Echoes on a Snowy Night

On Christmas morning, Hogwarts awoke in a thick blanket of snow, quiet and serene. Students who stayed behind gathered in the Great Hall for a lavish holiday breakfast, the atmosphere relaxed and cheerful. Lin Yanqing found several gifts at his seat—candy from his Ravenclaw classmates, a handwritten card from Lily Evans, and a small bag of Gold Galleons as a customary reward from the System.

His gaze swept across the Slytherin table. Snape sat alone in his usual spot, with breakfast before him and the small crystal vial containing a potion like liquid moonlight. He seemed to be carefully checking the stability of the potion within. As Lin Yanqing's eyes fell on him, Snape looked up as if sensing it, their gazes meeting briefly in the air.

No nod, no smile, not even a flicker of expression. But in that instant, Lin Yanqing clearly caught a faint, almost "confirming" emotion through the Contract—like the steady mindset of a researcher verifying experimental data and confirming the project is proceeding as planned.

Snape quickly averted his gaze, carefully put away the crystal vial, and continued his meal in silence. He wore his well-fitting black winter robe, a stark silhouette against the surrounding silver and green decorations and the cheerful chatter.

After breakfast, Lin Yanqing returned to the Ravenclaw Tower. By the window in the common room, he looked out at the courtyard covered in ice and snow, fiddling with the small crystal vial in his hand. The cool glass gradually warmed to his touch, and the silver liquid inside seemed to shimmer with life.

He decided to try a little. It wasn't a lack of trust in Snape's abilities, but rather a respect for this special "return gift" and curiosity about its effects. He poured a drop onto the back of his hand. The cool potion quickly seeped into his skin, and a gentle yet powerful sense of calm immediately spread through his bloodstream, smoothing out the subtle anxieties accumulated from observing Snape's potion experiments over the past few days. Even the barrier of Legilimency seemed to become more solid.

The effect was astonishing. This was by no means a potion that an ordinary first-year—or even many older students—could create.

That afternoon, it began to snow again. Lin Yanqing decided to spend time in the library. The library was almost deserted during the holiday, and even Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen. He walked to his usual area, only to find Snape already there—he was sitting by a window, with the large, dark red book and some parchment covered in complex calculations spread out before him, seemingly continuing his research.

Hearing footsteps, Snape looked up. Seeing it was Lin Yanqing, he didn't show his usual immediate rejection or avert his gaze. He simply looked at him calmly with his dark eyes, as if assessing something.

Lin Yanqing didn't disturb him. He sat down a few tables away and took out a book on advanced variants of Ancient Runes to read.

In the silent library, only the rustling sound of snow falling outside and the occasional soft rustle of turning pages could be heard. The two occupied separate corners, neither bothering the other, yet connected by the invisible bond and the open Compendium of Rare Magical Fungi on Snape's table (which Snape had apparently returned after using).

After a while, a very faint scratching sound of a quill on parchment came from Snape's side. He seemed to have encountered a small writing problem—his ink was almost gone, and he was trying to dip his quill into the very bottom of the inkwell to get the remaining ink.

Lin Yanqing calmly took out an unopened, standard-issue small bottle of Hogwarts ink from his pencil case and placed it within reach.

He didn't hand it over, nor did he even look at Snape.

A few minutes later, as Lin Yanqing stood up to find another reference book on the shelf, he felt Snape's gaze fall on the ink bottle. When he returned with the book, the ink bottle was gone, and in its place on his seat was a small roll of parchment tied with a thin string.

Lin Yanqing sat down and untied the string. The parchment still bore Snape's cursive script, but the content was no longer counter-curses or potion recipes. Instead, it contained several extremely complex equations and derivation steps regarding the mutual influence of emotional channels and magic power flow in Contract magic, with a few brief annotations pointing out key but easily overlooked pitfalls in reasoning.

This was no longer simple information sharing. This was... an exchange of research insights. It was Snape sharing results that he believed Lin Yanqing might also need, or be qualified to see, as he explored the nature of their bond.

He was using the only method he was skilled at and felt safe with—knowledge exploration—to maintain this connection he both loathed and couldn't escape.

Lin Yanqing carefully read the contents of the parchment. Some of the insights indeed gave him a deeper understanding of how contracts operated. He picked up his quill and, in the blank spaces of the parchment, wrote down his own findings, observed through [Magical Perception], about the subtle magic flow changes in the bond under different emotional states.

He didn't return the parchment directly. Instead, he placed it on a middle shelf between their seats.

When he looked up from his book again, the roll of parchment was gone.

Outside the window, night had fallen, and snowflakes danced in the light filtering through the castle windows like flickering sprites.

It wasn't until Madam Pince came to usher them out that the two left the library, one after the other. At the fork in the corridor leading to their respective House towers, Snape stopped. His back to Lin Yanqing, his voice sounded somewhat low in the empty hallway:

"That potion... use it sparingly."

After speaking, without waiting for any response, he quickly walked towards the dungeons, the black hem of his robe disappearing into the shadows of the spiral staircase.

Lin Yanqing stood in place, able to feel the emotion from the other end of the soul bond. It was no longer purely cold or resistant, but a kind of... focused, weary yet determined calm, like someone concentrating on a long-term project.

The snow continued to fall, covering the castle and the distant mountains. This Christmas holiday lacked the warmth of family or boisterous gatherings. But for two youths trapped in the web of fate, this snowy night, because of a bottle of potion, a roll of parchment, and a gruff reminder, held a different, cold resonance.

He knew that when the second semester arrived, this bond between them would carry a weight greater than ever before, a weight that was difficult to speak of to outsiders.