieval witch hunts in his hypnotic tone. The warm spring sunlight outside and the stale air in the classroom left most students drowsy. Lin Yanqing forced himself to keep taking notes, trying to extract fragments from Binns's flat narration that might prove useful in understanding the history of magical contracts.
Suddenly, an exceedingly faint yet unusually distinct thirst for knowledge traveled through the soul bond from the other end, like a pebble dropped into still water.
It was not directed at the content of History of Magic, but at something more specific: a question concerning the magical structure of Ancient Runes syllables.
Lin Yanqing's quill paused. He instinctively raised his head and looked toward the Slytherin students. Snape was not listening to the lecture. With his head lowered, he had spread open not a History of Magic textbook, but a thick black leather notebook with heavily worn edges—probably contraband he had acquired from the Restricted Section. His quill was rapidly working through calculations in the corner of the notebook, his brow tightly furrowed.
That clear thirst for knowledge arose precisely from an obstacle he had encountered at a particular point in his calculations.
Lin Yanqing himself had only dabbled in Ancient Runes and was far from proficient. But by coincidence, while completing an essay on ancient magical rituals a few days earlier, he had read notes left behind by a Ravenclaw senior. They happened to mention a similar obscure theory about how certain syllable combinations could slightly affect the flow of magic.
The sensation was exceedingly strange. He was not actively prying. Rather, Snape's thoughts were too focused and intense, like an overly powerful broadcast signal, clearly caught and transmitted by the contract.
Lin Yanqing hesitated. Offering help outright? That would definitely provoke a fierce backlash. But... if he merely...
He lowered his head and picked up his quill again. Without looking in Snape's direction, he quickly wrote the name and key points of that obscure theory in tiny letters in a blank space on his History of Magic notes, then gently tore off the small corner of paper.
Next, he needed to wait for an opportunity.
The opportunity came during the break. Professor Binns unusually paused his lecture and allowed the students a brief rest. The students began moving around, and low conversation filled the classroom. Snape remained bent over his notebook, deaf to the noise around him.
Lin Yanqing stood, pretending to head toward the bookshelves to look up material—there was a row of reference books at the back of the History of Magic classroom. He seemingly casually passed by Snape's seat. At the instant their overlapping figures happened to block most lines of sight, he flicked the tiny folded scrap of paper from his fingertips. It landed precisely beside Snape's open black notebook, blending into the grain of the wooden desk.
His movement was natural and smooth. He did not pause for even a moment, walking straight toward the bookshelves.
He could sense Snape's focused thoughts abruptly break off after he passed, replaced first by a moment of vigilance, then by shock upon discovering the foreign object on the desk.
Lin Yanqing casually pulled a book from the shelf and pretended to leaf through it, while actually watching from the corner of his eye. He saw Snape abruptly raise his head and scan the room, his gaze sharp as an eagle's. Then his eyes locked onto the tiny paper scrap on the desk. He hesitated for several seconds before pinching it between his fingertips with extreme distaste, as though it were something filthy, and quickly unfolding it.
The next instant, an even more violent wave of emotion came through—first, stunned disbelief; then a sudden flash of realization. But all of it was ultimately drowned beneath a surging fury he could barely suppress!
He knew! He knew who had sent the information! The feeling of being seen through, of being "fed"—especially while he was immersed in his most private field of research—made him feel unprecedented humiliation and loss of control!
Snape suddenly clenched his fist, crushing the small note into a ball in his palm. His chest heaved violently, his face dark enough to inspire fear. He abruptly turned his head, his gaze like a cold arrow shooting viciously toward Lin Yanqing beside the bookshelf.
Lin Yanqing calmly met his gaze. His face held no expression, neither triumph nor apology, as though everything that had just happened truly had nothing to do with him.
Their eyes met, and invisible sparks seemed to crackle in the air. Even Professor Binns's monotonous voice as he resumed lecturing could not dispel the frozen tension between them, ready to ignite at the slightest touch.
Snape glared at Lin Yanqing for a full ten seconds, the fury in his eyes nearly bursting forth. In the end, as though it took all his strength to restrain himself, he abruptly turned back. He poured all his anger into the notebook before him, viciously crossing out his earlier calculations and then beginning to write anew at a faster pace and with heavier strokes.
But Lin Yanqing could sense that the question which had hindered him for so long had already vanished. He had received the "key" he needed, though the manner in which it had been delivered sent him into a towering rage.
This incident brought no exchange of supplies, no direct conversation, and was even filled with negative emotions. But it revealed a deeper truth: once stabilized, the contract did not merely share emotions—it had even begun vaguely sharing the focus of their thoughts.
For Snape, this was undoubtedly another devastating blow. His thoughts, that intellectual world he took such pride in and regarded as his final fortress, were also slowly being infiltrated by this invisible bond.
For Lin Yanqing, it was likewise a warning. He had to control his own thoughts more carefully, lest secrets that the other party should not perceive—such as the existence of System Cub—leak out inadvertently.
The dismissal bell rang, and Snape was the first to rush out of the classroom, leaving behind a retreating figure that seemed to radiate low pressure.
Lin Yanqing slowly closed the book in his hands and returned it to the shelf.
He knew that their silent war had spread to a new, more hidden battlefield—the realm of thought. And the next time Snape's thoughts fell into difficulty, would he rather remain stuck there, or would he... be forced to accept this unwelcome "revelation"?
"Detected a slight increase in the depth of the contract connection. (⊙?⊙) Host, it seems you two have... begun synchronizing on a mental level as well?" System Cub analyzed with a hint of confusion.
Lin Yanqing did not answer. He merely felt that the path to that isolated island within Severus Snape's heart seemed stranger and... more omnipresent than he had imagined.
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