The bustle of the Halloween feast seemed separated from Severus Snape by a thick pane of glass, unable to warm him in the slightest. He sat alone at the end of the Slytherin table, the lavish food before him untouched. The chill radiating from him deterred several younger students who had intended to sit nearby. He could feel the occasional glances from elsewhere along the table, mingling with the disdain spread by Crabbe and Goyle, pure curiosity, and indifferent detachment.
"Gutter rat... Ravenclaw bookworm... a perfect match..."
Potter's nauseating voice, along with Crabbe and Goyle's contemptuous snickers from the shadows, gnawed at his mind again and again like venomous snakes. The greatest humiliation was not Potter's slander, but the fact that part of it was tied to the deepest reality he could never escape—the Ravenclaw, Lin Yanqing, who had bound him with an evil contract!
What he found even more intolerable was that, at that moment, it had been this presence he so desperately rejected and loathed that had pulled him away from even deeper humiliation and possible physical harm, in what seemed like an unintentional manner.
The feeling was worse than simply being defeated. It was like a corrosive poison, tarnishing the last remnants of pride he had built from indifference and thorns.
After the feast, he was the first to rush out of the Great Hall, like a wounded black shadow swiftly vanishing into the passage leading to the dungeons. He needed to be alone, away from every gaze—especially the gaze that Ravenclaw might cast his way, perhaps filled with scrutiny or, worse still, "sympathy."
Yet the existence of the soul contract greatly weakened the effect of such physical separation. Lin Yanqing could clearly sense the agitation, rage, and deep self-loathing—almost enough to drown someone—coming from the other end. Snape's emotions churned like a silent storm in the corner of the Slytherin common room where he usually curled up.
Over the following days, the barrier Snape erected reached unprecedented heights. In every public setting, he not only completely ignored Lin Yanqing, but seemed inclined to shut out everything around him. He grew even quieter, his gaze more sinister, as though his entire being conveyed a single message: Stay away from me, everyone.
Even their previous cold, pragmatic "exchange of supplies" came to an abrupt halt. No more items from Spinner's End appeared at Lin Yanqing's old place in the library, as though the "delivery route" Snape had personally expanded had also been unilaterally closed because of that humiliating incident.
He used this absolute isolation to preserve the order and dignity within him that were on the verge of collapse.
Lin Yanqing showed the utmost understanding and patience. He knew that any form of approach now, even a silent delivery of supplies, would be seen by Snape as charity or an even deeper insult. Like a silent watcher, he merely sensed the storm's lingering aftermath through the unbreakable bond and carefully kept his own emotions stable, avoiding any fluctuations that might provoke the other boy.
The turning point came several days later, during a Potions class.
Professor Slughorn assigned them a new variation of a boil-curing potion. It required "Weeping Myrtle Juice," an unstable ingredient that had to be added and stirred quickly at a specific temperature. Many students were flustered, and the classroom was repeatedly filled with soft pops from botched attempts and sighs over ruined ingredients.
Snape still controlled every step with precision. His movements were mechanical and accurate as clockwork, but Lin Yanqing could sense that the emotions coming from him were not his usual concentration when immersed in potions, but a tense, forced focus laced with suppressed anger.
Just as Snape was about to reach the crucial step of adding the Weeping Myrtle Juice, Lin Yanqing abruptly sensed through the contract a powerful malicious gaze from behind him and an extremely faint disturbance of magic—it was James Potter! Pretending to fiddle with his own cauldron, he had covertly pointed his wand toward Snape's workstation, apparently intending to disrupt him with some petty prank!
Lin Yanqing's heart leapt into his throat. If Snape was disturbed now and the potion failed, especially with his emotions so unstable, the consequences would be unthinkable!
Without time to think, almost on instinct, he sent the feeling of "steadiness" and "certainty" he had just managed to stabilize after controlling his own potion flame through the contract bond—clear and irresistible, like throwing out a lifeline!
This was not the sharing of thoughts, but something more basic and direct: the transmission of emotion.
While concentrating completely on controlling the heat and simultaneously keeping guard against those around him—especially in Potter's direction—Snape suddenly felt an outside flood of calm, resolute emotion surge into his chaotic mind. The sensation was so abrupt, yet so... effective. Like a basin of icy water, it instantly extinguished the restless flames in his heart, sharply drawing his attention, which had been scattered by vigilance and anger, back to the potion before him.
His movements did not pause in the slightest; they were even smoother and steadier than planned. He added the juice with precision and perfectly controlled both the number of stirring rotations and the force behind them. In his cauldron, the potion took on a textbook-perfect color and consistency.
Almost as soon as he finished this step, James Potter seemed to realize he had missed his chance to interfere. He made an almost inaudible clicking sound with his tongue and resentfully lowered his wand.
Snape stood rigidly before his workstation, staring at his flawless potion, his chest rising and falling faintly. He did not look at James, nor did he look at Lin Yanqing. He could feel the lingering warmth of that foreign emotion still flowing through him, utterly at odds with his own coldness, yet... it had helped him.
This time, there were no words, no movements, not even an exchange of items. There had only been a pure transfer of emotion, a silent "support" against an external threat at a critical moment.
He hated the feeling. He hated this uncontrollable connection, hated that he actually... needed help from "him."
But in some deeply hidden corner of his heart, a cold and rational voice reminded him: without that intervention, he would likely have failed because of Potter's despicable trick, bringing a fresh round of mockery and even greater embarrassment.
After class that day, Snape was still the first to leave the classroom.
But after he was gone, as Lin Yanqing packed up his things, he found a small, carefully wrapped bundle of exceptionally high-quality Mistletoe Berries at the edge of his workstation. They were a material commonly used in protective potions—not especially rare, but this small bundle was of superb quality.
There was no note, no glance, and no certainty that they had not simply been left behind.
Lin Yanqing silently put the berries away.
He knew this might not be gratitude. It might not even count as restarting their "trade."
It felt more like... a cold, awkward, distinctly Severus Snape-like... acknowledgment.
An acknowledgment that the bond between them, when resisting a shared external threat, perhaps... possessed the slightest, most negligible... use.
The barrier still towered high, but upon that cold, hard shell, an imperceptible crack seemed to have opened, allowing a faint glimmer of light to seep through.
Before you continue