Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 55 - 52: Dangerous Alchemy

The letter arrived three days after Severus's request, its anticipation hanging heavy in the air. The wax seal of the Prince family gleamed warmly in the flickering candlelight as Severus delicately broke it open. To his surprise, it wasn't just a single parchment; rather, it was an entire packet, neatly clipped together. The papers bore meticulous notes and annotations, each carefully inscribed with a precision that suggested thorough thought. Arcturus hadn't merely responded to his inquiry; he had undertaken a thorough investigation, leaving no stone unturned.

To Severus,

What you've requested transcends mere gossip; it constitutes a dossier befitting an intelligence agency. You are delving into treacherous waters where blood, power, and coin intertwine until they become indistinguishable from one another.

The Zabinis possess no allegiance—neither to the International Confederation of Wizards, nor to the Dark Faction, nor even to the Ministry itself. Their loyalty lies solely with their own name, an emblem of prestige and power. They uphold their neutrality with the cold precision of a blade held to the throats of those around them, a constant reminder that their interests reign above all.

Their business empire sprawls across three continents, engaging in diverse ventures ranging from high fashion and luxury hospitality to the controversial manufacturing of blood potions and enchanted cosmetics. However, the darker aspects of their operations cannot be ignored, as whispers suggest they run the most refined discreet assassination network within the magical underworld—though, as is often the case, no tangible proof has ever surfaced to corroborate these claims.

The Heiress has become a specter in most social circles—effectively protected and meticulously guarded. It is rumored that she has received marriage proposals from at least three prominent European nobles, all of whom mysteriously withdrew their offers after private, undisclosed meetings with her formidable mother.

They have no dealings with the weak or the indecisive, Severus.

Should you wish to immerse yourself in this perilous entanglement, ensure you bring something of value—some form of leverage.

Do not forget your lawyers.

If you choose to continue down this treacherous path, keep me apprised of your developments. And remember: when a spider weaves its intricate web, it is seldom ensnared within it.

—Lord Arcturus Prince

Severus carefully folded the letter, each crease deepening as he processed the weight of its words, the gravity of the message settling heavily on his spine. He didn't feel fear coursing through him, yet a cautious sense of wariness clung to him like a shadow. That underlying unease was sufficient to keep his mind alert and his instincts razor-sharp.

Severus Shafiq was acutely aware of the kind of doors the illustrious Zabini family could unlock for him. They held no reverence for lofty dreams or aspirations; their allegiance lay firmly with power, leverage, and profit. In this ruthless arena, he had already placed one card on the table: the Rejuvenation Elixir. It was a remarkable creation, certified by the International Confederation of Wizards, ensuring its safety, thorough testing, and global recognition. The elixir boasted significant commercial potential across both the medical and cosmetic industries.

However, if Severus truly wanted to capture their attention—if he sought to compel them to take him seriously—he knew he needed more than just a dependable card. He required something that exuded raw ambition and promise.

The second potion he was developing was born from an unexpected reaction during one of his early experiments with the elixir. Unlike the Rejuvenation Elixir, this new creation was not merely an elixir; it was a surge of energy, a jolt of something potent. It was, in essence, a drug—one that could transform lives and shift the balance of power. Yet, curiously, he hadn't even assigned it a name yet, leaving its potential as untamed as his own ambitions.

But its effects were undeniable: Accelerated casting speed, which allowed spells to flow from the fingertips with a fluidity that felt almost euphoric. His magical senses became honed to an exquisite edge, allowing him to perceive even the faintest shift in the ambient energies around him. For a fleeting 20-minute window, he experienced a near-superhuman potential for spellcasting, as if the very fabric of magic had willingly opened up to him.

The problem? The crash that followed was nothing short of brutal. A deep, consuming magical exhaustion would set in, oftentimes lasting for hours and sometimes stretching into the entirety of the day, rendering him unable to conjure even the simplest incantations.

The high was too clean—too tempting. He had felt its seductive pull first-hand when a droplet splashed against his skin during an earlier test. In that moment, his mind sharpened to a hyper-focused clarity, and his reaction time felt as though it had been cut in half. But that euphoric clarity faded, and he found himself spending six grueling hours lying in bed, shaking and overwhelmed with tremors, as the effects wore off.

It was akin to consuming three cups of coffee laced with a jolt of lightning—an exhilarating rush followed by the crushing weight of a pit filled with lead that swallowed him whole.

He understood what it was evolving into: a magical stimulant, a potent substance that functioned much like a drug.

And in the wrong hands, it could spiral into something far more dangerous than he could imagine.

Such potency made it exceedingly dangerous, but it also rendered it invaluable—if only he could figure out how to harness it without succumbing to its treacherous allure.

Severus embarked on a path few purebloods would even contemplate—he approached potion experimentation with the methodical mindset of a Muggle scientist. Drawing inspiration from his previous incarnation as George, he meticulously partitioned a segment of his private laboratory, reinforcing it with intricate anti-scrying wards to protect his work from unwanted observation.

In this secured space, he conducted controlled trials with a population of magical rats, each one isolated and carefully tagged for tracking. He had developed precisely calibrated doses of the Arcane Surge prototype, aiming to explore its effects with unparalleled rigor. His notebooks became a repository of obsessive detail, capturing every variable: timing, symptoms, magical readings, and notable changes in behavior.

The moment he administered the first dose, however, it became immediately clear that he had miscalculated. The potion was too potent. The rat erupted into a manic frenzy, conjuring wild sparks without the aid of a wand before succumbing to a catastrophic spasm brought on by magical burnout.

In his next attempt, the second rat appeared to endure longer, exhibiting six intense minutes of energy so concentrated that its fur crackled like live electrical wires. But when it finally exhausted itself, it trembled violently, teetering on the edge of collapse before miraculously regaining its composure.

But the third rat's reaction was startling—it displayed an unquenchable craving for more of the concoction. It was at that pivotal moment that Severus paused, a sense of unease creeping in. The realization struck him: the potion had not been engineered to create addiction.

And yet—The rat lingered near the testing vial, its beady eyes darting back and forth, clearly aware of the stakes at hand. It paced nervously whenever Severus approached with the pipette, its tiny paws tapping impatiently against the surface. On the fourth trial, to his surprise, it lunged forward and snatched the vial just moments before the potion was administered, its swift movement a testament to its instinctual wariness.

That unsettling behavior stirred a sense of unease deep within him.

This wasn't merely a stimulant anymore; it was evolving into something much more insidious.

A magical narcotic.

With a furrowed brow, he adjusted the formula once again—lowering the magical saturation and carefully adding a stabilizer crafted from powdered murtlap skin and dragon fern, both notorious for their balancing properties.

The crash that accompanied the potion dulled slightly, though the lingering echo of its potency remained unsettling. The surge of power was less intense, yet it still bore a hint of danger—a double-edged sword.

But now it was usable.

He could envision its potential: if weaponized, it could serve as a last-resort combat enhancer that might tip the scales in a harrowing battle. If refined further, it could branch into a groundbreaking avenue of magical performance enhancement, reshaping the landscape of spellcasting.

His mind buzzed with a whirlwind of possibilities—Auror combat strategies? Hit-wizard raids designed for maximum efficiency? Intense magical duels that pushed the limits of wizardly capabilities? Every idea ignited a spark of ambition within him, drawing him deeper into a world ripe with opportunity.

He scribbled notes across a fresh page, his handwriting sharp and precise.

Notes: Possible transition to capsule or powdered form. Easier to distribute. Could be carried discreetly. Ingestible but also viable as an inhalant.

But then he underlined the last point three times in a frenzied yet deliberate motion: Too addictive. Too unstable. NOT market-ready.

He paused, a frown knitting his brow as he contemplated the implications. Still, in the right hands, this could morph into something extraordinary—a formula that might rival any known potion he had ever devised.

Severus's gaze drifted to the glittering vial on the table, its contents shimmering with an almost hypnotic allure. Nearby, a rat scratched anxiously at its cage, its beady eyes flickering with an eerie glow, illuminated by the remnants of potent magical residue.

He didn't allow himself a smile. This moment wasn't a triumph; it felt more like a warning—a siren's call that echoed through his mind.

Rather than a badge of honor, this discovery felt like a double-edged sword. It could be a devastating weapon in the wrong hands or an invaluable tool in the right ones.

He knew he had to tread carefully—how he harnessed this power and whom he allowed to approach it would determine its fate.

Severus fixated on the final batch of stabilized powder, which cooled slowly beneath a securely warded glass dome. The deep violet dust shimmered faintly, its beauty deceptively alluring as it held an undeniable power. The solid-state incarnation of the Arcane Surge Draft was finally taking shape—its practicality evident. It was easy to store, easy to carry, and, ominously, easy to weaponize.

Yet, as the unfortunate trials with the rats had already demonstrated, it was also painfully easy to abuse the substance. He meticulously noted the results from the tenth rat trial; the subjects were returning to the dosing area with an almost frantic obsession, even when it was clear that nothing remained to consume. They twitched at unseen shadows, their bodies trembling with the effects of withdrawal. Their magical signatures—once stable and rhythmic—now pulsed erratically, like a dying star on the brink of collapse. Disturbingly, their fur had begun to thin, patches revealing raw, sensitive skin, a telltale sign of their body's overexertion and its desperate need for more.

In this moment of revelation, he faced a harsh truth: he hadn't merely concocted a potion meant for enhancement or healing. No, he had unwittingly crafted a potent magical narcotic, one that could ensnare and enslave those who succumbed to its allure. This duality—of terror and exhilaration—sent a shiver of exhilaration down his spine, igniting a spark of dangerous curiosity within him.

But Severus knew this was merely the beginning. He was far from satisfied; he craved more data, more understanding of the substance he had unleashed into the world. Human testing was entirely out of the question, though. There was still too much at stake, too much risk involved for anything resembling a commitment to this unpredictable creation.

Instead, he turned to magical primates—extraordinarily gifted monkeys endowed with both physical and magical attributes akin to those of human witches and wizards. These creatures were not only intelligent but also possessed an innate magical quality that made them perfectly suited for his experimental needs. The magizoology department at Ilvermorny maintained a variety of these primates for studies on magical behavior, providing him with ample resources.

Severus borrowed three of them under the guise of a neutral research request, their handlers blissfully unaware of the true nature of his intentions. However, to achieve significant results, he realized he needed precision—data that could not be captured through mere observation alone.

Thus, through a combination of his uncle's house-elf and a discreet connection in the black market, he acquired a Magical Soul Forge. This complex diagnostic device was typically reserved for registered healers, designed to measure the fluctuations of a magical core, the strength of an aura, and the resilience of energy in magical beings. He paid double the standard price, an extravagance necessitated by the urgency of his need, and he further enchanted the device to circumvent any registry detection.

As he set the device up—meticulously arranging its components and checking connections—the weight of another realization struck him. He needed his own elf—something loyal, something that could maintain his privacy while assisting him in his clandestine work.

The initial trials left him astounded. The monkeys demonstrated a remarkable resilience, showing no signs of dependence. Their magical cores glowed vibrantly, with energy enhancements flowing smoothly and consistently as recorded by the Soul Forge. Each dose of the potion significantly boosted their magical output, sharpened their focus, and invigorated their physical energy, but only for a precise duration of twenty minutes.

The subsequent crash was surprisingly manageable, characterized by two hours marked by fatigue and sluggish magical responsiveness. There were no indications of withdrawal symptoms or erratic behaviors that he had feared. Severus felt a wave of euphoria wash over him, a relief that lifted his spirits. Perhaps the rats had been an anomaly, but now he speculated that the more formidable magical creatures might inherently resist the addictive effects of the potion.

Yet, despite his initial triumph, he couldn't help but feel dissatisfied with the fleeting twenty-minute window. He craved more – more potency, more duration – and so he resolved to push the boundaries further.

After eighteen meticulous iterations—refining absorption rates and adjusting magical conductivity—he finally achieved a breakthrough. One single dose now provided monkeys with an impressive one-hour boost in magical abilities. Their magical readings soared to remarkable levels, showcasing heightened raw energy, improved mental clarity, and increased physical agility. For the entire hour, their auras shimmered brightly, radiating strength and stability.

However, this newfound enhancement came with a significant drawback. Following the peak of their magical abilities, the subsequent crash was unavoidable. Four long hours of magical suppression ensued, leaving the monkeys physically drained. They exhibited signs of exhaustion, and their auras became temporarily unstable, flickering uncertainly.

Despite these drawbacks, the outcome remained manageable, and crucially, the effects were not addictive—at least not yet. Driven by curiosity and determination, Severus decided to explore various variables. He experimented with different dosages, modified their diets, and introduced calming infusions aimed at alleviating the harsh symptoms of the crash.

Then came Trial 50.

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That's when it happened. A sense of foreboding filled the air as Severus observed the animals. One monkey paced restlessly near the dosing chamber, its agitation evident in the quickness of its movements. This was uncharacteristic behavior for the creature; it had never exhibited such signs of distress before.

Another monkey, frustrated and desperate for its usual dose, clawed at the dispenser rune with increasingly frantic motions. Its aura shimmered unpredictably, a clear indicator of its growing unease.

The third monkey pressed itself against the side of the enclosure, its body trembling slightly as it shifted from stance to stance. The sharpness of its movements was a stark contrast to its normally calm demeanor, embodying a palpable tension that filled the room.

Severus didn't need the Soul Forge to confirm what he already suspected. They were longing for the substance, a deep-seated craving driving them to manifest such erratic behavior.

Addiction had begun to take hold of them. Yet, it hadn't set in after the typical ten doses evidenced in rats. Instead, it had required a staggering fifty doses to ignite this dependence within the monkeys.

As he pondered the implications, Severus couldn't help but consider wizards. He knew they would likely take even longer to fall victim to the substance's allure. Yet, as the evidence unfolded before him, one truth remained clear: the effect was inevitable. It was only a matter of time.

Severus leaned back in his chair, allowing his gaze to drift over the scattered potion notes that cluttered the table before him. His hands remained steady, a testament to his practiced focus, even as his mind surged with a whirlwind of possibilities.

What if he could separate the effects of the potion? What if it was possible to isolate the magical enhancement properties while extracting the addictive component entirely?

A surge of excitement coursed through him at the thought. He envisioned creating two distinct versions of his potion:

One—a carefully regulated booster, a legitimate magical stimulant designed to enhance one's abilities without the dangerous repercussions of addiction.

The other—a refined, alluring magical narcotic, a delicately potent concoction that would be the first of its kind on the market.

The former would surely garner him fame throughout the potioneering community, a recognition he desperately craved. The latter, however, held even greater allure; it promised immense power, the kind that would allow him to manipulate—and perhaps even dominate—the undercurrents of magical society.

But what if the Zabinis—those formidable potioneering moguls, who simultaneously operated as black market dealers and high society puppeteers—caught wind of his groundbreaking work? They would be quick to recognize the vast potential lying within his creations, and they would understand exactly what kind of partner he could become in their intricate web of influence.

But the moment had not arrived yet. He knew that he had to wait. Not until every detail was flawless. Not until he wielded complete control over the situation. Not until he could ensure that it would be utilized solely according to his own terms.

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