Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape-Chapter 78 - 74: The Trial of the Shafiq Invention

The letter arrived with the first light of dawn, casting a pale glow across the Ilvermorny courtyard. Severus stood at the edge, his breath visible in the crisp morning air, as fine snowflakes danced gently down, dusting the marble beneath his feet. A silent owl swooped down gracefully, delivering a thick scroll sealed with intricate runes, which landed softly into his outstretched gloved hand. The sigil of the International Confederation of Wizards shimmered in the morning light, its silver brilliance momentarily captivating him.

Severus hesitated, resisting the urge to tear it open immediately. Instead, he turned on his heel and made his way back to the observatory wing of his tower. The air inside felt warmer, enveloped in the faint scent of parchment and old ink. He lit a single lamp, its flickering golden glow illuminating the room, and unrolled the scroll with a mix of eagerness and apprehension beneath the warm light, ready to unveil whatever news awaited him.

Summons to the Magitorium Arcanum

Public Tribunal: Invention Ethics Review

Accused: Severus Shafiq

Date: Two weeks from receipt.

Location: The ICW High Court, Geneva Sector.

He read the document carefully, absorbing every word, and then he read it again, just to be sure. This was not a private inquiry; it was not meant to be a quiet reprimand behind closed doors. No, this was something much more significant—a trial. A public trial, open for all to witness and judge.

His eyes narrowed, a flicker of intensity crossing his face. They wanted a spectacle, an event that would draw eyes and stir whispers. Very well, he thought with a sense of resignation. If that was their intent, then they would certainly have one.

The moment the tribunal was announced, the magical press erupted.

The Alchemist's Eye: "The Boy Behind the Potion – Genius or Risk?"

Daily Prophet: "Former Hogwarts Student to Stand Trial in International Court – Is Britain to Blame?"

The Eastern Crescent: "Ilvermorny Prodigy Faces Global Tribunal – Innovation Under Fire?"

Inside Britain, the Pureblood Bloc ignited with fervor. They inundated the media with hushed insinuations: The potion was unstable, the creator lacked proper vetting, and the boy was a legitimate threat. Shadows of doubt loomed over the community, and anonymous officials from the Department of Magical Regulation began to release cryptic statements that only fueled the fire.

Simultaneously, Ilvermorny's administration found itself under siege as anxious parent groups inundated them with letters expressing their worries. In the classroom, Aurora observed an influx of foreign observers, their presence a palpable reminder of the scrutiny bearing down on her. Even Langford, ever the stalwart figure, was drawn into a high-stakes International Confederation of Wizards conference call, tasked with clarifying the intricate oversight protocols that seemed to be crumbling under the pressure.

Amidst this whirlwind of chaos, Severus remained curiously silent, his thoughts hidden behind an impenetrable facade. But the tension in the air shifted dramatically with the arrival of Lord Arcturus Prince.

He stepped through the Ilvermorny wardline without a moment's pause, flanked by two stern legal advisors and a black dragon-hide case brimming with arcane contracts, the air around him humming with the weight of impending decisions. Arcturus Prince presented a commanding figure—his cloak shimmered like liquid night, his eyes glinted with intelligence, and his face bore the sharp angles and icy demeanor of winter itself, sculpted by years of strategy and resolve.

They convened in the map room, a sanctuary guarded against prying ears and eager whispers. The room was cloaked in a solemn silence, the walls adorned with charts and paintings depicting battles won and lost.

"So they want a trial," Arcturus stated, his voice steady as he unfurled the tribunal notice with deliberate care. "In public."

"Yes," Severus replied, his tone resolute. "And I want it to remain that way."

Arcturus raised an eyebrow, a flicker of surprise crossing his composed features. "Most would beg for a private hearing to shield themselves from scrutiny."

"I have nothing to hide," Severus asserted with confident clarity. "But I have something to show."

A pause settled between them, heavy with unspoken implications. Arcturus studied him intently, his keen mind unraveling the layers behind Severus's declaration. A slow smile crept across his lips, a glint of approval in his eyes.

"You want to make it a reckoning," he surmised.

"I want to make it a lesson," Severus emphasized, his voice firm and unwavering. "For the world."

The following day, a new article emerged—not from the pages of a gossip magazine, but within The Alchemist's Eye, one of the most venerable magical journals still in circulation.

Titled "Invention Under Fire: A Response from Severus Shafiq" this essay was masterfully crafted, showcasing an elegance in its prose that was matched only by its precision. The words flowed seamlessly, each sentence meticulously constructed to convey the weight of the arguments presented, yet there was an undercurrent of quiet condemnation that ran through the text, leaving readers to ponder the implications of Shafiq's assertions.

The Alchemist's Eye – Special Opinion Feature

Invention Under Fire: A Response from Severus Shafiq

By Special Submission

Published Internationally, Translated into 14 Languages by Evening Release

To the magical world,

I have recently been notified that I am to stand trial—not cloaked in secrecy, not lurking in the shadows, but boldly under the illumination of the Magitorium Arcanum. This hallowed venue is designated for the most serious of transgressions: the abuse of magic, the violation of ethical principles, the degradation of innovation.

What, you may ask, is my alleged crime?

It is the audacious act of innovation—without the requisite permission.

Let me clarify: they do not accuse me of distributing a weapon of destruction. I have not commercially sold Surge Noir, nor have I marketed Velaris Dust. I have not unleashed chaos upon the world beyond the realms of theoretical exploration and responsible design. My true guilt lies in my relentless ambition—a pursuit taken to its natural, albeit controversial, conclusion.

Therefore, let us be unequivocal: I shall attend the trial. I will confront every inquiry thrown my way. However, I will not express remorse for my boldness in creating what others were too fearful to even conceptualize.

If this magical world chooses to penalize those who take risks with obliteration, then we are left with a future dictated by a history that has granted no permission for evolution or progress.

Progress cannot be sanitized before it is put to the test. Discovery does not wait for bureaucratic approval. The true edge of magic—the place where boundaries blur—is never attained by those who ponder how safely they can navigate the unknown. It is found by those who dare to step forward, fully aware of the potential costs, embracing the risks and the unwelcome consequences that accompany their choices, and choosing to create nonetheless.

The potion in question was not merely misplaced; it was stolen. It was never released to the world, nor offered for sale, no intentions for weaponization, nor meant for consumption. It was taken—snatched from a private, sealed laboratory, which was safeguarded by Ilvermorny's most sophisticated warding enchantments. This brazen act of theft went un-condemned.

Instead, it was legitimized under the guise of inquiry.

And so I pose a question: If the Confederation permits theft to be validated through tribunal proceedings, then it transforms from a court of justice into a theater for piracy.

You are not merely investigating a breach of law. You are complicit in one.

I will not engage in a debate about the ethics of what remains unreleased. I will not permit fear to dictate the course of magical evolution. Furthermore, I will not allow an entire generation of aspiring potion masters to believe that creativity equates to treason.

For those who are concerned about the potions I have already crafted—know this: I did not design these potions to astonish the world. I created them because the world itself chose not to innovate.

This trial is not focused on safety. It centers around the struggle for control. Yet, I refuse to yield to control. My allegiance lies with reason and rational thought.

And to the future that dares to be more than a mere reflection of the past. If the next generation finds itself seeking permission to create, then we are destined to craft only what those who came before us would deem acceptable. That is not magic; that is stagnation, a dull echo of what once was. So let us move forward. Let the trial commence. Let us pose the critical question—not whether what I have created poses a threat, but whether we still hold in our hearts the true essence of what magic is meant to accomplish.

Respectfully,

Severus Shafiq

Heir to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Shafiq

Alchemical Inventor, ICW-Recognized Dual Potioneering Prodigy

Founder, Shafiq Potioneering Division

By the time the article made its way through various magical academic networks and political channels, it had already been reprinted in several prominent publications, including The Transmutation Times, La Voix Alchimique, and The Eastern Crescent Journal. Experts and enthusiasts alike had meticulously dissected its contents during heated discussions on every major debate panel in the pressroom of the Magical World.

As the sun set and darkness enveloped the town, one undeniable fact emerged from the chaos: the battle for Severus's future was no longer confined to the sterile, echoing courtrooms where legal arguments were once exchanged. It had decisively transitioned into the realm of public opinion and the written word, igniting a fierce debate that unfolded across the pages of newsprint.

That evening, Severus stood before his enchanted mirror, observing as Arcturus's reflection flickered to life in its silvery surface. The older man's image was framed by a chaotic backdrop filled with scrolls, documents, and ward crystals that blinked in various colors, creating a sense of urgency and preparation.

"We're fully prepared for a defense," Arcturus said, his voice steady despite the tumultuous atmosphere. "But this situation has evolved beyond the realm of legality. It's about crafting a narrative. They intend for the world to view a reckless prodigy playing god. We'll counter that image and showcase a visionary who is being held hostage by the cowardice of others."

Severus's eyes darkened as he murmured, "They've forced my hand."

Arcturus nodded, his expression somber yet resolute. "Indeed, they've poked the lion's cub," he replied dryly, the remnants of a smirk ghosting across his face. "Thinking it was still just a kitten."

The final owl of the night arrived just before the clock chimed midnight, its wings silent against the cool air. Severus's heart raced as he unfurled the scroll, the rustle of parchment breaking the stillness. A list. Five names, each one casting a long shadow.

Five tribunal judges, each representing a unique balance of fate.

A delegate from the Department of Magical Regulation—an unmistakably British figure, but clearly compromised, his loyalties possibly swaying with the political tides.

A former Hogwarts professor: Octavia Melrose, who had taught Transfiguration with a grace that often belied her fierce commitment to the traditions of Hogwarts. Now an ICW liaison, she was known for her calm neutrality... yet whispers of her past as a staunch defender of "tradition" still lingered in the halls of the Ministry.

Duke Linhart Aurel, a discreet ally of the Zabini's hailing from the Balkans. His presence was understated, often blending into the background, yet his loyalty remained steadfast and unwavering.

Thaddeus Skye, a retired High Magister of the ICW, gained infamy for his relentless pursuit of ethical conduct among alchemists. Known for purging half a dozen unscrupulous practitioners over the past two decades, his reputation instilled both respect and fear. Even Arcturus faltered at the mere mention of his name.

And the fifth: Master Indira Vale, representing the Independent Potioneering Guild. As an Indian delegate and a former inventor renowned for her brilliance, she was tough yet fair, her insights sharp and her resolve unyielding.

Five names. Five shadows looming over the flickering fire's glow.

Severus closed the scroll with a definitive snap and placed it beside his well-used notebook, a sense of gravity settling in the air around him.

Two weeks.

In just fourteen days, the world would be watching, waiting with bated breath to see how fate would unfold.

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