Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 50 - 47: The Verdict from the ICW

Severus's dark eyes were fixed on the parchment before him, the golden emblem of the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW) catching the wavering glow of the enchanted lantern that illuminated his desk. The seal's luster seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a silent echo of the anticipation that tightened its grip on Severus's heart.

His long, pale fingers trembled ever so slightly, hovering just above the parchment's edges as if afraid to touch the message it contained. His heart thudded in his chest, each beat a slow, deliberate echo that resonated within the stillness of the room.

In the weeks leading up to this moment, Severus had immersed himself in the rigors of dueling training, the complexities of potions research, and the intellectual challenges of his academic pursuits. These tasks were his refuge, a bulwark against the relentless tide of thoughts and worries that threatened to overwhelm him whenever his mind strayed to the matter at hand.

Yet now, with the answer that he had both yearned for and dreaded in equal measure lying within reach, Severus found himself unexpectedly reluctant to proceed. The knowledge that he was mere seconds away from uncovering his fate seemed to root him to the spot, a silent sentinel guarding the gates of his own destiny.

Aurora, his fellow potions master and confidante, sat across from him, her emerald eyes alight with curiosity and concern. She was not as adept at masking her emotions, and her impatience was palpable. Leaning forward in her chair, she fixed him with an expectant gaze.

"Severus," she urged, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it sliced through the silence like a knife.

With a deep, steadying breath that seemed to draw in the very essence of the room, Severus steeled himself. His hand, now steady, moved with deliberate grace to break the seal that had held his future captive.

The parchment unfurled beneath his fingers with a smoothness that belied its age and the weight of the words it bore. Severus Shafiq's eyes darted over the lines, drinking in each phrase and clause with an urgency that spoke of years of toil and dedication. And then, there it was—a decree of acceptance, a proclamation that the potion he had so meticulously crafted had passed its Final Review. It was now deemed an original, patent-worthy creation. His name, Severus Shafiq, a name once whispered with a mix of awe and derision, was now etched in the annals of the International Confederation of Wizards' global potioneering archives, a testament to his unparalleled skill and ingenuity.

Aurora, his colleague and confidante, couldn't contain her shock, leaning over his shoulder to verify the incredible news. "Severus, you—" she began, but her voice faltered, unable to find the words to encapsulate the magnitude of his achievement.

Severus felt a sharp exhale escape his lips, the sound almost foreign to his own ears. His grip on the parchment tightened reflexively, the texture of the ancient material grounding him as his mind raced to accept the reality of the moment. For so long, he had braced himself against the expected—resistance, rejection, the cold shoulder of a wizarding world that had often failed to recognize the depth of his contributions. But now, faced with irrefutable proof of his success, Severus found his thoughts rebelling against the patterns of doubt and uncertainty that had long been his companions.

It was real. The evidence was there, tangible and undeniable. The potion that had consumed his every waking moment, the elixir that had pushed the boundaries of magical science, had been acknowledged by the highest authorities. It was done. The years of experimentation, the sleepless nights, and the relentless pursuit of perfection had culminated in this singular, defining moment.

He had rewritten his legacy. No longer would Severus Shafiq be known merely as the brooding potions master with a shadowed past. His name would be spoken with reverence, synonymous with innovation and unparalleled mastery of the potions.

By the time the news of Severus's achievement rippled through the enchanted stone walls of Ilvermorny, the magical community within was electrified with responses that ranged from awe to pride. The faculty and students alike buzzed with the knowledge that one of their own had garnered international acclaim.

Professor Langford, renowned for her stoic demeanor, did not disappoint in her prompt reaction. Upon confirmation of the news, she summoned Severus to her office with an urgency that was unusual, even for her. The office, a sanctuary of ancient magical tomes and bubbling potions, felt charged with a palpable energy as Severus stepped inside.

"Your research," Professor Langford began, her eyes piercing through her spectacles as she scrutinized the young potioner, "is exemplary. It is not every day that the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW) acknowledges the work of someone your age. This is... unprecedented for a student at Ilvermorny."

Severus, ever composed, offered a modest nod. "Thank you, Professor."

Leaning back, Professor Langford crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. "Have you considered the path forward? What will your next endeavor be?"

Severus's eyes met hers, a spark of certainty igniting within him. "I have given it considerable thought," he replied, his voice steady and assured.

The faculty of Ilvermorny, akin to a pride of lions alert to the scent of a fresh kill, did not lag behind in their response. Even those professors who had rarely crossed paths with Severus paused in the grand, magical hallways to extend their heartfelt praises. Each pat on the back and every word of commendation added to the surreal atmosphere that now enveloped him.

Aurora, his devoted lab assistant, seemed to radiate with an inner light. The news that she had been credited in a research paper of such magnitude was a dream come true. Her name, etched alongside Severus's in an internationally recognized work, was a honor she had never dared to imagine.

As they stepped out of Professor Langford's office, Aurora's voice held a trace of incredulity that was difficult to mask. "You know," she said, her words tinged with a mix of amazement and pride, "this means we'll be featured in the upcoming edition of the International Journal of Potioneering."

Severus's lips curled into a faint smirk. "And?" he replied, his tone nonchalant, though his dark eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement.

Aurora's scoff echoed in the corridor. "And?! Severus, that's monumental! We're both on the cusp of being published potioneers. This is going to catapult your career to new heights."

"I know," Severus responded, his voice calm yet underscored by a quiet thrill of accomplishment that he refused to verbalize.

His circle of friends was decidedly less reserved in their enthusiasm. Alessandro, ever the dramatist, enveloped Severus in a boisterous embrace the moment he laid eyes on him in the common room. "My dear Severus, do you comprehend the magnitude of this achievement?"

Severus heaved a theatrical sigh. "That I'll have to endure your exaggerated antics?" he quipped, though a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Undeterred, Alessandro continued, his voice reaching a crescendo of excitement. "This is historic! This is wealth incarnate! This is—oh, what is the phrase?—the dawn of a new era for you, my friend. You're on the path to becoming a billionaire!"

Jonas, ever the voice of reason, interjected with a snort of laughter. "Can we at least wait until he's actually made his first million before you start planning how to spend it?"

Kiera, with her characteristic pragmatism, raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Are we planning some sort of celebration for this milestone?"

Evie's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in, her voice tinged with excitement. "You know we're planning a huge bash to celebrate, right? But what's really on everyone's mind—" she paused for dramatic effect, turning to Severus with an expression that was both playful and probing "Will we be lucky enough to snag some free samples of your groundbreaking potion once it hits the market?"

Severus, unamused, fixed her with a stern gaze. "I'm afraid that's out of the question," he replied, his tone leaving little room for argument. Severus was well aware that not everyone shared Evie's enthusiasm. In fact, he was acutely conscious of the undercurrent of dissent that his potion's success had stirred.

As the days passed and the potion's potential began to permeate British news outlets, the ripples of its impact started to become evident. Accolades poured in from various quarters, but so did skepticism and fear. The public was abuzz with speculation, and it wasn't long before the whispers grew loud enough to reveal the true consequences that lay ahead.

The Daily Prophet, a newspaper cherished by the magical community across the British Isles, had once again become the center of attention. With its headlines and stories, it had the power to stir excitement, controversy, and curiosity among wizards and witches far and wide. On this particular day, the Prophet's latest edition had crossed the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, its news traveling by owl post, enchanted newspapers, and magical wireless signals. The reports within its pages sparked a flurry of conversations, debates, and even a touch of scandal, setting the wizarding world abuzz with speculation and anticipation. Readers from the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley to the remote villages of Scotland eagerly unfolded their copies, eager to discover the latest developments that were sure to become the talk of every pub, classroom, and gathering of magical folk.

"The Youngest Pioneer in Potioneering: Severus Shafiq Breaks Records"

By Edgar Bones, Senior Magical Correspondent

The history of British potioneering boasts legendary names—Zygmunt Budge, Damocles Belby, Arsenius Jigger. But today, another name has been etched into the global archives—Severus Shafiq, a mere sixteen-year-old, has successfully developed and patented an original rejuvenation elixir that is already being hailed as a revolutionary advancement in magical medicine and personal enhancement potions.

The potion, now officially registered with the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW), has drawn worldwide attention due to its unique properties—enhancing skin rejuvenation, accelerating minor wound healing, and boosting magical resistance without the common side effects of dependency. A potion with no diminishing returns? This is no minor feat.

More astonishingly, Shafiq is not affiliated with any of Britain's prestigious potioneering guilds. He is not a student of an ancient British apprenticeship. Instead, his discovery was cultivated in the halls of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in America—a fact that has already sparked debate within the British academic and political spheres.

Why was this achievement not fostered in Hogwarts? Why was Britain not the first to recognize his brilliance? And what does it say about the state of magical research in our country that one of our own had to look abroad to achieve greatness?

The Potioneers' Guild was plunged into turmoil. Some senior members swiftly sought to adopt Severus as a paragon of "British innovation," a stark departure from their previous neglect of his prodigious talents. Conversely, a faction within the guild worked feverishly to undermine his research, eager to uncover any imperfection that might lessen the impact of his groundbreaking work.

Within the Ministry of Magic, opinions were sharply divided. The Department of International Magical Cooperation championed Severus's cause, eager to reintegrate him into the British magical community. However, more traditional elements within the Ministry perceived his burgeoning autonomy as a direct challenge to the United Kingdom's historical dominance in the magical arts.

The financial sector of the wizarding world was abuzz with activity. News of Severus's success had not gone unnoticed by the potion industry's heavyweights. Prominent British and European potion manufacturers rushed to contact the Shafiq estate, each aiming to secure exclusive rights to the new potion before their global counterparts could do the same.

Public sentiment was a tapestry of praise and censure. Many hailed Severus as a testament to Britain's enduring capacity to produce exceptional wizards. Yet, a vocal contingent criticized him for what they deemed a betrayal, choosing to ply his craft overseas instead of bolstering the potion-making prowess of his homeland.

But the potion was more than a mere concoction; it was a symbol. At just sixteen, Severus had achieved a feat that British magical institutions had long aspired to but never realized. His triumph was a solo endeavor, devoid of the traditional supports of Hogwarts, the Potioneers' Guild, and the Ministry's oversight.

Severus's success was a potent demonstration that the path to magical preeminence need not be trodden within the borders of Britain. This was no ordinary triumph for a potion maker; it was nothing less than a seismic shift in the balance of magical power. And for the entrenched ranks of Britain's magical aristocracy, such a shift was a source of deep discontent.

The letter's arrival was heralded by the soft hoot of an owl, its silhouette cutting a sharp figure against the moonlit sky. It was not just any owl; this creature bore the unmistakable mark of distinction, an emissary from the British Potioneers' Guild. Its feathers were immaculately groomed, each one lying sleek against its body, and around its neck, the emblem of the Guild glinted with a quiet authority.

Severus Snape, standing by the window, watched the owl's approach with an impassive gaze. His features, as always, were a mask of stoicism, betraying no hint of the anticipation or trepidation that might have stirred within him. With a fluid motion, he reached out and untied the small scroll fastened to the owl's leg, his fingers deftly navigating the knot without a trace of haste or eagerness.

Aurora, who had been observing Severus from the comfort of her armchair, felt a familiar thrill of curiosity. She knew better than to interrupt the unspoken ritual of letter retrieval, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and she leaned forward, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. "Official correspondence?" she inquired, her voice a soft intrusion into the quiet of the room.

Severus spared her the briefest of glances before returning his attention to the letter. "Seems that way," he replied, the words barely above a whisper, as if not to startle the secrets that lay concealed within the parchment.

With deliberate care, he broke the seal, a small, satisfying crack resonating in the stillness. The parchment itself was of a quality that spoke of the sender's wealth or status, thick and textured, the kind that resisted the ink in a way that made each word seem all the more permanent.

The script that adorned the page was a work of art, each letter formed with precision and an almost mathematical symmetry. It was the handwriting of someone who valued control, who weighed every word and its implication with meticulous care. Severus's eyes scanned the lines of text, taking in the cordial salutations and the carefully chosen phrases that followed.

Esteemed Heir Shafiq,

It is with great pleasure that the British Potioneers' Guild extends an invitation to you for the upcoming Potioneers' Symposium in London. Your recent achievements have been met with great admiration, and we believe your presence at this event would greatly enrich the discussion of modern advancements in potioneering.

Furthermore, we would like to formally discuss the potential of your continued contributions to British magical research. We understand that your academic journey has taken you to foreign institutions, but we would be remiss if we did not acknowledge the importance of your heritage and your potential role in advancing Britain's legacy in potion-making.

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We look forward to your response and sincerely hope you will consider this an opportunity to reconnect with your homeland.

Signed,

The British Potioneers' Guild

Severus placed the letter gently on the gle, the sound of his fingertips tapping a staccato beat on the polished mahogany filling the room's silence. The elegant script on the page seemed to dance before his eyes, a tanting ballet of words that held a weight beyond their ink.

"They want you back," Aurora whispered, her breath warm against his ear as she leaned over his shoulder to read the missive. Her voice was laced with an understanding that went beyond the simple sentence.

Severus's lips twisted into a sardonic smile, the expression not born of humor but of a bitter recognition of the game being played. "They don't want me," he replied, his tone steady and laced with certainty. "They want to keep me from slipping out of their control, to prevent me from becoming a loose end they cannot afford."

Aurora regarded him with a thoughtful tilt of her head, her eyes searching his face for any trace of the turmoil she knew resided beneath his stoic exterior. "Are you going?" she asked, her words a soft probe into the fortress of his contemplation.

A long, measured exhale escaped Severus, the sound a silent testament to the gravity of his predicament. His gaze lingered on the letter, the words etched into his memory.

"I haven't decided yet," he finally answered, his voice betraying the faintest hint of the struggle that waged within him. For Severus knew a truth that those who penned the letter had yet to fully comprehend: the balance of power had shifted. Britain, with its once formidable influence, no longer held the cards.

He did.

And with that knowledge came a sense of control, a power he intended to wield with deliberate precision. They would wait for his decision, and in that waiting, they would come to realize that Severus was no longer a pawn to be maneuvered at their whim. He was a player in his own right, and he would dictate the terms of his return.

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