Transmigration: Into the Life of Severus Snape

The mist curled like delicate fingers across the dueling platform, shrouding the arena in an ethereal haze. Severus took his position, his heart steady as the announcer’s voice rang out, slicing through the damp air: "Round Two – Match 17. Severus Shafiq of Ilvermorny Academy versus Eléonore Rousseau of Beauxbatons."
Eléonore responded with a graceful curtsy, a delicate flick of her wand sending her pale blue robes fluttering in the morning light. From a distance, she seemed fragile and almost otherworldly—like a piece of fine porcelain left to the mercy of the elements. Yet, Severus had already witnessed her combat skills firsthand; she was anything but delicate. Her style was a masterful blend of illusions, concealed traps, and spatial warping, all artfully designed to confuse her opponents rather than overpower them with brute strength.
The bell chimed, its resonant sound slicing through the thickening fog that enveloped the platform and obscured the audience’s view.
Severus took a measured step forward, each movement deliberate and mindful. He focused on the rhythmic scrape of his boots against the ancient stone, a constant reminder of the ground beneath him. The weight of the moment settled over him like the mist, heavy yet familiar.
, he thought silently, reaching out with his mind as if she could hear him through the haze.
He feinted right, his movements fluid and purposeful.
In that moment, a blast of pinkish light erupted from behind a deceptive pillar, illuminating the swirling mist. There.
With a quick pivot, he unleashed a lightning jolt hex, striking the core of the illusion. The mist reacted violently, imploding inward as if shattering glass, shards scattering into nothingness. Eléonore gasped, her form revealed too soon, vulnerability etched across her features.
Severus didn’t hesitate; he seized the opportunity.
Just two spells later, she found herself disarmed, her wand clattering to the ground, and he pushed her toward the edge of the platform. She blinked rapidly, struggling to adjust to the sudden clarity of the scene unfolding around her.
The audience murmured, a wave of surprise rippling through them.
Not because the fight had dragged on—but because it was strikingly brief. Controlled. Precise.
Professor Flitwick beamed with delight from his vantage point in the judges’ tower, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he leaned closer to his fellow judges. In a hushed voice, he remarked, "He’s reading them like books," admiring the skill on display.
Severus, feeling the weight of the moment, gave a slight, respectful bow before silently exiting the stage, his mind still swirling with the performance he had just witnessed.
Observation Deck
Alessandro leaned against the cold stone railing, his fingers drumming an impatient rhythm against the ledge. Severus was just called for his duel round 1. Alessandro was confident Severus will win, but he was worried for Evie. He knew Evie was strong but Durmstrang students are known to use under handed tactics to win.
Below, Evie stood poised opposite a towering Durmstrang boy, his wand resembling nothing more than a crude, carved club. Before the final echo of the bell had faded, he unleashed his first spell—a crackling bolt of concussive force that surged through the air.
With a swift, fluid motion, Evie sidestepped, her movements narrow and precise. Alessandro watched intently, narrowing his eyes. "Too early. He’s rushing," he murmured, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.
From their elevated vantage point, the duel unfolded like a fierce dance between a predator and its elusive shadow. The Durmstrang boy unleashed heavy, wide-impact hexes that thrashed through the air, forcing Evie to duck and roll with agility and grace. Yet, her counterattacks were calculated and lethal—small, surgical jabs of magic that targeted his vulnerabilities: a sharp curse aimed at his knee and a flickering jinx that glanced off his shoulder.
And then—
Evie let him charge forward, baiting him with an almost casual defiance. He roared in determination, his spell swelling ominously at the tip of his wand, ready to unleash its power.
And then, as if she were a wisp of smoke, she vanished from sight. In the blink of an eye, she reappeared silently behind him. With a mere whisper and a precise flick of her wrist, she disarmed him completely, leaving him stunned and defenseless. Even the judges, with their scrutinizing eyes, blinked in surprise at the unexpected turn of events. Alessandro could not help but grin widely. "Elegant. Lethal. Truly a goddess-tier execution," he remarked, pride and admiration shining in his eyes.
Sponsored Contestant’s Platform – Early Afternoon
The platform shimmered with intense heat, radiating from one of the Castelobruxo enchantments that enveloped the space.
James barely took notice of that magical aura. His attention was wholly captured by the vibrant display projected above him, which had just replayed Severus’s latest impressive win.
"Just smoke and mirrors," he muttered under his breath, a streak of determination flashing through his mind. "I can do better."
His opponent stepped confidently onto the platform—a wiry South American boy with quick, precise footwork. Ivy tattoos glowed eerily on his forearms, seemingly alive as they twisted and turned with each movement.
With a signal from the judges, the duel began.
James immediately surged forward, channeling his energy into a barrage of brute-force stunning spells that erupted from his wand like cannon fire. But each spell sailed wide, missing the mark entirely.
Without hesitation, his opponent retaliated with expertly crafted twisting root-charms, which wound through the air like serpents, seeking to ensnare James with their magical coils.
A snarl escaped James’s lips as he felt the pressure of the duel intensify. Summoning all his strength, he overpowered the charm with a burst of pure force. However, the backlash from the spell sent cracks spidering across the platform near his foot. The crowd murmured in surprise; the judges scribbled their observations intently.
In the third exchange, he finally managed to turn the tide, employing a shielding rebound tactic that had been practiced countless times. Yet, in a moment of miscalculation, his foot slipped mid-cast. The hex veered off-center, but fortune favored him—his opponent’s wand flew from his hand, landing several feet away.
The duel concluded, but not without a sense of lingering tension. The audience offered polite applause, their claps echoing in the silence, but there were no cheers of excitement to accompany them.
James turned his gaze toward the balcony, where his tutor stood with arms folded tightly across his chest, a clear sign of his disapproval. Remus’s expression was clouded, his heavy gaze filled with quiet concern for his friend’s well-being.
Amid the subdued atmosphere, Sirius clapped exuberantly, his enthusiasm contrasting sharply with the somber mood. "That’s more like it!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing as he attempted to brighten the moment.
James forced a grin in response, but inside, doubt gnawed at him. He heard the thought in his mind, as vivid and piercing as the cheers that had not come. You’re not dueling him yet. But he’s still ahead.
Duel Platform 6 – Early Afternoon
The Russian boy stood at the far end of the platform, a figure as immovable and cold as a statue hewn from ice and bone. Alessandro had studied him intently—Viktor Mirov, a fierce competitor, ranked in the top 10 after Day 1. Renowned for his merciless transfiguration work and defensive charms shaped by rigorous near-military training, Viktor was a formidable presence. He rarely shifted his stance, only moving with lethal precision when striking. And when he did, he had a reputation for never missing twice.
A small breeze stirred in the space between them, causing the platform to hum softly with a barely perceptible energy. A faint shimmer of protective wards surrounded them, creating a barrier that resembled glass walls shimmering in the light.
From the audience tier, Alessandro’s eyes caught the flick of Evie’s fingers as she signaled their pre-arranged, silent code: three quick taps, a message conveying to him the need for control first, then an opportunity to strike.
As the chime rang out, sharp and clear, Viktor remained steadfast. He gave no outward sign of vulnerability; instead, he simply raised his wand, channeling his concentration as he conjured a swirling storm of obsidian shards that erupted ominously from the edge of the stage, glinting dangerously in the overhead lights.
Alessandro moved—not retreating, but pivoting deftly to the side—his robes swirling like smoke as he swept his arm and cast "Protego Circletum." A shimmering barrier erupted around him, deflecting the shards of ice that sailed through the air, each one pinging off the rotating arc of light before disappearing into nothingness.
Viktor, undeterred, pressed his attack. A wave of raw ice surged across the floor like a torrent, its frigid breath wrapping around Alessandro’s boots, threatening to immobilize him. Yet, Alessandro had undergone rigorous training in the treacherous Alps, taught by none other than Sofia Mariani herself. He was well-versed in maintaining mobility, even in the most biting of cold.
"Ventus!" he shouted, channeling the elemental force as he surged upward, propelled by a sudden burst of air. He flipped gracefully over the encroaching frost and landed in a low crouch, ready for his next move. Without hesitation, his wand snapped forward, a weapon poised for action.
"Confundere!" he cried out with confidence.
"Spiculum!" he followed swiftly, summoning a second incantation.
The first hex collided with Viktor’s shimmering shield, a burst of energy that crackled in the air, but the second spell was a clever feint. Utilizing Severus’s modified spellcurve technique, it curved midair, altering its trajectory with deceptive grace and striking Viktor squarely on the shoulder.
The Russian blinked, taken aback. He was not injured, but the surprise was palpable, flickering across his features as he recalibrated for the next move.
And that was enough.
Alessandro stepped into the fray, adjusting his stance for close combat.
"Silencio," he uttered, his voice steady and firm.
"Diffindo—legas," he followed, the incantation rolling off his tongue with practiced ease.
The second spell lashed out, striking across Viktor’s wand arm. It was harmless to his skin but specifically engineered to disrupt muscle coordination for a critical fifteen seconds.
Viktor grunted in annoyance, feeling his grip falter as his muscles refused to cooperate as he struggled to regain control.
But Alessandro was already on the move, circling around with precision.
With a deft twist of his wrist and a single, expertly aimed disarm spell, he struck cleanly.
Viktor’s wand flew from his grasp, spinning through the air in an elegant arc before landing far out of reach.
The duel was decisively over.
Polite applause echoed throughout the stands, a gentle ripple of appreciation for the display of skill.
In the judges’ box, Flitwick made a quick note with a flick of his quill, his expression a mix of approval and surprise. A Mahoutokoro master raised a single eyebrow, his interest piqued by the unexpected turn of events.
Alessandro stood motionless, his focus unwavering, until the bell chimed twice, signaling the end.
Finally, he exhaled a quiet breath of relief, turned, and bowed with grace—first to Viktor, acknowledging his opponent’s effort, and then to the judges, demonstrating respect for their authority.
From the sidelines, Severus nodded once in appreciation of the victory. Evie offered a small, satisfied smile, an expression of pride for her friend’s performance.
As Alessandro stepped down from the platform, he muttered under his breath, the words laced with determination:
"One down. One to go."
Sponsored Contestant’s Platform – Late Afternoon
The platform ascended into the brisk morning air, its glasslike wards shimmering as they caught the first light of dawn. Ben Hale stood confidently at one end, his posture calm yet coiled tightly—like a storm poised to unleash its fury.
Alessandro leaned casually against the balcony railing, arms crossed and a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes as he observed the platform come to life with a low hum. "This should be good," he murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips.
Across the dueling floor, Ben’s opponent—a lean, wiry duelist from the esteemed Egyptian Nile Academy—made his entrance barefoot, his robes billowing like sand-colored banners caught in a desert breeze. He bowed sharply, a gesture filled with respect, and then lifted his wand, his expression focused and determined.
The announcement echoed through the air, crisp and clear:
"Ben Hale – Independent Candidate – United States vs. Rami Bashir – Nile Academy of Arcane Warfare."
Ben rolled his shoulders and nodded once, settling into his defensive stance, the energy around him crackling with potential.
The bell chimed, signaling the start of the match.
Rami wasted no time, darting forward with a quickness and grace reminiscent of wind rushing through reeds. His magic was unconventional, employing strange, curved arcs of force that twisted through the air rather than simply breaking through with brute strength. A slicing spell shot toward Ben’s side, a graceful yet deadly arc.
In a fluid motion, Ben pivoted just in time, allowing the wind-brushed attack to sail past him by mere inches. With a swift counterattack, he unleashed a wave of magic—twin firebolts spiraling and twisting through the air before bursting apart like brilliant flares in the sky. Rami managed to block one bolt but barely deflected the other, the force of it staggering him and causing a ripple of concern among the spectators.
The crowd collectively gasped, then hissed in response, the tension palpable in the air.
On the sidelines, Evie watched intently, her eyes narrowed as she focused on the duel. "Ben’s not just powerful. He’s efficient," she remarked, her voice barely above a whisper as she analyzed every move.
Severus nodded faintly beside her, his expression serious. "He doesn’t show off. He finishes," he replied, recognizing the precision and ruthlessness of Ben’s technique.
On the platform, Rami executed a clever misdirection feint, attempting to mask his movements with three quick strikes interlaced with a swirling sandstorm hex. The dense cloud obscured his figure, making it difficult for anyone to track his position.
But Ben didn’t hesitate.
Lowering his stance and sweeping his wand upward in a deliberate arc, he conjured a powerful pressure-burst gust that dispersed the swirling cloud in an instant, revealing Rami’s location. Seizing the opportunity, Ben unleashed a shattering hex that raced low along the ground. Rami, caught off guard, jumped back but landed awkwardly on the edge of the ward, his footing faltering beneath him.
In a swift motion, Ben struck with a silent disarming charm, sending a brilliant beam of pure wandlight straight toward Rami.
In a dramatic arc, Rami’s wand was sent flying from his grasp, soaring through the air like a fallen star.
The bell chimed once more, signaling the end of the duel.
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of noise—a mix of cheers and gasps of astonishment filled the air as spectators processed the unexpected outcome.
From his vantage point in the judges’ box, Flitwick watched with a glimmer of pride in his eyes, smiling to himself as he thought, "Textbook dismantling."
With a sense of accomplishment, Ben turned to acknowledge the judges, saluting them gracefully before walking off the platform, his expression steadfast and focused, without a single glance back.
As he made his way back to the fortress corridor, he was met by Alessandro, who clapped him on the shoulder with playful enthusiasm. "No mercy today, huh?" he remarked, a teasing tone in his voice.
Ben raised an eyebrow, a hint of seriousness creeping into his demeanor. "I heard I’m facing Potter next."
A moment of silence stretched between the four of them—Severus, Evie, Alessandro, and Ben—as they absorbed the weight of that revelation.
Then Alessandro broke the tension with a dark smile. "Now it gets interesting."
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