The silence that followed Sebastian's declaration—that his ambition was to be the savior and architect of the magical world, not merely its richest occupant—was more profound than the memory they had just shared. It was the silence of a truth too large to be immediately absorbed.
Albus Dumbledore leaned back, running a slow, deliberate hand across his long, silver beard. The vibrant blue of his eyes seemed to grow deeper, swirling with contemplation. He gently repeated Sebastian's borrowed maxim:
"With great power comes the greatest responsibility... a responsibility, as you define it, to secure a legacy worthy of that power. Sebastian, you are truly a magnificent, terrifying conundrum."
Dumbledore slowly shifted forward again, his gaze entirely devoid of judgment now, replaced by genuine, philosophical admiration.
"My dear boy, I had charted every possibility for your return—greed for political leverage, a thirst for the academic respect you perhaps felt your wealth overshadowed, even a calculated attempt to monitor the Ministry from a safe distance. Never, truly never, did I suspect a vision so encompassing. It is a terrifyingly pure ambition, stripped of material concerns. I feel the absolute sincerity of your purpose."
He sighed, the sound echoing lightly in the vast, circular chamber.
"And I fear I owe you more than a mere apology for my prior prejudice. I saw the handsome, talented, and wealthy Slytherin, and I projected onto you the shadows of past mistakes. I interpreted your philanthropic actions, your investment in Muggle-born and Half-blood wizards in your employ, as a calculated strategy merely to win hearts and minds—a necessary layer of corporate public relations. I failed to see that this strategy was, in fact, born from a genuine, deeply structural belief in the need for change. For that error in judgment, I apologize unreservedly."
Sebastian felt a rare, fleeting flush of heat rise to his neck. He smiled awkwardly and scratched the back of his head, slightly discomfited by the Headmaster's unexpected humility. Hehe. Old Deng is sharp, but he's not entirely wrong. I absolutely do want to win hearts and minds.
Sebastian's mind immediately drifted back a decade, recalling the precision with which he had engineered his social position.
The initial moment of clarity had struck him on the Hogwarts Express. He remembered sliding open the compartment door, his eleven-year-old self still reeling from the shock of his reincarnation. Inside, two children sat: one a dark-haired, hook-nosed boy radiating a quiet intensity, and the other a luminous, red-haired girl with eyes like green fire.
Severus Snape and Lily Evans.
My God. It's the origin story, he'd thought, his modern mind instantly recognizing the central characters of the epic he was now embedded within.
His strategy was formulated in that very instant: Proactive Strategic Influence. The future Potions Master, a genius of alchemy and hexes, was a talent too rare and valuable to ignore. Snape was the ultimate early-stage investment.
Sebastian had immediately set out to cultivate a complex, indelible relationship with Severus—one built not on sentimentality, but on mutual intellectual respect and strategic defense.
He didn't just befriend Snape; he created a complete support package. Sebastian, the scion of the Swann family, used his allowance and influence to buy obscure potion ingredients, rare books, and experimental lab equipment for their shared dormitory.
He became Snape's intellectual sparring partner, forever challenging him to perfect his spellcasting and refine his potions work.
He stood between Snape and the growing antagonism of the Marauders, not by fighting, but by using his peacemaker reputation and diplomatic finesse to diffuse confrontations—often giving Snape just enough of a victory to preserve his pride while preventing outright disaster.
But his influence wasn't limited to his House. Sebastian understood that if he was to be the future Architect of Magical Britain, he needed a non-House-specific power base.
Sebastian, naturally gifted, handsome, and impeccably dressed even in his school robes, was perfectly suited for the role of the Equitable Arbiter.
Generosity: He was excessively, relentlessly generous. He paid for study materials, sponsored unofficial Quidditch gear, and always treated students across all years and Houses to sweets at Honeydukes.
Impartiality: When disputes arose—a lost textbook, a minor Hex gone wrong, a quarrel over seating—students across the houses, surprisingly, began turning to Sebastian, the Slytherin Peacemaker. He never focused on House loyalty. He listened to the facts, assessed the damage, and insisted on fair resolution and compensation, earning him the nickname 'The Referee'.
The Un-Slytherin: Despite being Pure-blood and Slytherin, he actively championed Muggle-born and Half-blood students in the common rooms, shutting down the casual bigotry of some of his Housemates with cold, corporate logic.
"Your lineage does not create a stronger product, Goyle. Only efficiency and ingenuity do. You are discussing market failure, not magical superiority."
This calculated, years-long effort had two major payoffs: it secured the eternal (if resentful) loyalty of a genius like Snape, and it ensured that when he graduated and started Swann Alchemy, he already had a deep, multi-House talent pool ready to join him—the source of the 'happy and proud' wizards Dumbledore had observed.
Sebastian pulled himself back from the pleasant nostalgia, realizing his intense focus on his 'win-hearts-and-minds' campaign was exactly what Dumbledore had feared.
Pure-blood, Slytherin, handsome, charismatic, universally popular, and an unnerving ability to build coalitions across divides...
He knew what the Headmaster was seeing in his mind: the ghost of a younger self, full of reckless, world-changing ambition, fighting alongside Gellert Grindelwald for the Greater Good.
The resemblance is purely strategic, Sebastian affirmed internally. I learned from his failure. I will use influence and infrastructure, not revolution and blood. But I need him to trust the intent.
Dumbledore nodded, signaling that his internal reflection was complete. He picked up his Coke glass, taking another slow, appreciative sip—a man who had judged, repented, and was now ready to move forward. He settled back into his large chair, the lethargy of his earlier, feigned headache now replaced by genuine curiosity.
"Very well, Sebastian. I accept your stated goal: the revitalization of magical Britain, beginning at its roots." Dumbledore's voice was warm, but the question was a razor blade wrapped in velvet.
"You have bought the seat, and I have given you the blessing as the Headmaster. Now, the practicality. What is the immediate, first strategic goal of the Additional Deputy Headmaster? How do you propose to begin the process of strengthening our great tree?"
Sebastian did not hesitate. His plan was already rehearsed, sharp, and surgically precise.
"My first, immediate, and most critical objective is to dismantle the internal House barriers," Sebastian announced, making the number one sign with his right hand again. "We must forge the four Houses of Hogwarts into a single, cohesive fighting unit."
Snape's cynical expression instantly darkened, and Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up into his hair.
"A noble but profoundly naïve aim, Sebastian," Snape hissed, unable to contain his contempt. "You speak of Slytherin, which for centuries has cherished its pure-blood traditions, suddenly joining hands with the Mud—with the other Houses. This is an institutional schism, not a trivial administrative issue."
Sebastian turned to Snape, his smile unwavering. "I appreciate the history lesson, Severus, but the situation is now existential. Thanks to the influence of the Dark Lord—and the subsequent paranoia and lingering bitterness—Slytherin is now essentially a marginalized, self-isolating faction. It's not just a House; it's a self-imposed quarantine. Attempting to reason with children in their most rebellious, self-confident, and ideologically rigid phase is an exercise in futility. They will hear every lecture on unity as a personal attack on their House pride."
Sebastian then unveiled the core of his psychological strategy—a concept he had honed in the ruthless world of corporate competition.
"Therefore, we will not use lectures, therapy, or friendship retreats," he said, his voice gaining the sharp, compelling tone of a field commander. "We will use the Slytherin method: Unite them against a common, superior opponent."
He leaned across the desk, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Children will not cooperate because they should. They will cooperate because they must. We will introduce a new, external threat—a challenge that is so strong, so public, and so humiliating to lose to, that the Houses are forced to pool their specific strengths simply to avoid being laughed off the magical stage."
"The goal is to manufacture an immediate, overriding sense of shared urgency—a threat that makes the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry look like a petty sibling quarrel. They must learn that their individual House pride is secondary to the collective pride of Hogwarts itself."
Sebastian continued, outlining the implementation. "First, we identify and empower the student leaders and cultural icons within each House—the Prefects, the Quidditch Captains, the top students. We make them the central command of the resistance against the external threat. We put them in a visible position to succeed—or fail—spectacularly."
"Then, as these leaders are forced to communicate, share resources, and rely on each other's specific House skills—Gryffindor courage, Hufflepuff loyalty, Ravenclaw intellect, and Slytherin ambition—the rest of the student body will follow their example. They will be inspired by the role models and the shared necessity of victory. When the dust settles, the walls between the Houses will have naturally crumbled, not because of a heartfelt talk, but because of a shared struggle."
Sebastian's smile returned, broad and confident. He had left the two most important details hanging in the air—the nature of the strong opponent and the mechanism of cooperation.
"As for the specific mechanism and the identity of this truly intimidating opponent…" Sebastian trailed off, adopting a posture of thoughtful suspense.
Dumbledore watched him, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face as he realized the depth of the young man's tactical brilliance. He was enjoying the drama immensely.
"Sebastian," Dumbledore said gently, his eyes twinkling. "Your methodology is predictably Machiavellian, yet potentially brilliant. But please, do not make us wait. I have a feeling the identity of this external opponent is the most fascinating detail of all."