Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape

The portkey sliced through the air like a blade through silk, and Severus materialized in the stone-ringed courtyard of Prince Manor, his boots making a muted thud as they touched down on the ancient slate, pleasantly warmed by the late afternoon sun.

Waiting for him was Arcturus Prince, impeccably dressed in elegant slate-gray robes that flowed around him like shadows. In one hand, he held a tumbler of spiced tea, the fragrant steam curling lazily into the air, while a subtle, approving expression flickered across his face—an emotion that transcended mere affection and brushed against the realms of pride.

"Welcome home," Arcturus greeted him, his voice calm and steady.

But the true warmth of the welcome manifested moments later, when a blur of dark hair and uncontainable excitement burst forth from the entrance of the manor, charging down the front steps with abandon.

"Brother Sev!"

Julius Prince, brimming with energy and a youthful exuberance that came from being just eleven years old, threw his arms around Severus before the older boy could even process his arrival. The hug was swift and uncoordinated, full of innocent affection, and entirely unselfconscious, capturing the very spirit of childhood in that fleeting moment.

"I saw the article in The Enchanted Times! You looked like you were about to duel the world itself!" Julius exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Severus blinked in surprise before a smile unexpectedly crept across his face. "In a way, I was," he admitted, recalling the fierce determination he had felt during that moment captured in print.

Julius pulled back, his grin widening as he took in his cousin's expression. "I'm going to Ilvermorny next year! Dad says I might even be sorted into Wampus like you. Can you believe it?" His enthusiasm was contagious.

"You'll have to earn it," Severus replied, playfully ruffling Julius's tousled hair. "They don't take just anyone. You'll need to show them you've got the spirit of a true Wampus."

"That's exactly what I told the elves!" Julius chirped, already launching into an animated recounting of his recent adventures. He was bursting with stories about wand fittings and debates over house crests, his words tumbling out in a rapid-fire stream filled with the thrill of anticipation for the year ahead.

The front doors swung open once more. Eileen Prince stood in the entrance, draped in elegant deep green robes that flowed around her. Initially, her expression was taut, revealing the weight of concern she carried, but as she stepped forward, her demeanor softened. She gently cupped her son's face in her hands, her fingers brushing against his skin with a mother's tenderness.

"You're too thin," she remarked, her brow furrowing slightly as she scanned his gaunt features.

"You always say that," he replied, a hint of exasperation in his voice, though he couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at his lips.

"And it's always true," she asserted with a sigh, her concern overshadowing her light teasing.

With that, she pulled him into a brief yet enveloping hug, the kind that spoke volumes in silence. It was a mother's relief, wordless and powerful, wrapping around them both like a protective shield against the world outside.

Inside, the drawing room retained its familiar elegance, just as he remembered—polished mahogany furniture gleamed softly in the ambient light, while the cold fireplace, soon to be ignited, stood as a silent invitation for warmth. Enchanted portraits adorned the walls, their subjects murmuring polite greetings before slipping back into quietude. A delicate tea set lay meticulously arranged on the table, its porcelain glinting, beside a folder marked MACUSA – Salzburg Protocols.

"I've thoroughly reviewed the official training syllabus," Arcturus began as they settled into their seats, the atmosphere thick with the anticipation of their discussion. "The plan laid out by MACUSA is indeed effective for students. However, you're no longer a student. You've become an asset."

With a deliberate motion, he opened the folder, a quill poised thoughtfully above the parchment as he gathered his thoughts. "I've reached out to an old acquaintance of mine—a former dueling champion who had to retire due to a debilitating spine curse. He now trains by contract. I can arrange for him to come here twice a week to work with you. Alternatively, if you're interested, I can also share several... less conventional spell chains from the eastern duelbooks. The techniques from Durmstrang are particularly effective. You won't be able to acquire those through MACUSA."

Severus nodded slowly, processing the options laid before him. "Both," he finally replied, a note of determination in his voice.

Arcturus's expression brightened, a smile breaking through his previously serious demeanor. "That's my nephew."

He leaned back in his chair, swirling his tea thoughtfully. "Also—one other note. After the tribunal, the International Confederation of Wizards offered me a minor advisory seat on the innovation ethics board. I accepted the position."

Severus raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "You said you didn't serve empires."

"I don't," Arcturus replied mildly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "But I'm not above attending their dinner tables if it means I can hear the whispers before they reach your door."

A comfortable silence enveloped them, filled only by the soft clinking of china and the faint aroma of brewed herbs, until Severus reached into the depths of his robe and carefully produced a folded letter.

"Alessandro invited me to train in Italy," he said, unfolding the crisp paper. "His mother's family—the Zabinis—are hosting him. They have a private arena and some of the best tutors in the world. Evie will be going in two weeks."

Eileen's posture stiffened immediately, concern etched across her face. "You just got home," she said, her voice edged with worry.

Severus met her gaze evenly, a flicker of determination in his eyes. "It's not for fun. It's a chance to train against my peers—those who'll be competing alongside me in Salzburg."

Before she could formulate a reply, Arcturus gently interjected, "We both understand the Zabinis possess resources that we simply lack. He'll be training among familiar faces, and that will undoubtedly enhance his skills."

Eileen's jaw clenched, her frustration evident as she considered their situation.

Turning to Severus with a serious expression, Arcturus said, "Leave at the end of June. That gives you three weeks here to prepare. Then, spend July in Italy. August… well, August will usher in war."

The next morning, the manor adapted seamlessly to Severus's presence, as if it had been waiting for him. At precisely six o'clock, his routine commenced with a series of invigorating laps around the expansive gardens of the Prince estate, where the scent of morning dew mingled with the vibrant colors of blooming flowers. He moved on to meticulous footwork drills in the sun-dappled courtyard, followed by rigorous push-resistance training, all enhanced by dampening fields magically maintained by the elves.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, he found himself sequestered in the dueling chamber—alone yet keenly observed by unseen eyes.

[Simulation System Online]

"Welcome back, Severus," Eva's voice resonated through the space, bringing with it a flicker of life. She promptly conjured vivid projections of his recent matches, meticulously analyzing his movements and adjusting the spell tempo in accordance with his posture.

"Wand elevation—two degrees higher, please. You're overcompensating for muscle fatigue. Remember to either push through it, or dial back and regroup," Eva advised with a blend of encouragement and precision, her digital presence a constant guide in his relentless pursuit of perfection.

By evening, he found himself immersed in a mountain of case law and the intricate history of magical dueling—mastering the nuances of magical lawfare, acutely aware that a single misstep on the international stage could lead to his disqualification faster than the flick of a wand. His dueling journal grew thicker with each passing day, filled with sprawling notes, detailed diagrams of spell mechanics, and rigorous critiques of his footwork.

Always at his side were the invaluable recordings from the previous year's dueling championship, courtesy of Arcturus's extensive network of connections. Each evening, he would replay footage of Hayato Ishinomori, the prodigious duelist from Mahoutokoro, repeatedly analyzing every detail. Going frame by frame, he scrutinized the slow-motion captures—focusing on spell angles, the momentary delay in reflexes, and the subtle shifts in shadow that hinted at an opponent's next move.

He could already recite the rhythm of Hayato's casting like a well-practiced drumbeat, each incantation echoing in his mind as he prepared himself for his own chance in the arena.

"Interesting," Eva murmured during one of the simulations. "You're holding back when you're fighting projections of Evie and Alessandro. Even within the confines of your mind - in a simulation, you're instinctively protecting them."

There was a brief silence as the weight of her observation hung in the air. "That's loyalty. But it's also vulnerability," she added, her voice laced with insight.

Severus, however, remained silent, processing her words. Instead of engaging in discussion, he simply reset the simulation once more, determination flooding through him as he cast the spell again—this time with greater intensity. He pushed harder, driving himself to break past the barriers he had unconsciously built.

The first letter arrived on luxurious black-and-gold parchment, its surface adorned with the elegant De Luca crest that shimmered in the light.

Severus,

The arena is yours to command as soon as you arrive. It is masterfully carved from volcanic rock, where heated air circulates perfectly, and pressure control is meticulously managed for optimal performance. The family's personal instructor, the formidable and often intimidating Master Rinucci, has consented to train us for a full three weeks. Despite his grumpy demeanor, I find myself already fond of him.

Evie is set to arrive next week. If you decide to show up, I might even be inclined to share my dueling robes with you—but then again, maybe not.

– Alessandro

The second letter arrived from France—crafted on pressed white vellum, adorned with delicate lavender ink that showcased Evie's precise, clean handwriting.

Thank you—for pushing me harder than I ever imagined I could go. The wedding is stunning, and the food is even better. Yet, amidst the celebrations, I find myself counting the days until we return to our training. Please, don't overexert yourself before the real fight begins.

– Evie

Severus carefully folded the two letters, slipping them into the pages of his journal, his thoughts lost in silence.

It was well past midnight when Arcturus Prince made his way into Severus's study, bypassing the formalities of knocking. The flickering fire had dwindled to mere embers, casting a faint, warm glow on the surroundings. Severus remained seated at his cluttered desk, intently focused on the combat footage displayed before him, his expression illuminated only by the soft, magical light from the enchanted projection.

Arcturus held a single envelope tightly in one hand, and despite his usual composure, weariness etched across his features, a burden that no potion could alleviate. He glanced briefly around the dim room, taking in the shadows that danced along the walls, but he chose not to sit, his stance conveying urgency.

"The political situation in Britain is deteriorating," he declared, cutting straight to the heart of the matter without any preamble. "There have been three more assassinations in the past week—each victim a prominent reformist. They've been executed with such finesse that the DMLE has deemed them unrelated incidents. The Prophet won't even mention their names anymore."

Severus looked up, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

"Voldemort is no longer a mere whisper on the wind," Arcturus continued, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "He has become an organizing principle, a unifying lie around which many are rallying."

With deliberate care, Arcturus set a thick, cream-colored envelope on the desk before Severus. The wax seal glimmered faintly in the dim light of the flickering fire—the sigil of the Wizengamot, striking and bold, was bisected diagonally by a silver cross-stroke, symbolizing authority and tradition.

"I've been approached," Arcturus said quietly, glancing cautiously around the room. "Not directly by the Wizengamot itself—but rather through two ancient houses that claim to speak on its behalf."

He tapped the envelope twice, as if to emphasize its significance.

"One message comes from the Notts. Their letter was laden with weighty promises steeped in old bloodlines, bearing undertones of subtle threats. The usual rhetoric of 'stability' and 'lineage' permeated the text—together with an expectation that the Prince family should play their part in safeguarding the future of pureblood society."

He paused for a moment, his mouth twisting in quiet disgust as he considered the implications of their demands.

"And the other..." he continued, a flicker of bitterness in his tone, "is from Edgar Bones. It's polite, even honest, but carries a naivety that borders on foolishness. He implores me to stand for the light—not through the machinations of politics, but by adhering to principle."

He exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers to his temple as if trying to massage away the looming weight of the conversation. "I've always managed to remain neutral. Too well-connected to offend anyone. Too old to recruit new allies. But this time... neutrality is starting to feel like a position with its own implications."

He gestured toward the sealed envelope resting on the table between them, its presence heavy with unspoken words. "I haven't answered either letter. I won't—not while you're still here, standing at this crossroads with me."

Silence enveloped them now, thick and suffocating, more palpable than the humid air that swirled in the room.

"I'm finalizing the paperwork," Arcturus added quietly, his voice low and steady, masking a hint of urgency. "Prince Holdings will open an office in New York by the first of July. It's business on paper—but a shield in practice. With this maneuver, the Prince family will acquire dual citizenship under trade rights."

Severus rose from his chair, the tension coiling tightly in his muscles, his stance rigid and defensive. "You're leaving."

"I'm protecting Julius," Arcturus replied, a resolute determination in his voice. "And your mother. Hogwarts is not safe—not anymore. The discrimination we once heard whispered in corners is turning into outright policy. The corridors are resonating again with the same poison I overheard as a boy during Grindelwald's rise to power. I won't risk Julius becoming a pawn in someone else's treacherous game."

He moved to the window, his hands clasped securely behind his back, gazing out at the landscape bathed in twilight. "Only a select few of my most trusted allies are aware of my true intentions. I plan to relocate the Prince family to the United States. Quietly and legally, under the pretense of business expansion and magical commerce," he revealed, his voice steady yet laced with urgency.

Severus rose slowly from his seat, taking a careful step to stand beside him, his interest piqued by the gravity of the revelation.

"No one else knows?" he inquired, skepticism threading through his tone.

"None of the old families," Arcturus confirmed, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Not the Malfoys. Not the Travers. Not even the Greengrasses. If they were to discover my plans, they'd demand explanations—and worse, they'd try to thwart my efforts."

He turned slightly toward Severus, his expression intensifying as he continued, his tone sharpening with resolve. "However, I've noticed that a few others—the observant ones—are already making their escape. Clever half-bloods and discreet muggleborns. They've seen the ominous signs, the writing on the wall, and they're not waiting for the Ministry to acknowledge that its foundations are crumbling. They're choosing to leave, to distance themselves before the inevitable chaos begins."

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the weight of unsaid thoughts. Finally, Severus broke the stillness, voicing the doubt that gnawed at him, "And what about here? What happens if even America isn't safe?"

Arcturus met his gaze, the gravity of the situation reflected in his eyes. "The Americans won't involve themselves in a foreign war—especially not one in Britain. They have their own struggles to consider. Nor will the French, the Italians, or the Chinese. The Japanese and the Indian Confederation will similarly watch from the sidelines."

He held Severus's gaze, his expression serious. "These nations are powerful, yes—but they are also stable. They do not share our proclivity for bloodline politics—not in the public eye. Their magical governments are well-established and unyielding, their auror forces trained to a degree that surpasses our own, and their economies stand firmly on their own two feet, independent and resilient. Voldemort would be a fool to provoke any of them until he has complete control of Britain. And he knows it."

Severus absorbed this revelation, the implications settling heavily in his mind. "And if he wins?"

"Then the world changes drastically," Arcturus replied, a somber note threading through his voice. "But until that day comes, our priority must be to secure our own."

He picked up the envelope once more, its edges crisp beneath his fingers, and held it up to the flickering firelight. With a subtle flick of his wand, he ignited it—flames engulfing the paper instantly, watching as it curled and disintegrated into ash within mere seconds.

"I'll be filing for dual citizenship next week," he added, the words hanging in the charged air. "The Prince Holdings branch is set to open in New York by July. Julius and your mother will relocate with me—quietly. We'll claim it's for business purposes. And on parchment, that's all it will be."

Severus exhaled a steady, slow breath, feeling the weight of his decision.

"I support it," he said resolutely. "Whatever keeps them safe."

Arcturus nodded once, but the intensity of his gaze remained sharp, probing. "And you?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Severus turned his attention towards the window, his eyes penetrating the darkness that enveloped the manor lawn. He spoke without shifting his posture, his voice rich with determination.

"I'll go to Italy in July. I plan to train, to focus—to keep my name clean."

There was a brief pause, during which the unspoken tension thickened in the air. Then his voice lowered, filled with a mixture of resolve and resignation.

"But I'm not fighting anyone else's war."

And then, softer still—like steel concealed within velvet, his words dripped with unyielding resolve:

"Not yet."

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