Aurora had seen Severus work before — at Ilvermorny's potions labs, in the quiet hum of late nights when experiments teetered between brilliance and catastrophe. She had watched him guide first-year students through basic healing draughts, his voice sharp but patient. She had witnessed him lose himself in theoretical research, scribbling notes in margins until dawn broke through the laboratory windows. But this… this was different.
He moved like a man possessed, driven by something far darker than academic curiosity. His quill scraped furiously across parchment, recording data with obsessive neatness that bordered on compulsion. Each measurement was noted in his precise script, underlined twice, cross-referenced with earlier calculations. Ink stained his fingers black and green, the faint scent of blood and wormwood clinging to the air like a funeral shroud. Every flick of his wand was exact, every pour measured to the heartbeat. The ritual of it had become almost mechanical, as if he had performed these motions a thousand times in his sleep.
Aurora stood by the door, her shoulder pressed against the cool stone frame, watching him with growing unease.
This was no longer research. This was a weapon being forged.
The look in his eyes was not one of curiosity — it was intent, sharp and consuming, like a blade being honed to its finest edge. She had always admired his precision, the way he could coax impossible results from stubborn ingredients. But now it frightened her. His focus had grown colder, harder, as if he had stripped away everything but the pursuit of his goal. Gone was the professor who would pause to explain a complex reaction or smile when a particularly elegant solution presented itself. In his place sat someone she barely recognized.
He's not trying to cure them anymore, she thought, her stomach twisting with the realization. He's trying to master them.
The crimson brew in his cauldron bubbled ominously, releasing thin tendrils of vapor that seemed to move with unnatural purpose. Aurora watched the liquid darken from ruby to deep burgundy, then to something that resembled dried blood more than any potion she had ever seen.
For a moment, she nearly stepped forward — nearly laid a hand on his arm, to stop him from stirring the cauldron as the crimson brew hissed and darkened. Her fingers actually twitched toward him before she caught herself. But she hesitated, paralyzed by the transformation she was witnessing. The flamelight caught his face, casting deep shadows beneath his eyes and highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones. In that flicker she saw something unshakable: determination that bordered on defiance, as if he were challenging the very forces of nature themselves.
Instead, Aurora folded her arms across her chest and forced her voice to stay steady, though her heart hammered against her ribs.
"Careful, Severus," she said quietly, her words cutting through the soft sounds of bubbling liquid and crackling flames. "You're looking at this like a war, not a cure."
He didn't glance up from his work, didn't pause in his methodical stirring. When he spoke, his voice was flat, devoid of the warmth she remembered from their earlier collaborations. "Perhaps that's because it is one."
The words sent a chill through her, settling in her bones like winter frost. She had feared this moment would come, had seen the signs building for weeks — the longer hours, the darker experiments, the way he spoke about vampires not as creatures to be healed but as enemies to be defeated.
So she stood there in the doorway, watching the man she had once called friend drift further into dangerous waters, silently promising herself: If he sails too close to the abyss, I'll be the one to pull him back. Even if it means destroying everything he's worked for. Even if it means he'll never forgive her.
Days passed, and progress became tangible in ways that both thrilled and unnerved them.
Severus adjusted ratios with meticulous precision until his notes resembled a labyrinth of symbols, calculations, and cross-referenced annotations that sprawled across multiple parchments. A drop more wolf blood here—carefully extracted under the full moon for maximum potency. A trace less heparin there, measured to the exact decimal. The breakthrough came when he substituted ashwort for hellebore, the pale green herb proving far superior at strengthening the stabilizing charm that held the volatile mixture together. Aurora watched him move between bubbling cauldron and enchanted microscope like a man possessed, muttering complex equations under his breath while his long fingers danced over ingredients with practiced efficiency.
Lucian, their reluctant vampire subject, endured the endless trials with sardonic patience that bordered on theatrical. "You do realize," he drawled once, lounging against the laboratory wall with affected nonchalance, "that every vial you brew manages to smell considerably worse than the last? I didn't think that was scientifically possible."
Severus didn't even glance up from his current concoction, black hair falling like a curtain around his face. "Progress has a distinctive scent, Lucian. You'll learn to live with it—assuming this works."
Aurora smirked faintly from her position at the observation desk, shaking her head in amused exasperation. "Merlin help me, he's actually proud of that line."
But even her gentle teasing quieted to respectful silence when Lucian admitted—three days into this new experimental phase—that something fundamental about his hunger had shifted.
"It's different now," Lucian said, sitting upright with an alertness that hadn't been present in weeks, his voice carefully measured as if he feared speaking the words might somehow reverse the effect. "The hunger burns slower, less urgent. I can go longer without needing to feed. Almost… almost a full day now. It's like the fire that usually consumes me has been banked to mere embers."
Severus froze mid-notation, his quill hovering over the parchment as the implications crashed over him. A full day. In centuries of vampiric research, no one had achieved such extended control over the bloodlust. That was unprecedented—revolutionary, even.
He murmured, half to himself in a voice thick with satisfaction and something darker, "Soon the curse will feed on what I command, not what it craves."
Aurora frowned, though her tone remained soft with concern rather than accusation. "Careful, Severus. You're starting to sound dangerously like the Dark Lord you're supposedly trying to fight against."
He didn't reply immediately, only scribbled another detailed line in his research log with slightly more force than necessary. But later that night, long after their official work had concluded, Aurora caught him sitting hunched at his desk in the dim laboratory. The lamps had been turned down to mere flickers, and she could see the faintest tremor of bone-deep exhaustion in his usually steady fingers as he continued to write. For all her growing unease about his methods and increasingly grandiose statements, Aurora couldn't help but feel a surge of genuine pride. He was systematically changing the fundamental rules of their magical world.
Still, when she sat down to write her mandatory progress report to her mentor that evening, she found herself carefully moderating Severus's more inflammatory declarations.
Promising results in reducing hunger dependency observed in test subject. Early stabilization of curse reactivity achieved through modified potion matrix. Recommend continued observation and documentation before considering any large-scale testing protocols.
She deliberately didn't include his final, most troubling remark about commanding the curse. Some things, even the words of undeniable brilliance, were better filtered through diplomatic discretion.
The study was dim and solemn, lit only by the golden glow of a few floating candles that drifted lazily through the air, casting dancing shadows across the book-lined walls. Arcturus Prince's mahogany desk was strewn with parchment and reports, their edges curling slightly in the ambient heat radiating from the crackling fire in the ornate hearth. The rich scent of black ink, aged oak, and fine brandy mingled in the air — the distinctive perfume of power, influence, and careful planning that seemed to permeate every corner of the Prince ancestral home.
At the far end of the room stood the tall, ornate communication mirror — its elaborate silver frame intricately carved with ancient runes that shimmered with a faint, ethereal light as Arcturus approached and murmured the precise activation charm under his breath.
The mirror's surface rippled like disturbed water before clearing to reveal three distinguished figures standing within the opulent council chamber of the Zabini estate: Salvatore Zabini in his perfectly tailored black robes, the fabric seeming to absorb the light around him, his younger brother Lorenzo standing attentively beside him in robes of deep emerald, and just behind them both, positioned half in shadow yet unmistakably commanding, the sharp-eyed matriarch Isadora Zabini, her silver hair gleaming despite the dim lighting.
Arcturus inclined his head in a respectful greeting, his movements carrying the practiced grace of old pureblood etiquette. "Lord Zabini. I appreciate you taking the time from your busy schedule. As you specifically requested in your last correspondence, Severus will brief you personally on his latest research progress."
Severus stepped forward into the mirror's viewing range, his posture perfectly straight and formal, though faint lines of exhaustion were clearly etched around the corners of his mouth and eyes — evidence of countless hours spent in his laboratory. He clasped his pale hands behind his back in a gesture of respectful attention and spoke in measured, even tones.
"My current research is focused primarily on the stabilization of vampiric physiology through the development and refinement of synthetic blood substitutes."
Lorenzo's dark brows lifted with evident interest and curiosity. "Synthetic? You mean artificially created?"
"Precisely," Severus replied with a slight nod. "A carefully calibrated hybrid composition — consisting primarily of carnivorous animal blood as the base, systematically infused with select human trace elements and enhanced with specialized enchanted stabilizers. Initial testing indicates it satisfies hunger for significantly extended periods, effectively prevents the dangerous onset of feral craving, and —" he paused deliberately for emphasis, allowing the weight of his next words to settle, "— most remarkably, it significantly reduces the curse's violent reaction to direct sunlight exposure."
Across the ornate mirror's surface, Salvatore leaned forward with predatory grace, his dark eyes sharpening with unmistakable interest. "Define reduces, Lord Shafiq." His voice carried the weight of centuries, each word carefully measured.
Severus straightened slightly, his black eyes meeting Salvatore's gaze through the enchanted glass. He nodded once, a gesture of acknowledgment before delivering his explanation with clinical precision. "Vampires who consume the latest formulation can move safely under clouded daylight without suffering any harm whatsoever. Direct sunlight still causes considerable irritation — comparable to a severe sunburn that would afflict a mortal — but not the traditional combustion that has plagued your kind for millennia. Their eyes retain their natural color rather than the telltale crimson; the deathly pallor recedes to something approaching life. Physiologically, they become nearly indistinguishable from humans."
For a long, weighted moment, silence hung heavy in the candlelit study like a held breath. The only sound was the soft crackling of flames in the hearth and the distant whisper of wind against the manor's windows. Then Lorenzo let out a low, incredulous whistle that cut through the stillness. "Saints preserve us all. You're telling me you've actually made them walk in daylight." His voice carried a mixture of awe and barely concealed fear.
Arcturus's weathered lips twitched into a faint, knowing smile, the expression transforming his austere features. "Now you begin to see why I summoned you both here tonight."
Salvatore's voice came next, deep and deliberate, resonating with the authority of one who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires. "You've truly outdone yourself, Severus. This… this is nothing short of history in the making. The ancient bloodlines will owe you a debt far greater than gold, greater than any treasure hoarded in their deepest vaults."
Arcturus raised his crystal glass slightly, the amber liquid catching the firelight. "A toast, then, to our young Lord Shafiq — and to the first invention in recorded history that may well rewrite the very boundaries of the dark curse that has bound the children of night for countless ages."
Severus inclined his head in silent acknowledgment, though his expression remained characteristically guarded. "It remains only a prototype, you understand. There are numerous refinements yet to be made, variables to account for, potential complications to address."
He might have continued with his methodical analysis, but a quiet, measured voice interrupted from the shadows near the study's entrance.
"How do you intend to make it?"
The question sliced through the heavy atmosphere with surgical precision — calm in delivery, polite in tone, yet razor-sharp in intent. The words seemed to hang in the air for a moment before every head in the room turned as one toward their source. Conversations died mid-sentence, and even the soft rustle of expensive robes stilled.
Isadora Zabini had stepped forward from her position near the ornate mahogany table, moving with the quiet confidence that marked her lineage. Her slender hands were clasped neatly before her midnight-blue robes, fingers interlaced in a gesture that spoke of careful consideration rather than nervous energy. Her gaze — dark as polished obsidian and just as penetrating — fixed upon Severus through the gleaming surface of the enchanted mirror that dominated the far wall.
"Forgive me for speaking out of turn," she continued, her voice carrying the measured cadence of someone who had rehearsed these thoughts but never voiced them aloud. "But the potion's creation demands both human and animal blood as core components. For small batches, experimental quantities, it's entirely manageable. But what happens when we speak of mass production? Thousands of bottles to meet domestic demand? Millions, if distribution expands to international markets?"
Lorenzo Rosier shifted in his chair, his weathered features creasing into a thoughtful frown as he considered her words. The implications were beginning to dawn on him. "A fair question, indeed."
But Isadora wasn't finished. Having found her voice, she pressed forward with the relentless logic that had made her professors both proud and wary. "And what occurs when muggle authorities begin tracking missing blood donations or notice irregular patterns in medical records? The sheer logistics of harvesting, transporting, and concealing such massive quantities of blood would inevitably draw attention — far more scrutiny than any of us anticipate or prepare for."
Salvatore Zabini turned slightly toward his daughter, his expression a complex mixture of paternal pride and mild exasperation. She had always been too clever for her own good, too willing to voice the uncomfortable truths others preferred to ignore. "You've been studying too much economics, Isadora."
She didn't flinch under his reproach, her spine remaining perfectly straight. "Someone has to, Father."
Her gaze returned to Severus with unwavering directness, refusing to be cowed by either his reputation or the weight of expectation in the room. "A potion like this — with such potential — can either save countless lives or expose our entire world to muggle scrutiny. So, before any production begins, before we move forward with implementation, there must be a comprehensive plan that addresses these realities."
Arcturus Black slowly interlaced his fingers, leaning back in his chair as his steel-gray eyes gleamed with unmistakable approval. The girl had backbone, and more importantly, she had foresight. "She is absolutely right. We cannot allow such brilliance to become our greatest liability."
He looked to the Zabinis, then to Severus, his weathered hands clasped behind his back as he considered their options. "A dedicated blood bank would be a start. Established discreetly under a philanthropic front in the muggle world — say, a charitable foundation for transfusion research. We could position it as cutting-edge medical advancement."
Lorenzo nodded thoughtfully, his dark eyes gleaming with the calculating intelligence that had made the Zabini name synonymous with successful ventures. "Or we could form ties with existing muggle blood banks. Offer funding, magical protection, even potions to enhance preservation — all under the guise of 'medical innovation.' Our magic would ensure no audit finds inconsistencies, and we'd have immediate access to established supply chains."
Salvatore smiled faintly, his voice smooth as aged wine, carrying the confidence of a man who had navigated both magical and muggle business worlds for decades. "Both approaches are viable, each with distinct advantages. We'll analyze which method proves more efficient and cost-effective later. For now, I agree with Lord Prince — Severus should focus solely on perfecting the formula. Innovation must come before implementation."
Arcturus turned to Severus, his pale eyes sharp with paternal authority, his tone firm but warm with genuine concern. "Your duty is invention, not infrastructure. Leave the logistics to those of us with decades of influence and considerably more patience for bureaucracy and political maneuvering."
Severus inclined his head in acknowledgment, though his jaw tightened slightly with the familiar frustration of being managed, even when logic dictated the wisdom of such guidance. "Understood."
The mirror's surface shimmered again with ethereal silver light, and for a moment that seemed to stretch longer than it should have, his gaze met Isadora's through the mystical connection. Her eyes held his — intelligent, assessing, and faintly curious, as if she were studying him like one of her academic puzzles.
"You raised a valid concern," Severus said quietly, his voice carrying across the magical distance with unexpected sincerity. "And you are right. Logistics are as vital as invention. Even the most perfect formula is worthless if it cannot reach those who need it. But for now…" He allowed himself a small, rare smile that transformed his usually stern features. "For now, I'll focus on ensuring there's something truly worth distributing."
Isadora's expression softened by a fraction — not approval, not warmth, but something nuanced between acknowledgment and challenge, as if she recognized both his concession and his determination.
The mirror's ethereal glow dimmed gradually as the magical connection closed, leaving only the faintest trace of silver light before fading entirely.
For a long moment, the study was silent save for the gentle crackle of fire in the hearth and the soft whisper of wind against the windows. Arcturus finally spoke, breaking the contemplative quiet. "She's sharp, that one. Too sharp for someone her age, perhaps dangerously so."
Severus's gaze lingered on the now-ordinary mirror where the fading silver shimmer had completely disappeared. "Sharp minds are the only ones worth listening to," he murmured, his voice carrying a note of something that might have been respect.
Then he turned back toward the desk with renewed purpose, already sketching refinements for his next trial, his quill moving with practiced precision across the parchment — but part of his mind remained elsewhere. On a girl's voice carried through enchanted glass, and the uncomfortable truth hidden within her deceptively simple question.
How do you feed the world without letting it see what you've become?
He pushed the troubling thought aside with deliberate effort and dipped his quill in ink, watching the dark liquid coat the tip. The work, after all, was far from over, and philosophical concerns would have to wait for practical solutions.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi everyone,
Thank you so much for your continued support!
I hope you're enjoying the story so far—your feedback truly means the world to me. I'd love to hear your thoughts on where you'd like the story to go next, so feel free to share any ideas or suggestions in the comments.
Get early access to up to 20+ advanced chapters by joining my Patre on!
Stay ahead of the story, enjoy exclusive perks, and support my writing while helping this content grow!
Please visit :-
Patre on .com (slash) Maggie329