Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape

Zabini Training Coliseum

The air was sharp with the chill of early morning, yet Severus felt none of it. Long ago, he had grown numb to the ache in his muscles and the sweat that trickled down into his collar; those sensations were buried under the singular focus of relentless motion.

With a quick snap of his wrist, his wand propelled forward. A curse, deflected off the training dummy's enchanted shield, shot back toward him with the force of a whip. He ducked instinctively, spinning on his heel to pivot gracefully from the attack. With seamless precision, he countered, the runes embedded in the floor flaring to life as his feet struck another trigger line, unleashing a barrage of enchanted blades that whirred ominously in the air around him. Without breaking his rhythm, he deftly disarmed them, sending the glittering weapons spiraling harmlessly to the ground.

In this moment, the world had become strikingly narrow. There were no concerns of the International Confederation of Wizards, no devastating war lingering in the background, no potions to brew, and no political maneuvering to consider.

Just two weeks remained. Two weeks until the U-19 World Dueling Championship loomed on the horizon—a daunting event where every name, every hard-earned reputation, would stand against him in a circle that offered no avenue for retreat.

And yet—despite the blinding focus that consumed him—she kept slipping back into his mind. The girl with silver eyes. She lingered in the recesses of his memory, like tendrils of smoke swirling in the air. A shadow loomed beneath the arch, her presence fleeting yet palpable. A glance that felt like a ghost, haunting him.

Severus clenched his jaw, frustration boiling within him. With a sudden outburst of force magic, he expelled the image, the blast resonating through the coliseum ward with a deafening crack that echoed like thunder across the arena.

Sofia Mariani, seated cross-legged on the upper tier, remained utterly unfazed by the display of power. A slight curve of her lips suggested a hint of admiration; she appreciated the intensity he brought to the training.

"Good," she remarked, her arms folded with satisfaction. "You're not training for sport. You're training as if this were war. That's how champions are forged."

Severus held his silence, the weight of her words pressing against him. He adjusted his stance, feeling the ground firm beneath his feet. With renewed determination, he prepared to cast again, pushing all distractions away.

Zabini Guest Quarters

The owl-feathered courier landed soundlessly on the balcony rail, its wings folding with the grace of an origami masterpiece. Severus carefully opened the sealed scroll with a delicate flick of his fingers, watching as the Prince family crest glimmered briefly in the soft light before fading into the texture of the parchment.

The main message was formal and crisp:

Your invitation credentials have been approved. Arcturus, Eileen, and Julius Prince are slated to attend the U-19 World Dueling Championship. Reserved seating: VIP Circle, Geneva.

Accompanying the scroll were two smaller slips of parchment, each holding an essential note of sentiment.

The first was written in Julius's lively handwriting, the loops and swirls brimming with enthusiasm:

"I got a new jacket just for this, and if you trip, I'm telling everyone you were hexed! Also, Mum says I can eat as much tournament food as I want, so you better win—because I'm making signs!"

The second note was penned in his mother's meticulous hand, smaller and more precise, conveying warmth and encouragement:

"I've missed you. Do what you do best: let them underestimate you first."

Severus studied the letters for a moment, allowing their weighty contents to sink in. After a lingering pause, he carefully folded each one and tucked them into a narrow black envelope, which he sealed with an old, ornate crest depicting a falcon grasping a dagger in its talons. The sound of the drawer closing echoed softly in the quiet room as he cast a silent locking spell, ensuring the secrets were safely hidden away.

His expression remained impassive, devoid of any hint of emotion. However, he did release a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he prepared to move forward.

ICW Broadcast Network

The camera orb hovered in silence above the obsidian dais of the International Confederation of Wizards, the silver ICW crest glowing faintly behind the podium. Enchanted screens across five continents flickered to life, from grand ministry halls in Tokyo to backroom pubs in Ireland. The tone was somber. The background gleamed with magical security wards humming just beneath visibility.

A tall, silver-haired witch in formal ICW regalia stepped forward—spectacles glinting, scroll in hand. Her voice was steady and precise.

In response to the recent spike in cross-border magical violence, the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW) Security Council has enacted an emergency directive aimed at bolstering safety measures for all forthcoming international wizarding events. This directive encompasses a range of significant gatherings, including the highly anticipated U-19 World Dueling Championship, the groundbreaking Magical Innovation Congress, and the influential Pancontinental Spellcasting Symposium.

Effective immediately, every event venue will be fortified with advanced multi-layered containment wards designed to deter unauthorized entry and ensure the highest level of security. The entry gates will feature tier-three magical scanning systems, sophisticated wand-logging enchantments, and comprehensive artifact verification protocols to safeguard against potential threats.

Furthermore, Apparition and the unauthorized use of Portkeys will be strictly prohibited within a five-kilometer radius of the event grounds. This area will be rigorously monitored by ICW Enforcement Officers to ensure compliance and swiftly address any violations.

To enhance crowd security and conduct thorough anti-infiltration screenings, joint Auror task forces will be deployed from key nations, including France, India, the United States, and Japan. These elite teams will work collaboratively to maintain order and protect the safety of all attendees during these vital events.

She paused to let the gravity of the situation sink in, her expression a mixture of resolve and concern.

"We ask all attendees to exercise patience and cooperation. These measures are temporary, and they exist solely for your protection. The safety of our global magical community remains our highest priority."

A few international viewers exhaled in quiet relief, their shoulders relaxing slightly. Others, however, shifted nervously, their eyes darting around as they anticipated the long queues and the complex layers of barriers that lay ahead. Discussions had already ignited on wizarding news circuits, with opinions sharply divided.

In one particularly blunt segment of a British magical newsfeed, an off-mic commentator whispered—barely audible yet unmistakably captured on the spellcast stream:

"If he strikes again… it'll be where the cameras can't look away."

The screen flickered momentarily before cutting to the official crest of the International Confederation of Wizards, its emblem glowing brightly and steadily, a symbol of authority amid the uncertainty.

Across the magical world, a singular message resonated with an undeniable intensity:

This war would not be ignored.

And no gathering—no matter how distinguished or prestigious—would be free from its looming shadow.

Training Lounge – Zabini Estate

The torches lining the ancient stone walls of the Zabini training lounge flickered low, their flames casting long, dancing shadows of gold and blue that played across the polished dueling floor. The air was thick with tension, punctuated only by the rhythmic crack of spells colliding and the occasional mechanical whine of the enchanted dueling dummy as it reset itself for its next relentless move.

Alessandro stood at the balcony rail above the coliseum floor, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his jaw set with unwavering focus. Below him, Severus moved like a razor-sharp blade in ceaseless motion—precise, honed, and utterly unsparing in his relentless assault.

A spell ripped through the air with a crackling intensity, the dummy shimmering ominously before it exploded into a spectacular display of red-gold light that rained sparks across the floor.

Severus didn't flinch; he was already pivoting, his wand sweeping through the air to prepare for the next attack. He continued this fierce rhythm—again and again—showing no sign of fatigue, no momentary break, no breath drawn in the heat of the training.

Alessandro exhaled sharply through his nose, concern creeping into his voice. "He's going to shatter that dummy if he keeps this pace up."

Evie appeared beside him a moment later, her bare feet barely making a sound on the ground, her sleeves rolled up high, revealing the determination etched into her arms. A towel was casually draped over her shoulder, and she stood with her arms wrapped loosely around her waist, though her gaze remained unwaveringly fixed on the arena below.

"He's not fighting them," she murmured, her voice tinged with a mix of empathy and concern. "He's fighting something within himself."

Alessandro gave a short nod of agreement. "He wants to win more than we do," he replied, a hint of admiration in his tone.

A pause hung in the air, thick with unresolved tension.

"But not because he wants to stand on a podium," he added thoughtfully. "It's more profound than that. He doesn't know what losing means anymore. Not since—everything changed."

Evie's jaw clenched slightly at his words, an unspoken understanding passing between them. "Well, he's not the only one with something to prove," she said, her resolve hardening.

Alessandro turned to face her fully. She met his gaze with unwavering confidence, a fire in her eyes that reflected her determination.

"I plan to win, too," she declared quietly, the intensity of her conviction resonating in the air around them. "For me."

"And for him?" Alessandro asked, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Evie's lips twitched, revealing a flicker of a smile that mingled with the weight of her thoughts. "No. But if I end up facing him in the finals, I want him to know I truly earned it."

Alessandro chuckled softly, a sound filled with warmth and determination. "That makes two of us. I'm not training just to lose to my best friend."

They fell into a contemplative silence for a few seconds, their gazes locked on Severus, who was skillfully deflecting a coordinated barrage of three spells aimed at the training dummy. His movements were precise and brutal, displaying an intensity that belied his youth. His robes were tattered at the shoulder, and strands of hair clung to his forehead, slick with sweat. In that moment, he looked every bit the seasoned soldier, not just a boy practicing magic.

Evie sighed, her breath catching with a mixture of admiration and apprehension. "It's terrifying how good he's gotten."

"And how fast," Alessandro added, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's not just talent. He bleeds for it. Every single day."

Evie leaned forward, resting her arms on the railing, feeling the cool wood beneath her skin. "We've bled too."

"I know," Alessandro replied, his tone serious. "And he does, too. He understands the sacrifices we all make."

As if summoned by their unyielding resolve, Severus slowed his movements. He executed a fluid, elegant flick of his wrist that disarmed the practice dummy, showcasing a mastery honed over countless hours of training. He didn't turn to face them directly, but in that momentary pause, every unspoken word and unsaid vow hung heavily in the air.

Alessandro sensed the awareness flickering within Severus. He knew that the silence between them was fraught with meaning—nothing sentimental, merely the hardened bonds of loyalty forged in the fires of countless battles.

Each of them was gearing up for more than just the upcoming tournament. Severus was steeling himself for a challenge that loomed larger on the horizon, a fight that transcended mere competition. Evie was preparing to assert her right to be acknowledged as an equal in a world that often sought to diminish her. Alessandro felt the weight of his heritage pressing down on him, determined not only to meet but to exceed the lofty expectations set by his lineage.

Yet, despite the individual stakes, they understood that they would step into the arena as a unified front first and foremost. Whatever the future held, they were resolute in their commitment to face it together—aware of each other's strength and the deeply personal stakes each one carried.

The stillness that had cocooned them was swiftly dissipating, the quiet before the storm almost at an end. They were all acutely aware of the path that lay ahead, and one truth united them: none of them intended to walk away as losers.

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