Professor Langford looked up from the tower of parchments on her desk as Severus cautiously stepped into her office. Her sharp gaze met his, and with a slight raise of her eyebrows, she silently conveyed her expectation that this visit was not of a social nature.
"Is it regarding the details of the trip to Vienna?" she inquired, her voice carrying a hint of anticipation.
"Indirectly, yes," Severus responded, his tone measured. "I wish to formally request the opportunity to bring a guest along."
Langford's hand stilled, her quill hovering momentarily above the parchment before she placed it down with deliberate care. "A guest, you say?"
"Indeed," Severus confirmed, a glint of determination in his eyes. "My uncle, Arcturus Prince."
There was a brief, yet palpable silence as Langford digested the information. Her eyelids flickered once, betraying a momentary churn of thoughts before her features settled back into their usual composed mask. "You mean to say, Arcturus Prince, the renowned figure?"
"The one and only," Severus affirmed, his demeanor unflappable.
Langford leaned into the high back of her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the implications. "He will require clearance through the International Confederation of Wizards' delegate registry. However, given his esteemed status, I doubt acquiring such clearance will pose much of a challenge. I shall see to the necessary paperwork."
"My gratitude," Severus said, a hint of relief touching his voice.
Langford studied him for a moment longer, her head canting slightly to one side. "Are you orchestrating something specific?"
Severus permitted himself a small, enigmatic smile, the corners of his mouth barely lifting. "One could say I am always in the midst of planning."
Though she did not pursue the matter with further questions, the knowing look in Professor Langford's eyes spoke volumes—she was well aware that this conversation was merely the prelude to something much larger.
The pop sound came just after midnight—soft, deliberate, and followed by the faint hum of ward-clearing magic that resonated through the stillness of the room. Severus, ever vigilant, tensed as his hand instinctively tightened around his wand. Yet, as he swiftly turned to confront the potential threat, the sight that greeted him was not that of a nefarious intruder but rather the diminutive figure of a house-elf.
This was no ordinary elf, though. Standing with an air of solemnity, it was attired in a meticulously crafted black waistcoat that spoke of a bygone era of noble servitude. Its posture was impeccable, the embodiment of the discipline instilled by centuries of service to aristocratic wizarding families.
"Master Prince sends this with the utmost urgency," the elf announced with a deep, respectful bow, extending a parcel swathed in elegant silk. "He asserts that owls are a waste of precious time."
Severus accepted the bundle with a curt nod, his gaze never leaving the elf's. As he unwrapped the silk, the elf disappeared with a soft pop, leaving behind only the lingering scent of enchantment.
Within his hands lay a compact mirror, its surface no larger than the span of a palm, intricately carved with runes that pulsed with an ancient and potent magic. The aura of the device was one of discretion and power, designed to evade detection and duplication.
Severus whispered an arcane activating phrase, and the mirror's surface responded with a shimmering dance of light before settling into a clear, reflective state. The visage of Arcturus Prince materialized, as sharp and composed as if he were standing in the same room, despite the ethereal quality of his reflection.
"I received your missive," Arcturus said, forgoing any greeting as he positioned himself with his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "Vienna, I must say, is a bold strategic move."
"I require your presence there," Severus responded, his tone steady and resolute. "The political climate is treacherous. I am prepared to navigate these waters teeming with predators."
Arcturus's brow arched with a trace of wry humor. "Excellent. I've started compiling dossiers on the attending families. Some hail from ancient Dark Houses, their lineage steeped in shadow and influence, while others are relative newcomers, cloaking their ambitions in a veneer of civility. Do not be deceived by their cordiality. There are those who will seek to claim a part of you for themselves."
Severus's tone was icy, betraying no hint of naivety. "Should they attempt it, they'll find that my favor is not easily won, nor is it without its thorns."
For a fleeting moment, a spark of pride, seldom seen, graced Arcturus's stern visage.
"We'll fortify our defenses," he stated resolutely. "I've directed our legal team to commence the drafting of robust, provisional agreements—bulletproof safeguards. No pact will be finalized without thorough scrutiny. We're determined to prevent you from being ensnared by genteel pledges that conceal ulterior motives."
"I have no desire to be anyone's property," Severus remarked with disarming simplicity.
"Indeed," Arcturus concurred, "but desire is often irrelevant. Your youth, your prodigious intellect, and your self-possession make you a formidable figure. Such individuals are either elevated to the throne or are inevitably trampled underfoot by the machinery of power. Choose your path with care."
Severus acknowledged the advice with a curt nod, his expression inscrutable. Across the room, Arcturus's gaze pierced through the two-way mirror, sharp and assessing.
"Remember, Severus, this isn't a diplomatic gathering," Arcturus cautioned, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "It's an auction house—a den of commerce where wares and loyalties are traded with equal fervor. They won't merely appraise your potions; they'll be sizing up your allegiance, your principles, and how readily you could be swayed by gold or power."
Severus's reply was firm, a whisper of steel in his tone. "They won't find me for sale."
A glimmer of approval flickered across Arcturus's features. "Indeed. We must ensure they understand that you're not an item to be bid on, but a negotiator with conditions of your own."
As the enchantment holding the mirror link began to wane, the image shimmered like the surface of a disturbed pond, then cleared, leaving Severus alone with the echo of Arcturus's guidance.
Severus placed the mirror on the table with a quiet reverence, his eyes locked onto the reflection that stared back—a reflection that bore the marks of a scholar, yet now seemed to mask the spirit of a strategist.
He was no longer the apprentice venturing into the academic halls of Vienna. This time, he was stepping into the heart of the city's occult marketplace, not as a novice but as a contender.
And this time, he was not alone. With Arcturus's counsel at his back, Severus felt the stirrings of confidence. He was ready to engage in the high-stakes game that lay ahead, armed with the shrewd insight that only a seasoned ally could provide.
The following evening, the common room was filled with murmured conversations and the intermittent glow of firelight playing across enchanted playing cards.
"Did you catch wind of the French delegation's sudden alterations?" Jonas inquired, sinking into a plush armchair next to Alessandro and Severus. "They've swapped out their lead alchemist for an Italian prodigy. A twenty-year-old who's managed to sell a unique sedative formula to no less than three separate firms."
"Clever," Alessandro remarked with a hint of admiration. "Offer the same concoction to multiple buyers, alter the branding, adjust the hue, and rake in a fortune."
Severus arched an eyebrow in surprise. "And yet, no one has raised an eyebrow?"
"Oh, eyebrows have been raised," Alessandro confirmed with a knowing smile. "But it's all in good sport. That's just how business is conducted these days."
Jonas then directed his attention to Severus. "Have you been keeping up with the news from Brazil?"
A flicker of curiosity crossed Severus's face. "No, what's happening there?"
"Word among the Beauxbatons crowd is that a series of Brazilian potion formulas have been systematically acquired over the past three months. And it's all been done very hush-hush, by the same mysterious consortium."
Severus inquired, "Which one are you referring to?"
Alessandro shot him a sidelong glance. "ZL Consortium, of course. Zabini-Lucrezia," he clarified, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's quite ironic, really. My cousin was in Brazil all summer for some sort of family-related business internship."
Though Severus's expression remained impassive, his mind began to race with possibilities. "I believe they're initiating a significant move," Severus murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Jonas, overhearing the conversation, interjected with a light-hearted laugh, "It's like the potion world is becoming a stock market. We're buying spells cheap and selling curses at a premium."
A faint grin played on Severus's lips, acknowledging the humor in Jonas's observation. Severus realized he did not need further information; the situation was clear to him.
Two nights after Severus had last seen Evie and Kiera, they caught him off guard in the potions lab.
"You," Evie announced with an air of authority, as she grabbed Severus by the arm and tugged him away from his simmering cauldrons, "are coming with us."
"I'm in the middle of an experiment," Severus protested, his gaze lingering on the complex brew that required his undivided attention.
"You're wallowing," Kiera chimed in, her tone playful yet firm. "And there's a world of difference between work and wallowing."
Severus opened his mouth to retort, but before he could utter a word, the two girls had spirited him away to the common room. There, the warm glow of the fireplace danced upon the faces of Alessandro, Jonas, and Ben, who were already engrossed in a lively game of trivia, their board enchanted to display a myriad of questions in shimmering letters.
As the evening wore on, Severus found himself surprisingly adept at the game. By the third round, he had successfully claimed victory in two categories, his keen mind cutting through the complexity of the questions like a knife through butter. However, Kiera proved to be a formidable opponent, snatching a win from him in a category on magical creatures, much to her delight. She reveled in her triumph with a jubilant cheer that echoed through the room as if she had just bested him in a high-stakes duel.
Later, in a moment of camaraderie, Kiera shared with him a rhythmic chant used by Brazilian duelists to invoke good fortune. The words were foreign to his ears, yet their cadence was infectious, and he found himself repeating them under his breath.
Evie, seated beside him, nudged him with a friendly elbow. "Don't let anyone push you around in Vienna," she advised with a knowing glance. "Even if they're sporting monocles and fancy titles."
A smirk tugged at the corner of Severus's mouth. "Noted," he replied, the word hanging in the air with a promise of defiance.
For a brief moment, the crushing responsibilities of political machinations, the intricacies of potion-making, and the relentless striving for power were all but forgotten. In that moment, there was only the essence of being, the simple pleasure of youth, allowing the protagonist to exist as a carefree seventeen-year-old, unburdened by the demands and expectations that typically governed his life.
The following morning, as dawn's tender light began to dispel the shadows of night, Severus Shafiq stumbled upon a curious envelope that lay conspicuously against the faded wooden floor of his quarters. The seal that adorned it was unmistakable—a resplendent emblem that proclaimed its origin from none other than Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, Severus broke the seal and unfolded the parchment within. The script was elegant and firm, a testament to the importance of its contents:
To Mr. Severus Shafiq,
It is with immense pleasure and a profound sense of pride that I pen this letter to you. On behalf of the esteemed faculty and the administrative body of Ilvermorny, I extend my heartfelt and personal congratulations on your landmark acceptance to present at the prestigious Vienna Potioneers' Summit. Your monumental achievement stands as a beacon of excellence, unparalleled in the storied history of our noble institution.
Your pioneering research and masterful command of the potioneering arts have not only earned you this distinguished honor but have also set a new benchmark for scholarly pursuit within our hallowed halls. We take great pride in recognizing your contributions to the field of magical potions and are thrilled to announce that we will be highlighting your accomplishment in this year's Annual Review, where your peers and students alike will celebrate your success.
In the midst of this commendation, I wish to impart a gentle reminder that the path you have forged is one that the entire Ilvermorny community walks with you. The accolades you receive are shared by all who have supported and believed in your visionary work. You are not an island of brilliance, but a luminary amidst a constellation of stars—each one contributing to the illustrious legacy of our school.
Rest assured, Severus, that Ilvermorny stands resolutely behind you, offering not merely congratulations, but unwavering support as you step onto the global stage. Your presentation in Vienna will undoubtedly captivate and inspire all who attend, and we await with bated breath the wisdom you will impart.
With pride, respect, and the highest expectations,
Headmaster Tobias Grimsbane
Severus handled the parchment with a deliberate gentleness, the creases of the letter aligning with meticulous precision as he folded it. He placed it with a sense of reverence atop the burgeoning stack of papers that represented his meticulously crafted battle plans. This correspondence was not like the others—it was a pledge of unwavering allegiance, a promise of backing without expectations of recompense. Such gestures of genuine support were scarce in his life, and their value was immeasurable to him. Each word on the page was a testament to trust, a currency more precious than gold in the trenches of his strategic maneuverings. The weight of its significance pressed down upon him, and in the solitude of his chamber, Severus allowed himself a moment of gratitude for the rare camaraderie it represented.
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