Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 68 - 65: The Game Behind the Wine

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The path leading to Villa 9 was meticulously paved with polished black stone, each tile embedded with subtle anti-eavesdropping enchantments that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Severus walked it alone, enveloped in a cloak of charcoal-grey that blended seamlessly with the shadows around him. His wand rested lightly at his wrist, and his eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the surroundings for any signs of disturbance.

The night air in Vienna was cool and enveloping, carrying an almost palpable silence. Above him, the sky was devoid of stars, obscured by an intricate canopy of enchanted illusion, carefully crafted to conceal secrets from prying eyes and to safeguard whispering ambitions that thrummed beneath the surface.

As he approached the villa, its grandeur became evident—a sophisticated expanse adorned with darkwood shutters and luxurious green-veined marble that glimmered under the soft glow of nearby lanterns. Dim lights flickered tantalizingly behind the warded windows, casting fleeting shadows that danced across the stones. When Severus reached the heavy door, it responded to his presence, swinging open without the need for a knock.

Inside, Mateo awaited him, an enigmatic figure whose demeanor held a blend of formality and familiarity. "Mr. Shafiq," he greeted with a slight inclination of his head, stepping aside to allow Severus entry.

Severus stepped inside without a moment's hesitation, his senses immediately enveloped by the rich aroma of cedarwood mingling with the scent of aged parchment. The villa's interior was a masterpiece of calculated elegance; soft candlelight flickered across shelves brimming with leather-bound tomes on potion-making and a collection of rare magical relics that spoke of power wielded with an artist's touch. Every detail, from the intricate carvings on the furniture to the soft rustle of a nearby curtain, whispered of secrets and restraint, embodying a space where ambition and decorum coexisted in perfect harmony.

Inside the main salon, Lorenzo Zabini stood casually beside a glimmering decanter of aged firebrandy, the amber liquid catching the light as it swirled within. Next to him, seated with an air of deliberate poise, was a figure Severus recognized only from Arcturus's meticulously compiled dossiers: Salvatore Zabini.

The heir to the Zabini legacy radiated a chill that seemed to permeate the air around him, starkly contrasting his brother's charismatic aura. His sharp features, with angles that could slice through tension, were framed by dark, tailored clothing—attire chosen not for fashion but designed to impose a sense of quiet intimidation upon those who dared to glance his way. His eyes, polished onyx orbs, traversed the room with an unsettling intensity, landing on Severus with the weight of profound, silent scrutiny.

Flanking the room's perimeter were two imposing figures, each embodying a different form of authority. To Lorenzo's right stood Ricci Senior, an older iteration of Mateo: gaunt, with silver-streaked hair that seemed to highlight the years etched upon his face. His deep-set, darker eyes conveyed a stoicism that required no wand or smile; the only adornment on his hand was a ring emblazoned with the Zabini family seal, a symbol of power that afforded him the gravitas of someone who could end discussions with just a single, weighted word.

To Salvatore's left was Benedetta, her robes impeccably tailored and pristine, hands encased in elegant gloves, with a thin quill cleverly tucked behind her ear. She appeared more like a scribe meticulously recording events than a formidable warrior; however, Severus's keen eye caught the subtle, yet telling, glint of defensive wards artfully layered into the fabric of her robes, not to mention the wand secured within a holster intricately stitched with alchemical sigils, heralding her readiness for any altercation that might arise.

Severus stepped into the room, offering a brief but meaningful bow—not one of subservience or challenge, but rather an acknowledgment of the gravity of their meeting.

"Thank you for coming," Lorenzo said, deftly pouring three glasses of a rich, dark liquid that shimmered subtly in the dim light.

"No names, no papers," Salvatore added, his voice low and serious. "This meeting didn't happen."

"Then we'll speak freely," Severus replied, settling into the offered seat with an air of quiet confidence.

They sipped their drinks, allowing the warmth to spread as they observed one another, the tension palpable as each man tested the silences between them.

Lorenzo started the delicate dance of conversation. "You've made quite the stir," he remarked casually, his gaze steady. "Your ICW dossier was mentioned three times at the recent regional briefing. And not just for your work with the Rejuvenation Elixir."

Severus chose not to respond, his expression revealing nothing.

Salvatore pressed on, leaning slightly forward. "We've had our team analyze the potential of the Vigorem Draught. Its performance metrics speak for themselves, impressively solid. But what captured our attention most—was the method of delivery. Crystalline binding, layered absorption. Efficient and adaptable, indeed."

Severus observed him intently. "You're not interested in the potion," he remarked, his tone flat and steady.

"No," Salvatore replied. "Our focus lies on the mind that created it."

There was a brief silence in the room, charged with unspoken tension. Lorenzo then leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced in a steeple formation that suggested both contemplation and authority.

"You handed Mateo something without providing an explanation," he stated smoothly, his voice steady as he assessed the implications. "It transformed a man we once deemed elite into something far different—something faster, meaner. Brief but unforgettable in its impact."

"Surge Noir," Severus replied with an air of gravity. "It is unregistered, unpublished, and—highly restricted."

"Unstable," Ricci Senior interjected, his voice cutting through the air like a drawn blade, sharp and low. "Addictive, to boot."

"Eventually," Severus conceded, nodding slightly. "After seventy doses, based on the limited prototype data. Perhaps even fewer if misused. However, if applied with care—"

"—It revolutionizes combat strategy entirely," Benedetta interjected, her eyes narrowed in intense calculation. "It offers two hours of peak casting velocity. One spell every three seconds. The average duel time reduced by half."

Silence enveloped the room, thick and heavy. The wine sat in its glass, untouched, as if time had come to a standstill. Salvatore intertwined his fingers, a gesture of contemplation. "You gave us something powerful. Why?" he inquired, his voice steady and probing.

Severus remained unfazed, his gaze unwavering. "To illuminate the question," he replied, each word deliberate and loaded with meaning.

"And what question is that?" Lorenzo interjected, curiosity piqued.

Severus leaned slightly forward, intensity radiating from him. "What could I offer—if I weren't restricted?"

The atmosphere shifted palpably, tension humming in the air. Lorenzo's lips curled into a sly smile, his intrigue deepening. "And what is it you want?" he asked, his tone a mix of skepticism and interest.

Severus leaned forward slightly, his voice low yet imbued with a sharp clarity that commanded attention. "I'm not here to sell a product. I'm here to propose a partnership."

His words prompted a palpable silence in the room, a rare moment when even Benedetta paused her meticulous scribbling with her enchanted quill, her attention fully captured.

"I'm offering you full-scale rights—manufacturing, distribution, lobbying, and expansion. This isn't limited to just Vigorem Draught and the Rejuvenation Elixir; it encompasses future ventures as well. We're looking at a global scale."

Salvatore raised an eyebrow, his expression a mixture of surprise and intrigue. "That's... quite generous of you."

"It's calculated," Severus replied, his tone firm and unwavering. "The market is shifting rapidly. If we don't seize the opportunity first, someone else undoubtedly will."

He opened a folder from his briefcase and slid a piece of parchment forward—devoid of signatures, yet rich in possibility. It was a map of potential, drawn with utmost precision. Zabini International and House Shafiq would each command 49% of this ambitious umbrella venture, while House Prince, which had always maintained a negotiation of trust, would possess the remaining 2%. "This is allocated out of personal loyalty," Severus remarked in a flat tone, "coupled with a commitment to long-term legal oversight."

The expression on Ricci Senior's face darkened—not with disapproval, but rather with a burgeoning interest that sparked in his eyes.

Benedetta leaned forward slightly, her voice low as she observed the document. "A mirrored shareholding model. Designed for equilibrium. Crafted for leverage."

Severus nodded, his eyes glinting with a mixture of ambition and confidence. "And built to endure," he asserted. "You bring infrastructure. I bring invention. Together, we stand to profit. Yet, crucially, no single entity holds dominion over the others."

He allowed a brief pause, letting the implications of the numbers resonate within the room, the weight of the proposal settling in the air like a charged atmosphere.

"In exchange, I expect three things: full access to the expansive Zabini manufacturing scale and its intricate international logistics, political protection against interference from lesser guilds, and strategic lobbying support as we venture into both emerging and elite markets—magical and Muggle alike." He let the weight of his demands settle in the moment, then interlaced his fingers, a gesture of calm control.

"And in return," he continued, his tone measured and deliberate, "you will gain early access to my classified research and experimental prototypes, safeguarded by contractually enforced tiers that ensure protections for both parties involved."

Benedetta tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "And so, Surge Noir is the first in this arrangement?"

"No," Severus replied, his voice a sharp contrast, akin to steel drawn across smooth silk. The atmosphere shifted, the silence thickening with palpable tension. Ricci Senior's fingers tightened around the armrest, betraying his unease.

Lorenzo leaned forward slightly, curiosity piqued. "Then what is?" he inquired, searching Severus's intense gaze for a deeper meaning.

Severus's tone dropped, low and magnetic, drawing Lorenzo in. "You've seen what I can do with power," he replied with a hint of pride.

With a precise motion, he tapped his wand lightly against the briefcase resting on the table. A rune glowed ominously, pulsing with energy. Then, with a practiced flick of his wrist, he reached into the depths of his coat and produced a second capsule box—sleek and elegant, adorned with obsidian trim. This box was not just an ordinary container; it bore the weight of secrecy, sealed three times over with intricate protection glyphs and formidable arcane wards.

He set it down on the table with a sense of quiet finality, the sound echoing softly in the dim room. "I want you to see what I can do with pleasure," he declared, his voice steady and compelling.

Both men's eyes were riveted on the enigmatic box, anticipation thick in the air.

"Velaris Dust" Severus said, his voice taking on an enigmatic quality, revealing the significance of what lay within as he spoke.

"Not a booster. Not a tonic. A narcotic. For magical beings—wizards, vampires, werewolves. Crafted with precision to endure, to seduce. In its diluted form? It proves effective on Muggles as well."

Benedetta straightened, her expression a mix of intrigue and apprehension as she absorbed the implications of the words.

Ricci Senior's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering behind them like a shadow, calculating the potential consequences.

Even Salvatore's posture shifted ever so slightly, a barely noticeable tension tightening his frame, but it was there, unmistakable.

Severus, however, remained impassive. He didn't smile, nor did he offer any explanation. There was no need to clarify what was already understood.

He allowed the silence between them to stretch, letting it build and expand, its weight settling deeply within their minds, like an incantation cast without a counter-hex.

Then, as if the meeting were merely a footnote in the narrative of his day, he rose to his feet. Calm. Collected. Each movement exuded a quiet confidence that filled the room.

"I'll leave you to ponder your terms," he declared, his voice steady and unwavering.

With that, he turned, his cloak sweeping elegantly across the polished marble floor, reminiscent of a curtain falling at the end of a grand performance.

He exited the room, not once casting a glance back over his shoulder.

Behind him, the four Zabinis remained frozen in place, their gazes fixed on the obsidian box resting ominously on the table. They stared at the swirling dust inside, a swirling metaphor for the uncertainty that now loomed over them. Thoughts of a future they had never anticipated ran through their minds, casting a shadow over their carefully devised plans.

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