Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 37 - 35: Breaking and Rebuilding

A few weeks had passed since the Cirque du Combat workshop, but the murmurs about Severus had not diminished. His name had evolved from mere curiosity to something that commanded respect. Duelists were taking notice—some with intrigue, others with bitterness. Some issued subtle challenges—more aggressive spellwork during practice matches, sharper remarks exchanged in passing. It wasn't outright animosity. Not yet. But he could sense it. A change was in the air. Previously, he had been the British exchange student—background noise, just another face in the crowd. Now? Now he was a contender.

The letter arrived just before dinner, slipping through the crack of the door with the crispness of freshly delivered parchment. It was neatly folded, the Ilvermorny dueling crest embossed in vibrant hues that caught the fading light. Severus flicked it open with mild curiosity, his heartbeat quickening slightly as he recognized the familiar, authoritative writing.

Severus Shafiq,

R𝑒ad latest chapt𝒆rs at freewebnovёl.ƈom Only.

Report to my office at 7 PM.

— Professor Harland

He exhaled, rolling the parchment between his fingers, feeling the weight of its implications. Professor Harland was a man of few words, and in his experience, those words carried significant weight.

Ben, who had been casually reading over his shoulder, smirked with a hint of mischief. "Took him long enough."

Severus raised an eyebrow, glancing at his friend with a mix of surprise and intrigue. "You knew this was coming?"

Jonas shrugged nonchalantly, his posture relaxed in contrast to the stirring tension in Severus's chest. "We figured."

Evie leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Harland doesn't recruit just anyone, Shafiq. It's a big deal!"

Severus frowned slightly, the term 'recruit' echoing in his mind, raising a series of questions that buzzed just out of reach.

Before he could voice his confusion, Jonas shifted in his seat, eyes glimmering with enthusiasm. "He's been training us for the International U-17 Dueling Tournament."

Severus stilled, processing the unexpected revelation. The notion of competing at such a high level sent a jolt of adrenaline through him, mingling excitement with the anxiety of anticipation. That was not what he had expected at all.

Harland's office was dimly lit, enveloped by the rich scent of parchment, leather, and traces of wood softly tinged with smoke. The atmosphere buzzed with an air of expectancy, as if the walls themselves were privy to secrets long held.

Seated behind an imposing desk, the dueling instructor maintained a relaxed posture tempered by a gaze that was as sharp as a blade. His keen eyes seemed to miss nothing, a predator observing its prey.

Before him stood Severus, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, waiting with bated breath for the confrontation to unfold. The silence stretched thin between them, filled only by the quiet rustle of paper and the distant ticking of a clock, marking each passing second.

For a moment, Harland simply regarded him, his expression inscrutable.

Then, breaking the stillness, he spoke. "You've been making waves, Shafiq."

Severus remained steady, his expression impassive. "So I've heard."

A slight curl appeared at the corners of Harland's lips, the hint of amusement in his tone. "How much of it do you think you deserve?"

Severus held Harland's gaze unwaveringly. "All of it."

Silence settled in again, thick and charged with tension.

Harland finally let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating off the walls. "Good answer."

He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he studied Severus, dissecting him like a challenging puzzle. There was a shrewdness in his demeanor that suggested he had seen many like Severus before but found the young man's potential enticing.

"You have skill," Harland admitted, his voice a blend of admiration and critique. "Instinct. But you're not refined. You've trained yourself into patterns that are... inefficient."

Severus felt a pulse of irritation at the assessment, his jaw tensing slightly under the scrutiny.

Harland's words flowed on. "You've got the potential to be great, but you're still fighting with a British mindset. That won't cut it at the international level."

Severus frowned, confused and defensive. "What are you suggesting?"

With a deliberate motion, Harland folded his hands, creating a barrier that subtly commanded attention. "I want to see if you belong in my group."

The air shifted, carrying with it a palpable tension that seemed to pull the very fabric of reality closer together. Harland, with his piercing gaze, extended an invitation that felt as if it were laced with both promise and peril. He was offering Severus a seat at the table, a chance to be part of something larger than himself. Yet, as with all things valuable, there was a catch.

"There's only one way in," Harland stated, his tone flat yet imbued with an undeniable gravity. "You duel me."

Severus stiffened at the pronouncement, his muscles taut as he processed the implications of Harland's words. This was not merely a challenge issued in the heat of bravado; it was a test designed to probe the depths of his character and resolve. Each word hung in the air, heavy with expectation, and Severus felt the familiar stirrings of determination within him.

He had faced many trials before, each one refining his will and fortitude. This moment was no different. With a steely resolve etched across his face, Severus understood one thing: he would never back down from a test.

The training hall was silent as Severus stepped onto the dueling platform, the air thick with unspoken tension. The polished wooden floor gleamed under the overhead lights, its surface reflecting the determination etched on Severus' face. Across from him, Professor Harland stood with the easy confidence of a seasoned warrior who had faced countless adversaries. He was relaxed, his wand hanging loosely at his side, giving no indication of the skills he possessed. But Severus, keenly aware of the unyielding strength before him, was not deceived.

This wasn't arrogance on Harland's part; it was deep-rooted certainty. Severus could sense that the professor had fought this fight before, with experiences nestled in his very being. While Harland seemed unfazed, Severus felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He knew he needed to prepare; he had to summon all of his focus and skill.

The room was empty save for a few familiar faces—Ben, Jonas, Evie, and Selene—standing at the edge of the platform, their eyes fixed intently on the duel about to unfold. Their support, though silent, wrapped around him like a comforting shroud. Damian Connors had also joined the group, his arms crossed and his sharp gaze filled with unmistakable interest. The intensity of their scrutiny was palpable, mingling with the silence and amplifying the anticipation in the room.

Severus rolled his shoulders, shaking off any lingering doubt. He had dueled countless times before in the heat of competition and under the light of scrutiny, but never like this. This was more than just a test of skill; it was a moment of reckoning, and he was wholly aware that he had to rise to meet it.

Harland launched into action without the slightest delay, embodying the very essence of readiness. There was no moment of hesitation, no warning to telegraph his intentions. The instant the duel commenced, he propelled himself into an offensive flurry that was as sudden as it was aggressive. His speed was staggering, a blur of motion that left little room for response.

Severus, caught off guard by the onslaught, had scarcely begun to move when Harland's assault was already underway. A swift, non-verbal Expelliarmus was his opening salvo, targeting Severus's wand arm with lethal accuracy. This was quickly followed by a stunning hex, unleashed before Severus could mount a proper defense against the initial attack.

With a swift sidestep born of instinct and years of training, Severus narrowly evaded the brunt of the first spell. He managed to deflect the disarming jinx with a deft flick of his wand, but the respite was brief. Harland's relentless onslaught continued unabated, each spell flowing seamlessly into the next, a testament to his formidable skill.

Severus uttered an incantation, his voice sharp and clear, "Protego!" A protective shield materialized before him, but it was only partially effective. Harland's magical prowess pierced through the defense as though it were mere illusion, the force of his spell shattering Severus's shield in an instant.

The impact sent Severus reeling, his back foot sliding across the ground as he fought to maintain his balance. His mind whirred, thoughts racing as he sought to anticipate Harland's next move, but there was no discernible pattern to predict. Harland was not just his senior in years and experience; he was a force of nature, his every movement a display of superior strength, precision, and fluidity.

Each curse and hex from Harland's wand was a stroke of deadly artistry, a relentless cascade that allowed Severus no opportunity to counter. It was all he could do to keep from being overwhelmed, his every action one of survival as he contended with the ferocious skill of his opponent.

Severus's heart pounded in his chest, a staccato rhythm that matched the desperate pace of his thoughts. He had never felt this exposed, this vulnerable in a duel. Every move he made seemed to lag, as if he were mired in some invisible quagmire.

His counters were not just slow; they were sluggish, as though the air itself resisted his intentions. His footwork, once a source of pride, now felt leaden and all too predictable, a pattern easily read and just as easily countered. His casting, once crisp and precise, had become rigid, each incantation a formulaic recitation devoid of the fluidity that spells required to truly sing.

And Harland? Harland was a tempest of controlled chaos, a stark contrast to Severus's meticulous attempts at strategy. Harland wasn't even trying yet, or so it seemed. His movements were fluid where Severus's were stilted, his magic a natural extension of his will.

"You fight like a student," Harland observed, his voice calm and almost clinical as he sidestepped another of Severus's cursed chains with an ease that bordered on contempt. The next shield Severus conjured shattered under an effortless swipe of Harland's wand, the fragments of light scattering like leaves in a gale.

Severus set his jaw, frustration seething within him. "I am a student," he retorted, his voice a low growl.

Harland's smirk was a slash of condescension. "Then stop fighting like one."

Before Severus could decipher the true meaning behind Harland's taunt, the older duelist was upon him—a blur of motion that ended with Severus's legs being swept from under him. He crashed onto the dueling floor, the impact jarring his senses. He rolled instinctively, narrowly avoiding a sizzling spell that charred the ground where he had lain a heartbeat before.

But Harland's onslaught was relentless. A hex, alien and unfamiliar, detonated beside Severus, the concussive force knocking him askew and disrupting his equilibrium. Severus Snape's robes were in disarray, the fabric shredded from the intensity of the duel. A powerful spell had forced him to his knee, the impact knocking the wind out of him. His chest heaved as he struggled to draw in air, each breath a harsh rasp in the eerily silent room.

Severus had not merely lost; he had been resoundingly defeated. The battle had been fierce and unyielding, a testament to the skill and power of his adversary. The potent magic that had flooded the room left no doubt in his mind that he had been outmatched from the start.

As he knelt there, the bitter taste of defeat filled his mouth—a taste more vile than any potion he had ever concocted. His pride, always his greatest weakness, lay in tatters beside his torn robes. The realization of his failure weighed heavily upon him.

Harland stood motionless, the tip of his wand dipping toward the ground as he relaxed his stance. His breathing was steady, a stark contrast to the ragged gasps of his opponent. Severus Shafiq, sprawled on the ground, struggled to rise, his chest heaving with the exertion of their duel. The pride that Severus had carried into the fight was now a smoldering ember, overshadowed by the stark realization of his defeat.

Severus's mind churned with questions. How had Harland outmaneuvered him at every turn? What had he overlooked? Harland's voice, calm and measured, cut through his turbulent thoughts.

"You fight like someone who has never faced true combat," Harland observed, his eyes assessing Severus with an unsettling clarity.

A surge of frustration gripped Severus, his fingers convulsing around the shaft of his wand. Yet, he knew the anger was misplaced—it was not Harland he was furious with, but himself.

Harland's critique continued, each word a precise cut. "You possess skill, power, and undeniable potential. But the essence of combat eludes you. You're a practitioner of theory, not a master of the art."

Severus's jaw tightened, the sting of Harland's words compounding the bitter taste of failure. It wasn't the technique that was lacking; it was his entire approach to the duel.

"You wait too long, anticipating the perfect moment that never comes," Harland pointed out, his tone growing more instructive. "You must learn to seize the initiative, to shape the flow of battle rather than merely react to it."

Severus released a sharp breath, his heart pounding in his ears. Harland's insights struck deep, resonating with the silent doubts Severus had harbored about his own abilities.

"And your counters," Harland added, his gaze never wavering, "you expend too much energy, trying to overpower rather than outthink. You need to be smarter, more economical with your strength."

Harland's critique hung in the air, a stern reminder of Severus's shortcomings. "You rely too much on structure," he chided, his voice echoing in the spacious training hall. "You hesitate between attacks, waiting for an opening instead of creating one. And you overcommit to counters instead of taking control of the battle."

Severus felt the sting of those words, his chest tightening as his pulse thrummed in his ears. He drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. It was true, he often found himself caught in a cycle of reaction, always one step behind.

"You have talent, Shafiq." Harland's tone softened slightly, though his gaze remained piercing as he scrutinized Severus. "But talent alone is useless if you can't adapt to the ever-changing tides of combat."

The weight of the moment pressed down on Severus. He knew Harland was right; he had seen others with less raw ability surpass him through sheer adaptability. Determination welled up within him, and he lifted his eyes to meet Harland's. "So teach me," he said, his voice firm and resolute.

A glimmer of approval sparked in Harland's eyes, and a small smirk played on his lips. "Good answer," he replied, the faintest hint of a nod signaling the beginning of a new Chapter in Severus's training.

Severus had not emerged victorious, but the outcome of the contest was inconsequential to his current circumstances.

The decision had been made, and it was one that would irrevocably alter the trajectory of his life. Harland's voice, firm and resolute, cut through the tense silence. "You'll be training with me," he declared. "Alongside Jonas, Ben, Evie, and Damian."

Severus's eyes darted reflexively to the periphery, where the quartet of his soon-to-be comrades observed the unfolding scene with varying degrees of curiosity and anticipation. Damian, in particular, fixed him with a knowing smirk, the kind that spoke of shared secrets and camaraderie forged in the crucible of impending trials.

"Welcome to the real fight, Shafiq," Damian intoned, a subtle nod acknowledging Severus's unspoken trepidation and excitement.

Yet, the announcements were not yet complete. Harland cleared his throat, and the room fell into a hushed expectancy.

"Selene will be joining as well."

A jolt shot through Severus, tension coiling in his muscles as he processed the implications of Harland's words. Slowly, with a deliberation that belied his inner turmoil, Severus turned his head to confront the latest addition to their ranks.

Selene Everett, her golden eyes alight with an infuriatingly impish glee, regarded him with an expression that was all too smug. "Looks like we'll be seeing a lot more of each other," she remarked, her voice a silken thread weaving through the charged atmosphere.

Severus released a measured breath through his nose, an attempt to maintain an outward veneer of calm. The weight of the challenges ahead pressed upon him, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to utter a silent plea for guidance.

Merlin, grant him the strength and wisdom to navigate this new beginning and emerge not just unscathed, but triumphant.

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