Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 70 - 67: Terms of the Game

The morning sun cast a gentle glow over the Vienna skyline, its light soft and unpretentious—quite unlike the ominous scroll that had just arrived at Severus Shafiq's doorstep. An envoy, adorned with the distinctive Zabini crest—one of the enigmatic members of the Blood Circle, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings with palpable intensity—delivered the sealed letter into Severus's waiting hand. The gesture was accompanied by a respectful bow but no additional words needed to pass between them.

Severus understood that the message was unmistakably clear:

You've entered the lion's den. Now it's time to see if you'll feast—or be torn apart.

With a practiced flick, Severus broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, absorbing its contents in silence. The words promised intrigue and danger, and his mind raced with possibilities. Behind him, Lord Arcturus Prince stood poised at the window, cradling a steaming cup of spiced black tea, the fragrant steam curling into the air. When Severus turned to face him, scroll in hand, Arcturus merely lifted an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable.

"They've seen the bait," Arcturus remarked, his voice calm yet laced with an edge. He folded his hands behind his back, a subtle indication of his own anticipation. "Now they want to know if it has a spine behind it."

A sly smile curled on Severus's lips. "They'll find bone. And blades."

The Chamber of Negotiation

The meeting room was not part of the official summit space, a fact that added an air of secrecy to its existence. It was an older chamber, seamlessly integrated into the heart of a Zabini-owned wing of the sprawling summit estate. The dark stone walls whispered of age and craftsmanship, while the air within was expertly enchanted to maintain a cool, dry atmosphere that provided relief from the outside world. Intricate magical inscriptions, etched into the walls, shimmered faintly beneath layers of protective wards, hinting at the powerful legacy woven into this space.

Severus stepped inside with Arcturus at his side, both men draped in rich, understated robes that spoke of elegance without ostentation. No jewelry adorned their collars, nor were any titles visibly proclaimed; their worth was signified solely by their presence, which commanded attention and respect as they entered the room.

Already gathered at the obsidian-carved negotiation table were four figures, each embodying a distinct presence.

Lorenzo Zabini sat with an air of calm, his demeanor deceptively relaxed as he steeped his fingers in front of him, exuding a sense of control and careful consideration.

Beside him, Salvatore Zabini, the heir to the storied Zabini legacy, radiated a sharper intensity. His gaze, colder and more calculating, suggested a man far less swayed by the niceties of polite conversation and far more intrigued by the dynamics of power and influence.

At the far end of the table sat Ricci Senior, his posture utterly still, reminiscent of a statue. Yet his keen eyes tracked Severus with the precision of a tactician meticulously analyzing a battlefield, assessing every potential move.

Finally, there was Benedetta, who perched elegantly on her chair. A quill hovered in her hand above an unfurled scroll, her expression serious and concentrated. She held her pose without so much as a smile, underscoring the gravity of the meeting at hand.

Politeness circulated around the table like chilled wine—carefully measured, routine, yet devoid of any real warmth. They all engaged in superficial conversation, their smiles tight and rehearsed. None of them noticed the smooth marble wall behind Benedetta, which shimmered ever so faintly. It was enchanted and warded, a silent guardian cloaked in magic, serving as a mirror that revealed all truths hidden beneath the surface.

Elsewhere — The Hidden View

Within a hidden Zabini chamber deep within the sprawling villa, Lord Vittorio Zabini stood tall and unyielding, his hand resting lightly on the back of Isadora's intricately designed chair. The mirror embedded into the cold stone wall gleamed with ethereal light, capturing the meeting beyond in exquisite detail.

Isadora Zabini, every inch the picture of regal elegance in her flowing black silk gown, leaned forward slightly, her keen eyes dissecting every twitch, every utterance. Her hands were carefully folded in her lap, and her expression remained inscrutable, betraying nothing of her thoughts.

"He's younger than I expected," she remarked softly, her voice almost a whisper that barely broke the silence of the chamber.

"And sharper than most three times his age," Vittorio replied, his tone low yet threaded with an undercurrent of admiration. "Watch how he speaks. He doesn't carry himself like a mere boy."

"And not like a servant," Isadora added, the hint of intrigue lacing her words.

Vittorio's lips curved into a faint smile, one that reflected both appreciation and respect. "No. He's come prepared to negotiate."

Back in the Meeting Room

The initial pleasantries dissipated quickly, leaving a palpable tension in the air. The atmosphere of the room shifted dramatically at the moment the first crystal glass was placed down, the soft chime echoing like a herald of what was to come.

Salvatore Zabini's voice pierced the polished silence, cool and precise, cutting through the quiet with the sharp clarity of a scalpel. "The offer is as follows," he declared, his index finger tapping once against the obsidian table, drawing attention to the gravity of his words. "A tri-fold partnership. Shafiq Holdings and Zabini Enterprises will each retain forty-nine percent equity. The remaining two percent shall be held in trust by the Prince family, symbolizing both stability and legacy."

Arcturus remained inscrutable, not revealing a hint of his thoughts—but Severus could sense a subtle, approving nod of agreement emanating from him, a barely perceptible acknowledgment of the unfolding proposal.

"Zabini infrastructure," Salvatore elaborated, "will oversee all production, manage physical security, and facilitate cross-continental distribution." His tone was firm, underscoring the meticulous planning behind the venture.

At that moment, Benedetta's quill sprang to life, moving gracefully across the paper as if guided by an unseen hand. It inscribed the details of the offer onto a floating contract scroll before her, each word a testament to the seriousness of the agreement.

Lorenzo then took the baton seamlessly, picking up where his brother had paused. "We also extend political cover—discreet shielding from the pressures exerted by international guilds. This is especially crucial in regions where the International Confederation of Wizards' approval can be sluggish, often failing to translate into immediate practical protection." His words reinforced the strategic advantage they aimed to provide, setting the stage for a successful partnership.

"Useful," Arcturus remarked in a measured tone. "Particularly within Eastern nations and several post-colonial markets." freeweɓnovel.cøm

Salvatore pressed on, his voice steady. "In exchange, we are seeking exclusive worldwide distribution rights for both the Rejuvenation Elixir and the Vigorem Draught."

Severus narrowed his gaze, not out of objection but to absorb the implications of their request. "Worldwide?" he repeated, savoring the weight of the word.

This time, Benedetta responded, her voice a blend of softness and assertiveness. "In our hands, your potions can permeate five continents within a year. That expansive reach is invaluable, and thus warrants exclusivity."

Severus chose to remain silent, contemplating their proposal for the moment.

Salvatore continued, outlining further demands. "Additionally, we request conditional access to Surge Noir, pending approval for post-human testing. We also seek collaboration rights for Velaris Dust, but this will hinge on verified magical safety certification."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow, his expression inscrutable. "And what if the certification turns out to be unfavorable?" he questioned bluntly.

With a deliberately measured grin, Salvatore replied, "In that scenario, we risk nothing. However, should the certification pass, we will expect a seat at the negotiation table."

A hush fell over the room as the gravity of their initial terms hung palpably in the air.

Then Arcturus spoke, his tone calm yet as unsettling as the depths of a stormy sea. "Creative autonomy must remain untouched. That is non-negotiable. Severus retains full rights over his experimental procedures, formulation records, and final say on deployment timelines."

"Agreed," Benedetta replied, her quill gliding across the floating parchment, already etching the crucial clause with precision.

Severus, his voice low yet resolute, added, "No adjustments. No dilution of product. No reproduction without my seal. No tweaks for political optics."

Lorenzo inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the weight of Severus's words. "Understood."

Arcturus took a moment to glance toward Severus, contemplating the trust that was being built among them. He then folded his hands together, signaling a shift in the conversation. "That covers protection and control. Now, let's turn our attention to value."

Severus, tapping a finger thoughtfully against the smooth surface of the obsidian table, considered his next words carefully. "I won't sign over Surge Noir or Velaris Dust as mere commodities. They're not just potions; they're market disruptors. They're weapons that can shift the balance of power. Once sold, they become impossible to retrieve. Thus, if you wish to access them, you'll need to assist me in regulating their deployment."

Salvatore raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across his features. "You want us to limit our own profits?"

Severus maintained a steady gaze, his expression unwavering. "I want you to help me avoid a global catastrophe," he replied evenly. "We need to test them properly—on criminals, and under strict supervision. Doing so will ensure two vital outcomes: their effectiveness and our plausible deniability."

Lorenzo chuckled softly, a low and brief sound that hung in the air. "Spoken like someone who's clearly given this some serious thought."

"I have," Severus replied, his expression steady.

"And if we decide to refuse your proposal?"

Severus leaned in slightly, his gaze sharp and focused. "Then I'll bury both formulas, create something entirely different, and someone else—be they Hungarians, the French, or the Russians—will inevitably come along and present me with a better offer. But mark my words, they won't have access to Surge Noir. Nor will they ever hear the name Velaris Dust."

It wasn't an idle threat; it was a cold, hard truth.

The room fell into silence, the atmosphere heavy and charged. Each person absorbed the weight of the moment.

Finally, Salvatore released a measured breath, observing Severus as intently as one would scrutinize a chessboard that suddenly revealed a fresh line of strategy.

"Very well," Salvatore finally spoke, his tone resolute. "Conditional access it is. We'll allow limited testing on controlled magical subjects. Moreover, any distribution of your findings will be reviewed every six months by a neutral arbiter—either nominated by you or by us, alternating between the two."

Benedetta diligently noted down the agreement, her pen moving swiftly across the page.

Ricci Senior, who had been silent until this point, shifted slightly in his chair—perhaps showing signs of newfound respect for the situation at hand.

Severus gave a slow, deliberate nod. "I can accept those terms."

Lorenzo lifted his glass once more, yet his eyes remained locked onto Severus, filled with an intensity that suggested both scrutiny and curiosity.

"Then let's move forward," he declared, and this time, the smile that graced his lips was genuine, signaling a new Chapter in their collaboration.

Behind the Mirror

In the dimly lit chamber, Vittorio's eyes narrowed with intensity. "He's wagering everything," he remarked, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and admiration. "His intellect. His reputation. His very grasp on this situation."

Isadora's voice, barely above a whisper, cut through the tension. "He's not seeking favors. He's requesting the space to create something new."

Vittorio's gaze remained fixed on the figure of the boy visible through the glass barrier, his expression a blend of concern and fascination.

"No," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "He's not asking at all."

The meeting was far from over, but the stakes had never been clearer. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken challenges, and it was evident that the dynamics had shifted dramatically.

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