Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 62 - 59: Shadows in Transit

The mirror flickered to life with a soft pulse of blue light, casting a faint glow across the room. Arcturus Prince appeared within the frame, his features revealing little, though a glimmer of approval danced in his piercing gaze.

"You're cutting it close," Arcturus said bluntly, his voice steady and unyielding. "The Summit is just days away, and every moment counts."

Seated in his private study, surrounded by the rich scent of old books and parchment, Severus tapped a thick folder marked with bold letters: Zabini Proposal – Confidential. "Closer than I'd like, but the numbers are finalized. So is the language," he replied, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"You've drafted a devil's bargain," Arcturus remarked, his tone tight with a mix of admiration and concern. "Now let's ensure you don't end up paying for it."

They spent the next hour meticulously refining the details of their agreement.

Offer: The exclusive distribution rights for the Vigorem Draught—available only in its legal form—for a substantial term of ten years across both European and American markets. The Zabini family would fully provide the investment and create the necessary production infrastructure to support this venture.

Clauses: The agreement stipulates strict regional exclusivity to protect their interests. A pricing model approved by the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW) ensures compliance and market stability. Additionally, distribution will be overseen by an independent auditor, a suggestion made by Severus to mitigate potential concerns regarding transparency and accountability.

Subtext: There lies a subtle implication of Severus's "ongoing research," an enigmatic endeavor that remains ambiguous but hints at future offerings aimed at a more exclusive clientele, possibly enhancing their portfolio even further.

Arcturus flicked his wand, making a subtle adjustment to a clause. "We want to offer them a taste of what's possible, not a leash to bind them. The Zabinis are unresponsive to restrictions—unless, of course, they're the ones building the cages, reveling in their own control."

Severus nodded in agreement, understanding the delicate nature of their negotiations. "They'll inevitably try to leverage for more than what we're willing to offer."

"They always do," Arcturus replied, his tone laced with experience. He then reached for a separate sheet of parchment from a stack by his side, the crisp sound breaking the momentary silence. "This is your target," he said, passing the intel dossier to Severus.

Lorenzo Zabini, the younger brother of Lord Zabini, was the subject of their discussion. Although he held no official political title, he cleverly managed four of their international front companies, navigating the complexities of the market with ease. Charismatic and deeply ruthless, he had built a reputation for skillfully amassing leverage, much like avid collectors would seek out rare, prized books for their shelves.

"Smile when you speak to him," Arcturus advised, his tone measured and steady. "But don't smile too broadly; he might interpret it as deceit."

Severus took in the words, mentally cataloging every nuance—habits, affiliations, and hidden fears that could be exploited.

Then he gathered his courage and asked the question that gnawed at him: "Do you think they suspect anything?"

Arcturus answered without a moment's pause, his voice low and resolute. "They don't need proof—just the slightest suggestion of potential."

Leaning in closer, the mirror flickered faintly, casting a ghostly light across their faces.

"They'll put you to the test," Arcturus continued, his gaze sharp. "They'll dangle bait before you and offer gold-inked chains to entice you. Stay resolute and do not waver."

Severus couldn't help but smirk, a glimmer of confidence in his eyes. "They're not the only predators in Vienna, you know."

Arcturus grunted in approval, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in satisfaction. "Good. That means you're prepared."

The homunculus lay motionless in the enchanted isolation ward, its humanoid form faintly pulsing with a semblance of artificial life. Constructed from a blend of stone, sinew, and intricate blood-imbued runes, it wasn't truly alive in the organic sense—but it radiated a potent magic. Sustained by a carefully calibrated core and an intricate network of simple sentient enchantments, it represented the closest Severus could come to a human test subject without stepping over ethical lines he wasn't yet prepared to blur.

He had meticulously prepared the dose, ensuring every component was precisely measured.

No aura boosters to amplify its effects. No spell enhancers to alter its potency. Just the pure essence of what he had painstakingly crafted—the first magical narcotic conceived not to empower the user, but to introduce them to a state of intoxicating euphoria.

The moment the diluted vapor form of the drug infiltrated the homunculus's pseudo-respiratory system, a remarkable transformation took place. Its aura did not surge or expand but instead, almost imperceptibly, softened. The magical presence that typically manifested as mechanical and reactive began to smooth out, evolving into a sensation reminiscent of flowing liquid.

For the first time, the homunculus experienced a sense of relaxation; its shoulders slumped in a release of tension, the intricate pulse glyphs adorning its frame slowed their frantic cadence, and its normally vigilant eyes, usually sharp and alert, fell into a dreamy half-lid, as if embracing a profound internal bliss that it had never known before.

Severus activated the Soul Forge, its intricate mechanisms whirring to life as the ancient magic enveloped the chamber. The readings that emerged were extraordinary, far beyond what he had anticipated.

The magical flow seemed to decelerate, but it did so in an even, rhythmic manner, creating a harmony that vibrated through the air. Emotional markers, which were typically flat and lifeless in constructs, exhibited a gentle spike—an indication of simulated euphoria that was both surprising and intriguing.

Importantly, there was no spike in aggression, no unwanted power enhancements, and most reassuringly, no signs of instability in the system. It was clear: this was not a performance booster. Rather, it was something entirely different—a pleasure drug, promising an indulgent escape from the bleakness of reality.

Designed for wizards, werewolves, and vampires—any magical being whose metabolism incinerated Muggle narcotics like sugar in dragonfire. They burned through highs five times faster than muggles, leaving their bodies in a desperate search for stimulation, rejecting anything that numbed their senses. It was a relentless quest, and little in the muggle world ever satisfied their cravings.

But this?

This lingered like a whisper in the dark. A euphoric pulse threaded its way through the magical circuits of the homunculus, enveloping him with an intoxicating embrace, as soothing as a lullaby sung by the stars themselves.

Severus leaned in closer to the Soul Forge screen, a blend of excitement and trepidation coursing through him. His heart was quiet, steady, but his mind was razor-sharp, dissecting every detail in front of him.

"This... works."

It was no longer just a theory swirling in the chambers of his imagination. It was tangible, a real magical high, something unprecedented in the annals of potion-making and spellcraft—a groundbreaking discovery, the first of its kind.

He stepped back, meticulously recording the dosage breakdown, noting the intricate patterns of the aura that shimmered like a mirage around the subjects, and tracking the duration—fifteen minutes had passed before the inevitable decline set in. He observed mild shaking, the aura contracting slightly, but nothing life-threatening.

Yet, lurking beneath the surface, a troubling question began to gnaw at him.

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Would this remain so pristine and controlled?

He couldn't shake the memories of the rats in his lab, their small bodies trembling with anticipation. The monkeys were even more striking; their once lively antics devolved into frantic craving. It wasn't merely the strength the drug offered that captivated them; it was the soothing embrace of peace that drew them in like moths to a flame. He imagined the wizards, those powerful beings steeped in ancient knowledge, would likely succumb to a similar fate. Their motivations wouldn't stem from a thirst for dominion or strength.

No, it would be for an escape—a desperate longing to break free from the burdens of their chaotic lives.

That thought sent a chill down his spine, a visceral fear that caught him off guard.

Because he understood temptation all too well. How many sleepless nights had he spent staring at the ceiling, longing for the silence to drown out his chaotic thoughts? Yearning for an unbroken stillness behind his weary eyes? And now, he had conjured the very thing that could deliver that peace.

He turned away from the homunculus, which lay dozing against its restraints, its form seemingly at ease in the dim light of the laboratory. Severus's fingers clenched tightly at his side, the tension rippling through him like an electrical current. He couldn't allow this creation to exist in its current state. Not without the risk of unleashing a calamity upon the world.

But he couldn't bury it either. The potential was staggering, a vast expanse of possibilities unfurling before him. A diluted version—tightly controlled and meticulously tested—could act as a magical sedative, a balm for the troubled minds and restless spirits.

Sold legally, this formulation might have the capacity to replace the traditional Calming Draughts in trauma wards, offering a much-needed reprieve to those suffering from magical chaos. It could even provide vampires and werewolves a non-lethal method to regulate their volatile magical aggression, a compromise that allowed them to coexist with the rest of society.

As for the full-strength version? That one belonged to the shadows, an illicit black-market narcotic unlike anything ever conceived. It wouldn't kill, not immediately—it was crafted to ensnare the mind and bind the user in a web of dependency.

With determined resolve, he picked up his quill and began writing two separate headers in his notebook:

Magisensia – for the controlled, therapeutic version that whispered promises of healing and relief.

Surge Noir X (WIP Name) – for the underground one, the real drug that thrived in the darkness.

He would complete both.

Because someone would undertake the task if he did not. Only he possessed the skill to construct them securely, to ensure that every element was meticulously crafted. He alone could transform compassion and ruthlessness into powerful tools, finding a delicate balance between the two. If the Zabinis were to witness his creations, they would not interpret it as a mere boy dabbling in alchemy. No, they would recognize the emergence of a formidable force, a new pillar rising within their vast empire. But that moment was not yet ripe. Perfection must be achieved first; it must blossom into something that radiated danger and intrigue. And it would be on his terms, dictated by his vision and intent.

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