Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 63 - 60: Into the Lion’s Den

The lab was enveloped in eerie stillness, the only sound echoing through the space was the low thrumming of enchanted containment runes humming along the walls—like the heartbeat of some ancient, mystical entity, pulsating with power and life. Severus Shafiq stood at the very center of this charged atmosphere, his gaze drifting over the meticulously arranged rows of labeled samples, sealed scrolls, and carefully warded cases that surrounded him.

This moment represented the culmination of months spent in a self-imposed cocoon of solitude—months steeped in obsession, fervent research, and the heavy silence of focus. Four projects lay before him. Four weapons, each a manifestation of his tireless dedication. Three stood firmly rooted in undeniable truths, while the last concealed an enigmatic secret.

His first movement was toward the polished case, stamped with the insignia of the International Confederation of Wizards, which housed his Rejuvenation Elixir—his inaugural triumph. The case gleamed under the soft light of the lab; its elegance lay in its unpretentious simplicity, yet within its confines resided a potent blend of medical and aesthetic innovations. The elixir promised not only rejuvenation in a medical sense but also enhanced beauty, a duality now approved, legal, and poised for market entry.

Then, to the second. Vigorem Draught.

The silver-toned tonic shimmered faintly within its crystal phial, catching the light in a way that made it appear almost ethereal. It was his most precise creation to date—meticulously balanced, rigorously clinically tested, and officially certified just a week ago by the International Confederation of Wizards.

One hour of heightened magical stamina. A controlled two-hour crash—characterized by fatigue, manageable magical drain, and mild neurological dulling. Tailored specifically for Aurors, Hit-Wizards, and other combat-focused professionals. This was the kind of potion that would certainly make headlines. He adjusted the phial slightly, taking a moment to inspect the seals with a discerning eye. This creation was poised to be his second public legacy.

But not everything he created was intended for the public eye.Severus turned his gaze to the reinforced steel case nestled beneath a complex web of concealment charms, each layer whispering of secrets long kept hidden. Inside lay Surge Noir.

The black tablet gleamed ominously, its surface hinting at the potent magic it contained. More potent. More dangerous. More valuable.

While Vigorem Draught provided a semblance of control, Surge Noir beckoned with the allure of raw, unfettered power. It promised an electrifying two full hours of accelerated magical casting speed, an explosive surge in output, and an acute sharpening of the senses. However, the enticing effects came with a dark price: a harrowing five-hour crash that could plunge its user into profound magical exhaustion, suppress their aura, and—if consumed excessively—induce terrifying hallucinatory side effects.

Addiction did not strike swiftly; it was a cunning hunter that crept in slowly and insidiously. According to his latest tests involving magically sustained golems, signs of addiction emerged after as few as seventy doses—a threshold that, while still manageable for short-term military missions or black-market transactions, teetered precariously close to the brink of irreversible dependency.

That's why Severus had never intended to sell it openly. This was no ordinary potion to grace the shelves of any apothecary. Rather, it served as a bargaining chip, a strategic tool in the intricate game of negotiation with those who navigated the treacherous world of shadows. These individuals, driven by ambition and desire for power, cared little for the consequences or side effects of the substances they sought. All that mattered to them was the promise of strength and advantage, no matter the cost. Yet, even the potent Surge Noir paled in comparison to the true horrors lurking beneath the surface, waiting to emerge.

With a deft flick of his wand, Severus deftly deactivated a series of intricate blood-locked runes cleverly concealed within the stone floor. As the last rune flickered out, the heavy vault door swung open with a low creak, revealing the secrets it had guarded for so long.

Inside, suspended within a shimmering levitating stasis dome, glimmered a vial filled with iridescent violet-gold powder. This was no ordinary substance. It was Velaris Dust. Inspired by the stars. Elegant. Dangerous. Addictive. The magical version of cocaine.

Not a simple enhancer. Not a mere tonic. No, this was a narcotic—a groundbreaking creation crafted specifically for magical beings. Wizards, werewolves, vampires, and even veela; all creatures whose very unique anatomies metabolized mundane muggle drugs in mere moments, finding them entirely ineffective.

Velaris Dust was not about enhancing strength or prowess; it was about achieving an unparalleled state of euphoria. A single dose promised an intoxicating magical ecstasy that could last anywhere from one hour to two. The subsequent crash? Subtle enough, tolerable—provided it was used with discretion. But the long-term effects? Those remained shrouded in uncertainty. They were dangerously unknown, potentially catastrophic in their implications.

What was even more astonishing, however, was that when diluted appropriately, Velaris Dust exhibited effects on non-magical test subjects as well. Muggles could indeed handle it, albeit only in low doses.

This revelation meant that, with the right hands orchestrating its distribution, Velaris Dust could seamlessly bridge the gap between both worlds—a cross-market drug devoid of any magical detection signature, lacking an existing counter-agent, and in a glaring absence of regulation.

But Severus was far from naive. He fully understood the ramifications and complexities involved. He was determined not to unleash it upon the world without carefully considered limits and safeguards in place.

That's why Severus had no intention of showcasing either Surge Noir or Velaris Dust at the prestigious Vienna Summit. His objectives were distinctly defined: to secure the rights for the manufacturing and distribution of the Rejuvenation Elixir and Vigorem Draught—two esteemed potions, fully approved by the International Confederation of Wizards, with staggering commercial prospects.

He hoped that the Zabini family would prove to be reasonable negotiators—if the terms offered were genuinely mutually advantageous, then his darker creations would remain safely concealed, locked away from prying eyes.

However, if they sought to tip the scales excessively in their own favor, misjudging him as just another overly ambitious child ripe for manipulation, then he would be forced to demonstrate what it truly meant to partner with Severus Shafiq.

He would unveil his most formidable strategies, his trump cards, revealing the true cost of underestimating him and ignoring the seriousness of their negotiations.

Both Surge Noir and Velaris Dust would be offered, but only under stringent and clearly defined conditions: He would maintain exclusive proprietary control over their development and retain access to the formulas. The distribution of these drugs would be postponed until comprehensive testing had been conducted—specifically on human magical criminals, and only under regulated and closely supervised conditions. He needed to investigate how different types of magical biology interacted with the prolonged exposure to these substances. Wizards, werewolves, and vampires—all would be meticulously studied. Velaris Dust, in particular, required careful mapping and analysis. It was a recent innovation, untested and highly unpredictable. A magical narcotic capable of affecting both magical and non-magical bodies? That transcended the realm of mere potions; it represented a potential paradigm shift in magical pharmacology.

However, with such promise came the risk of it transforming into a dire curse. Severus was resolute—he would not allow himself to be caught off guard by unforeseen consequences.

If the Zabinis wished to be involved—they needed to grasp that this was far more than a mere business transaction. It marked the inception of something grander than they could imagine. They weren't merely purchasing a potion; they were investing in a destiny.

Severus intended to wield full control over that future. With a deliberate motion, he sealed the vault once more, casting a potent final protective hex that shimmered brilliantly for a fleeting moment before fading into the stone floor. The cool, reassuring hum of layered wards enveloped him, creating a sense of security in the subterranean silence.

Vienna was calling—its allure impossible to ignore. And Severus Shafiq would not step into that pivotal summit empty-handed, not when his kingdom awaited construction, just beyond the horizon of possibility.

Professor Langford met him at the Ilvermorny portkey gates. She was dressed in formal travel robes, the crest of Ilvermorny subtly stitched into the sleeve, adding an air of authority to her appearance. As she approached, she gave Severus a brief nod, her eyes scanning him appraisingly.

"You're not bringing a suitcase?" she asked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Severus tapped the reinforced briefcase that was securely strapped across his chest, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Everything I need is inside this," he replied confidently.

Langford gave him a once-over, her gaze lingering on his attire before she remarked, "You look more like a diplomat than a student."

"That's the point," he replied, a hint of determination in his voice.

With that, they activated the portkey. The world around them twisted and shimmered for a brief moment, the air crackling with magic, and then, with a sudden jolt, they dropped into the unknown.

The moment they stepped into the grand Vienna Summit staging hall, Severus felt an undeniable shift in the atmosphere. This was not Ilvermorny, with its familiar, rustic charm. This was not Hogwarts, where the echo of laughter and the warmth of camaraderie enveloped him. No, this was the world stage, a realm far beyond his previous experiences.

The lofty marble arches loomed overhead, glowing with a radiant spell-light that danced across their surfaces. Delegates moved gracefully like celestial bodies in orbit—draped in robes of shimmering silver-threaded silk, their voices created a symphony of whispers in a dozen different languages, each nameplate they bore carrying an air of authority that spanned continents and cultures.

Severus stood his ground, unwavering as he absorbed the scene before him. He stood tall and composed, an enigmatic presence that was impossible to decipher.

And then—his gaze fixed on the figure before him. At the edge of the summit wing, leaning casually against a pillar, was Lord Arcturus Prince, a striking figure with a silver-headed cane resting lightly in one hand.

"Uncle," Severus greeted, his voice steady yet warm.

"Severus," Arcturus replied, acknowledging him with a polite nod that also indicated respect toward Langford, who stood nearby. "Good of you to arrive early."

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With a brief smile, Langford excused himself to handle the delegate registration, recognizing the weight of the conversation about to unfold.

Now alone, Arcturus lowered his voice, creating an atmosphere of secrecy.

"You brought everything?" he asked, eyes locking on Severus with an intensity that demanded honesty.

"Everything," Severus confirmed, the gravity of the moment settling around them.

"Then let's review," Arcturus replied, signaling the importance of their mission.

The suite Arcturus had secured for them was fortified with layered silencing charms, discreetly integrated defensive wards, and an intricately detailed private map of the summit layout. It was clear that meticulous thought had gone into their protection and navigation.

"Lord Lorenzo Zabini will be attending on behalf of the family," Arcturus announced, expertly unfurling a file that contained critical details. "You'll find yourselves seated three rows across during the Potioneering Trade Sessions. I highly recommend that you make your presence known during the Gala; it's an excellent opportunity to establish connections."

Severus nodded in acknowledgment, his fingers deftly flipping through the documents, absorbing the information.

"The offer stands: the Zabinis will receive exclusive European distribution rights for the Vigorem Draught, provided they can furnish the necessary production scale, source raw ingredients, and offer licensing assistance," Arcturus laid out, his tone measured and professional.

"And what about Velaris Dust?" Arcturus inquired, the caution in his voice evident as he gauged Severus's response.

"Only if they agree to the testing protocols," Severus asserted firmly. "I won't release it blindly, especially on innocent lives. Testing must be conducted on convicted magical criminals."

Arcturus tapped his cane firmly against the polished marble floor once, the sound echoing softly in the expansive hall.

"Good. If you wish to engage in business with wolves, make sure you're not the one offering your blood first," he cautioned, his gaze intense.

Severus smirked, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "And what if I want them to savor it just enough to ignite their hunger?"

Arcturus's expression shifted to one of pride, a knowing smile creeping across his face. "Then you'd better ensure they understand precisely who holds the leash."

They both recognized the underlying truth of their situation—this summit was far deeper than mere potions and the intricacies of politics. It was a dance of power woven into every breath they took, a palpable tension hanging in the air. And now, Severus found himself breathing in the same atmosphere as the giants, ready to play his part in this intricate game.

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