Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 67 - 64: Whispers in Marble

Salvatore leaned forward slightly, intrigued further. "The one certified by the ICW?"

"Precisely," Mateo confirmed.

"But this isn't merely about public potions, is it?" Salvatore pressed on, sensing the deeper implications. "Lorenzo believes there's something more lurking beneath the surface."

"Correct," Mateo replied with a nod.

In a calculated manner, Vittorio began to tap the silver cane he held at his side, each tap resonating with purpose. "Coordinate with Ricci Senior and Benedetta; select two members from the Blood Circle. I want eyes on this 'Severus Shafiq'—and on any proposals he might present."

Salvatore nodded, his mind already whirling with possibilities and strategies. "I'll depart within the hour."

"Keep me informed," the elder Zabini instructed, his gaze still fixed on the distant horizon, as if peering into a future laden with potential challenges. "Use the mirror for updates. And Salvatore—"

"Yes, Father?" Salvatore replied, turning his full attention to Vittorio.

"If my instincts are correct... do not let the boy out of your sight."

The second day of the Summit dawned with a low sun casting long shadows and bringing subtle changes to the atmosphere. Severus sensed it immediately as he stepped into the upper gallery: heads turned more swiftly in his direction, and conversations hushed just a moment too abruptly, as if everyone had suddenly become aware of his presence.

As he moved through the crowd, three delegates he didn't recognize offered him crisp, polite nods, their expressions hinting at newfound respect or curiosity. By the time he arrived at the main hall, he found a neatly sealed envelope waiting for him at the Ilvermorny desk, the parchment crisp and inviting.

"To Mr. Severus Shafiq," the hostess said, her voice smooth and professional. "You've been invited to a private networking brunch for select innovators—this event is hosted by the ICW's International Youth Initiative and is sponsored by several industry representatives."

Severus didn't need to read between the lines to understand the implications; someone had rearranged the guest list overnight, shifting the dynamics of his standing among the participants.

Not long after, Professor Langford approached him, her expression thoughtful yet pleased. "Good. They're noticing," she murmured, a knowing smile playing on her lips before she excused herself to attend to her next meeting, leaving Severus contemplating the unexpected turn of events.

Back in their private suite, Arcturus Prince meticulously arranged the morning's intelligence on an enchanted board, the soft glow of the magical glow illuminating the intricate details laid out before him.

"Three guilds have inquired about the formulation of the Rejuvenation Elixir—none have made formal requests, of course," he remarked, gesturing to a collection of sigil-marked folders neatly organized by priority. "The French Consortium sent a discreet inquiry to test the waters. Meanwhile, the Bulgarians have been probing about the timelines for trademark registrations."

Severus leaned closer to examine the sprawling map of the European patent network that sprawled across the board, his brows furrowing in concentration. "They're trying to assess how secure my position is in this matter."

"Precisely," Arcturus replied with a nod, his expression serious. "This suggests that the Zabinis might attempt to corner you sooner rather than later. They may even try to eliminate these lesser players, thereby trapping you in a more confined position."

With a swift movement, he produced a small scroll from within his robe, its surface inscribed with fine, elegant text. "Now—let's discuss our adjusted terms."

Exclusive European rights to the Rejuvenation Elixir and Vigorem Draught will now be secured under the auspices of the Zabini family. This partnership not only promises exclusivity but also grants early access to Severus's forthcoming innovations, contingent upon mutual agreement and careful review of each invention.

In addition, a formal closed-door session is to be convened to deliberate on the intricacies of Surge Noir and Velaris Dust. However, this discussion will proceed solely under a testing contract, specifically for the application on magical criminal subjects. Such a contract must be authenticated through the signatures and seals of impartial third-party observers to ensure integrity.

"You've made your first move," Arcturus said, his voice steady as he folded his hands thoughtfully. "But don't be mistaken—you haven't won anything just yet." His gaze locked onto Severus's, unwavering and intense.

"The true trap," he continued, a knowing gleam in his eyes, "lies in convincing them that they've already secured your allegiance."

Later that evening, Severus granted himself a rare moment of normalcy.

In the cozy lounge of the east wing, a lively group of young potioneers had gathered, their laughter intertwining with the clinking of glass as they sipped on various concoctions. The air buzzed with animated conversation punctuated by playful ego clashes, creating a warm, competitive atmosphere.

Émile, with a mischievous glint in his eye, challenged Severus to a brewing riddle: "Which root binds a curse and heals a hex—but only under moonlight?" His grin widened as he eagerly awaited Severus's answer.

Meera, ever the pragmatist, rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. "It's always moonlight with you people. Can't we discuss something other than nocturnal ingredients for once?"

With a playful flourish, she passed around a sparkling vial of her latest invention—an intriguing elixir that temporarily transformed the drinkers' voices into a different language. Moments later, Alessandro, caught mid-sentence, suddenly erupted into a loud stream of fluent Swahili, shocking everyone into laughter.

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Meanwhile, Luka remained his usual quiet self, an ever-watchful presence in the corner. He didn't engage in the banter, content to observe the dynamic interactions around him. Instead, he approached Severus quietly, his demeanor serious as he pressed a small, folded piece of parchment into Severus's palm. It contained handwritten formulas—meticulously detailed notes on potion stabilization, a treatise of knowledge exchanged without a single word spoken.

Severus accepted the parchment with a faint smile of appreciation, grateful for the unexpected gesture.

Whatever happened next—he realized he wasn't alone in his pursuit of brilliance. And perhaps some of these rivals might just become his allies in the intricate dance of potion mastery.

In the night, back in his dimly lit room, the night began to settle into a hushed calm—until a flicker of movement outside caught Severus's eye, drawing him to the window.

Perched silently on the sill was a small shadowed owl, its feathers blending with the darkness as it held a jet-black envelope gripped tightly in its talons. The wax seal was devoid of any insignia or crest, and it bore only his name, inscribed in elegant silver ink that shimmered faintly in the low light.

With a steady hand, he took the envelope, feeling a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. As he opened it, the contents were revealed: a single line, succinct but laden with meaning.

"Midnight. Villa 9. Come alone."

There was no signature, no indication of the sender—just this directive. Severus folded the note with care, his fingers moving delicately as if he were handling something fragile, and placed it neatly beside his wand on the table.

A sense of calm washed over him. There was no alarm in his heart, no trace of fear; only a resolute sense of purpose. He had initiated the first step in this intricate dance of shadows. Now, he awaited their response.

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