The Barrier and the Faint Light

The liveliness of the Halloween feast felt like it was separated by a thick pane of glass, unable to warm Severus Snape in the slightest. He sat alone at the end of the Slytherin table, untouched food before him, the chill emanating from him deterring several younger students who had intended to sit closer. He could feel the faint, scrutinizing gazes from other parts of the long table, a mixture of the contempt spread by Crabbe and Goyle, pure curiosity, or detached indifference.

"Dung-eater... Ravenclaw bookworm... a perfect match..."

Potter's nauseating voice, along with Crabbe and Goyle's scornful snickers from the shadows, gnawed at his mind like venomous snakes. The greatest humiliation wasn't Potter's slander, but the fact that a part of it was tied to his deepest, inescapable reality—that Ravenclaw, Lin Yanqing, who had bound him with an evil contract!

What he found even more unbearable was that, at that moment, it was this presence he vehemently rejected and detested that, in a seemingly unintentional way, pulled him back from deeper humiliation and potential physical harm.

This feeling was worse than simply being defeated. It was like a corrosive poison, defiling the pride he had painstakingly built with indifference and sharp edges.

After the feast, he was the first to rush out of the Great Hall, a wounded black shadow disappearing swiftly down the passage towards the dungeons. He needed solitude, to be away from all eyes, especially... the eyes of that Ravenclaw, which might hold inquiry or, even more detestable, "sympathy."

However, the existence of the soul contract greatly diminished the effectiveness of this physical isolation. Lin Yanqing could clearly feel the frantic agitation, anger, and a profound, almost overwhelming self-loathing emanating from the other end, like a trapped beast. Snape's emotions churned violently in the corner of the Slytherin common room where he habitually curled up, a silent storm.

In the following days, Snape's defenses reached an unprecedented height. In all public spaces, he not only completely ignored Lin Yanqing but even seemed to push everything around him away. He became more silent, his gaze more sinister, as if his entire being was conveying a single message: Stay away from me, everyone.

Even the previously cold, pragmatism-based "material exchange" abruptly ceased. No more items from Spinner's End appeared in Lin Yanqing's usual spot in the library, as if that "logistics channel," personally expanded by Snape, had been unilaterally shut down by this humiliating incident.

He was using this complete isolation to maintain his precarious inner order and dignity.

Lin Yanqing maintained the utmost understanding and patience. He knew that any form of approach at this moment, even silent material drops, would be seen by Snape as charity or a deeper offense. He remained like a silent watcher, sensing the aftershocks of the storm through the unbreakable bond, carefully maintaining his own emotional stability to avoid any fluctuations that might provoke the other.

The turning point came a few days later in a Potions class.

Professor Slughorn assigned them the task of creating a variation of a new boil-curing potion, which required the use of "Weeping Myrtle Juice," a substance with unstable properties that needed to be added and stirred rapidly at a specific temperature. Many students were flustered, and the classroom was occasionally punctuated by the faint "poof" sounds of improper operation or sighs of wasted ingredients.

Snape still controlled every step with precision, his movements as mechanical and accurate as clockwork. However, Lin Yanqing could sense that the emotions emanating from him were not the usual focus of someone immersed in potions, but a tense, forced concentration tinged with suppressed anger.

Just as Snape was about to reach the crucial step of adding the "Weeping Myrtle Juice," Lin Yanqing, through the contract, suddenly sensed a strong, malicious gaze from behind him and a faint magical disturbance—it was James Potter! He was pretending to fiddle with his cauldron, but his wand was subtly aimed in the direction of Snape's workstation, seemingly intending to disrupt him with some minor prank!

Lin Yanqing's heart leaped into his throat. If Snape were disrupted at this moment, causing the potion to fail, especially given his unstable emotional state, the consequences would be unimaginable!

Without time to think, almost instinctively, he transmitted the feeling of "calmness" and "certainty" he had just achieved in stabilizing his own potion's heat, through the contractual link, like throwing a lifeline—clearly and irrefutably!

This was not a sharing of thoughts, but a more fundamental, direct transmission of emotion.

Snape, who was intensely focused on controlling the heat while also warily observing his surroundings (especially in Potter's direction), suddenly felt an external, calm, and firm emotional torrent flood his chaotic mind. The sensation was so abrupt, yet so... effective. It was like a basin of ice water, instantly dousing the restless flames within him, causing his attention, scattered by vigilance and anger, to abruptly refocus on the potion before him.

His movements did not falter in the slightest; they were even smoother and more stable than originally planned. He added the juice precisely, controlling the number of stirs and the force perfectly. In his cauldron, the potion exhibited a textbook-perfect color and consistency.

And almost as soon as he completed this step, James Potter, seemingly having missed his chance to interfere, let out an almost inaudible click of his tongue and dejectedly retracted his wand.

Snape stood frozen at his workstation, staring at his flawless potion, his chest rising and falling slightly. He didn't look at James, nor did he look at Lin Yanqing. He could feel the residual warmth of that external emotion still flowing within him, starkly contrasting with his own coldness, yet... it had helped him.

This time, there were no words, no actions, not even an exchange of items. It was a pure transfer of emotion, a silent "support" against an external threat at a critical moment.

He loathed this feeling, loathed this uncontrolled connection, loathed the fact that he... needed this help from "him."

But in a deeply hidden corner of his heart, a cold, rational voice reminded him: Without this intervention, he likely would have failed under Potter's despicable trick, leading to a new round of mockery and even deeper embarrassment.

After class that day, Snape was still the first to leave the classroom.

But after he left, as Lin Yanqing was packing his things, he found a small bunch of meticulously wrapped, high-quality Mistletoe Berries on the edge of his workstation. It was a common ingredient for protective potions, not particularly rare, but this small bunch was of excellent quality.

There was no note, no glance, and he wasn't even sure if it had been dropped just now.

Lin Yanqing quietly put the bunch of berries away.

He knew this might not be a thank you, and perhaps not even a restart of their "transaction."

It was more like... a cold, awkward, Severus Snape-style... acknowledgment.

An acknowledgment that the bond, when resisting a common external threat, perhaps... had a tiny, insignificant... utility.

The barriers still stood tall, but on that cold, hard shell, a barely perceptible crack seemed to have appeared, allowing a faint sliver of light to penetrate.