The aftermath of the public clash spread quietly through Hogwarts like ripples raised by a stone cast into the Black Lake. For the first time in their lives, the trio of Marauders—James Potter in particular—had suffered such a major loss in public, at the hands of the "Snivellus" they despised most and a "bookish Ravenclaw." They would never be able to swallow that humiliation. Yet the brief silence was not a retreat, but a gathering of strength, brewing a more hidden, perhaps more dangerous revenge. When the other students in the castle looked at Lin Yanqing and Snape again, there was less simple curiosity and contempt in their eyes, replaced by scrutiny, wariness, and, in the eyes of some Slytherin students, even a twisted sense of shared pride brought on by Snape's display of toughness and ability.
Snape answered all those looks with even deeper coldness and indifference. It was as though nothing had happened. He still kept to himself, immersing himself in Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and... deeper explorations of the soul contract. The victory in that fight seemed not to have brought him much joy. Instead, it appeared to confirm a theory he had long been working through—the bond really could unleash unimaginable power when facing a shared external threat. That lent his research into the contract a more urgent, almost obsessive quality.
Lin Yanqing could constantly sense the long periods of intense thought coming from Snape's side. Sometimes Snape was working through the connection between an ancient magical rune and the contract's structure; other times, he was trying to use more refined magical control techniques to "filter" or "guide" the emotional currents within the contract's channel. He was like an engineer facing a complex, precise machine—hating its existence while being unable to stop himself from wanting to control every gear and circuit within it.
Yet no matter how Snape built barriers in his mind, some things could not be completely shut out. Such as the tense atmosphere permeating the entire castle as the end-of-term examinations drew nearer. The shadows of OWLs and NEWTs hung over the upper years, and even the younger students felt the pressure. That collective anxiety was like low atmospheric pressure, affecting everyone.
That influence revealed itself in an unexpected way during the final practical examination for Potions class.
Professor Slughorn's assigned test was to brew a complex Vigour Potion on the spot. The steps were cumbersome, and the requirements for timing and heat were exacting. The examination room was thick with tension, broken only by the bubbling of cauldrons and the faint sounds of ingredients being handled.
Snape's movements remained steady and precise, like a finely tuned instrument. But through the contract, Lin Yanqing could vaguely sense that Snape was not entirely calm. An extremely faint irritation, born of the collective pressure outside and the countless eyes watching him—one Snape himself might not even have noticed—stirred quietly like an undercurrent beneath the water.
Just as he reached the critical moment when he had to precisely add three different ingredients at once, a Hufflepuff student beside him trembled from nerves and knocked over a crystal measuring cup. The sharp sound of it shattering was especially piercing in the silent classroom!
The sudden noise was like a fuse, instantly setting off that faint irritation in Snape's heart! Lin Yanqing clearly felt the slightest hitch in Snape's magic, a momentary disruption in its rhythm!
At that crucial moment, Lin Yanqing almost instinctively sent the state he entered during deep meditation—"absolute focus," "untouched by outside things"—through the contractual bond like the purest ice water!
There were no words, no movements, not even a clear intention. It was simply the sharing of a pure state.
The fluctuations in Snape's magic suddenly tightened, and that irritation stirred up by the accident was instantly smoothed away as if by an invisible hand. His eyes abruptly became incomparably sharp and clear. His hands did not pause in the slightest; he even completed the crucial addition and stirring faster and more steadily than planned, his timing exquisitely precise.
Inside his cauldron, the potion gave off a flawless golden sheen and a rich fragrance.
Professor Slughorn strolled over, and after examining it closely, an almost enraptured admiration appeared on his face. "Perfect! Flawless! Severus, my boy, you were simply born for potions! Twenty points to Slytherin!"
Snape gave a slight nod, his face entirely expressionless. But Lin Yanqing could feel that, beneath that cold rationality at the other end of the contract, a trace of something extremely faint flashed by, something like... relief. He had realized the danger of that moment, and he had also realized the timely "assistance" of that outside mental state.
This time, he was neither angry nor resistant. There was only a cold confirmation based on the result.
After the examination, Snape was the first to leave the classroom. But as he passed Lin Yanqing's workstation, a small, irregularly shaped object, warm from being clenched in his hand, quietly slipped from his sleeve and fell at Lin Yanqing's feet.
It was a small crystal of Dragon Claw Powder. It was a rather rare catalyst commonly used in advanced magical stabilizers and protective potions, and it was quite valuable.
Lin Yanqing bent down and picked it up. The crystal was faintly warm to the touch, still carrying the warmth of Snape's fingertips and a trace of the dungeon's chill. This was no longer a return gift based on a "transaction," nor was it a token left after battle. It was more like... payment of equal value for a particular "service." He regarded Lin Yanqing's momentary mental support as a valuable, precise "service," and paid for it with materials of equivalent worth that he could provide.
He was using the only method he understood and felt safe with—an equal exchange—to handle this increasingly frequent and profound "mutual assistance."
Lin Yanqing silently put away the Dragon Claw Powder crystal. He knew that Snape was, in his own way, struggling to build a set of cold "operating rules" for this increasingly deep connection.
Yet the establishment of rules often came with the shattering of old ice.
A few days before the end of term, the OWLs finally came to an end. The upper-year students, who had been repressed for so long, were like beasts released from cages, beginning to vent their pent-up energy throughout the castle. Naturally, that included the Marauders, who were still full of anger.
On a lively evening, the Great Hall was abuzz with voices. Lin Yanqing was discussing his final paper with several Ravenclaw classmates when he suddenly felt a powerful, deliberately suppressed anger and a trace of... barely perceptible embarrassment through the contract from Snape's side.
He looked up toward the Slytherin table. Snape was sitting alone in his usual place, and on the tabletop before him, someone had apparently used Transfiguration to create a line of glaring pink words that flashed continuously:
"Snape & Lin—Secret Best Friends Forever!"
Beside it were two crooked stick figures holding hands.
The childish yet deeply insulting prank drew low snickers from quite a few nearby Slytherin students and other students from the occasional glance in other Houses. Those laughs pricked Snape's back like needles. He stared fixedly at the words, his face livid, the knuckles of the hand gripping his cutlery turning white as he fought the urge to flip the entire table over.
Through the contract, Lin Yanqing could feel the surging humiliation and fury that were almost becoming tangible, mixed with a violent agitation born of feeling especially insulted by such a lowly trick.
Just as Snape's patience was about to reach its limit, as though he might explode the next second, Lin Yanqing set down his quill.
He did not walk toward the Slytherin table, nor did he look at the words. He merely raised his wand toward an unnoticed spot near the ceiling above the Ravenclaw table and softly recited a spell—not an attack, nor a defense, but a simple light-and-shadow charm that required considerable magical control.
A soft, steady silver-blue glow shot from his wand tip. It slowly gathered and shifted above the Ravenclaw table, eventually forming the illusion of a complex, elegant Ravenclaw eagle crest that revolved slowly without end. The crest gave off a calm, wise radiance that drew the attention of many people in the Great Hall.
The gesture seemed unrelated to Snape, merely a Ravenclaw student displaying magic. Yet at that delicate moment, the appearance of that House emblem representing wisdom, calm, and independence was like a silent declaration. It drew everyone's attention away from that crude, childish prank and toward a higher level—the beauty and power of magic itself.
The snickering gradually died away. Many people, including several professors, looked up to admire the exquisite magical creation.
The tension around Snape loosened by an almost imperceptible degree the moment Lin Yanqing cast the spell and the crest appeared. He still did not look toward the Ravenclaw table or at Lin Yanqing. But the hand clenching his cutlery relaxed slightly. He stared at the glaring pink words still flashing before him, and the rage in his eyes slowly faded, replaced by an utter, icy contempt.
He suddenly felt that getting angry over such a thing was an insult to his own intelligence.
He picked up a napkin and, expressionless, forcefully wiped away the words as though cleaning up some nauseating filth. Then he continued eating in silence, as though nothing had happened.
Yet through the contract, Lin Yanqing could feel that beneath that cold deep pool, something hard that had always been there seemed to have quietly cracked a little, melting by the slightest degree.
It was a... complicated feeling of having the source of his anger understood, and then being given the strongest support in a way that did not touch his dignity.
For Severus Snape, perhaps this was a more irresistible kind of subtle nourishment than any direct help.
The term slowly drew to a close amid this increasingly deep, complicated bond woven from coldness and understanding.
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