Looking down at the defeated, unconscious form of Severus Snape—a Potions Master now reduced to a black heap of vulnerability on his custom-made velvet sofa—Sebastian shook his head, a complex mixture of pity and administrative frustration tightening his mouth. He sighed, the sound long and dramatic.
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Healing him completely—genuinely guiding him out of the debilitating shadow of the past—was proving to be a challenge exponentially more difficult than acquiring a majority share in a multinational Gringotts subsidiary.
The latter required mere financial ruthlessness and strategic timing; the former demanded delicate, psychological surgery that Sebastian was, admittedly, only performing with blunt, Muggle-therapy instruments.
Why is achieving simple contentment so impossible for some people? Sebastian wondered, adjusting the volume of the ambient sound-dampening charm he'd cast.
Snape was, in every objective metric, a man of staggering, wasted potential. He possessed a terrifying intellect, a warrior's courage, and the sheer talent to be a transformative figure in the wizarding world. The perfect deep-cover agent.
The unrivaled Potions Master. The inventor who had simultaneously concocted advanced Dark Curses and their counter-agents during his school years—a feat of magical synthesis that should have propelled him into the highest echelons of Swann Alchemy.
Sebastian had been meticulously laying the groundwork for Snape's recruitment since their seventh year. The plan was flawless: by steering Snape away from the Hog's Head tavern—and the source of the prophecy—Snape would never become a willing spy for Dumbledore.
After Voldemort's inevitable defeat (which Sebastian assumed Dumbledore would handle efficiently), a talented but politically neutral Snape would naturally gravitate toward the unparalleled resources and intellectual freedom of Swann Alchemy's R&D department.
The Reality, however, proved maddeningly resilient to the plan.
Voldemort was still informed of the prophecy.
Sebastian rubbed his temples, the memory of that failure still stinging. Dumbledore! What were you and your brother thinking? To be so cavalier with operational security on a matter of destiny? Sebastian had to suppress the urge to use a strong, Mugglish expletive. Who had heard the prophecy this time?
Sebastian had vague recollections of the film detail being different, but the new reality was bizarre: a "fat man, clad completely in black robes, with only his eyes visible" was the one who had relayed the critical information to the Dark Lord. It was a chaotic, unwelcome timeline anomaly that derailed everything.
Voldemort, now informed that the threat was a child born at the end of July, had immediately fixed upon the Potters. Snape, horrified at the imminent peril to Lily, had lost all control and immediately sought out the one man Voldemort feared: Albus Dumbledore. The recruitment process was instantaneous, bypassing Sebastian's years of careful, corporate planning.
Snape became Dumbledore's man, a secret agent who was willing to risk total destruction for the memory of the woman he loved.
This sacrificial dedication was, Sebastian admitted, a magnificent display of loyalty—but it also anchored Snape permanently to the thankless servitude of Hogwarts. The Swann Alchemy research slot lay empty, reserved for a man who was now contractually obligated to spend his days fighting petty teenagers and brewing remedial Draughts of Peace.
Sebastian shook his head again, moving into the main drawing-room to let Snape breathe in peace.
A spectacular waste of talent, he concluded. Not only was Snape lost to Swann Alchemy, but he had become a professor—a position where his personality flaws amplified his professional genius into a teaching disaster.
Snape, as a professor, was technically brilliant. He developed complex potion procedures, created new recipes, and possessed a depth of knowledge few could match. And he taught it all without hesitation, passing on invaluable skills to the next generation. From an academic standpoint, he was faultless.
But his method!
Sebastian felt a profound, almost personal offense when considering Snape's pedagogical approach.
"This is blatant oppressive education," Sebastian muttered to the pristine, Italian marble fireplace. "It's an archaic system designed to suppress curiosity and reward conformity through fear and degradation. I grew up under that kind of pressure in my previous life; I know exactly how crippling it is."
Snape's extraordinary talent for the sharp tongue and the withering, personal insult only served to make the system infinitely worse. It wasn't just poor teaching; it was a deliberate campaign of psychological warfare.
Didn't he see the little wizards start to tremble the moment he entered the dungeon?
Sebastian walked to the window, watching the sunrise paint the dueling arena in streaks of gold. The issue was simple: no matter how brilliant the lesson, a fear-paralyzed mind will not absorb information effectively. The emotional overload completely shuts down the cognitive processing required for complex Potions work.
"This is so outdated it's tragic! We're living in an age where the educational trend is entirely incentive-focused! You don't teach mastery by tearing students down; you teach it by making them want to be better than you are!"
Sebastian, in his new role, saw a clear and irresistible challenge. Snape, you poor, wounded fossil, you need to learn from Professor Swann. I will show you how to ignite a child's interest, build genuine passion, and make them enjoy the process of learning. I'll make every class feel like a startup pitch where success earns immediate, tangible rewards!
The challenge was exhilarating. Sebastian already had the identities of the Global Entrepreneur, the Financial Wizard, and the Media Mogul. Now, he would construct the persona of the Educational Reformer—the professor who would use the tools of commerce and psychology to overhaul Hogwarts from the ground up.
The white lie about the Illusory Realm was a calculated risk, a motivational hack designed to give Snape an external pressure point—an eternal, observing Lily whose approval was conditional on Snape's conduct. It was a magical version of the ultimate performance review.
Sebastian glanced back at the bottle of Baijiu on the dining table. He pressed it lightly to his chest, testing the remaining contents, and a fresh wave of self-satisfied amusement washed over him.
Haha… what a truly delicate constitution. There was still well over half the bottle remaining. Sebastian, who had drunk two full measures during the heavy part of the discussion, hadn't even felt a slight buzz. I'll keep the rest for display purposes. A monument to the fragility of the Potions Master.
He stretched luxuriously. It was time to return to Hogwarts. He needed to be visible, to sit at the high table, and, crucially, to begin enacting his mandate.
"Jeff!" Sebastian called, his voice clear and resonant.
The house-elf popped into existence, bowing so low his nose nearly scraped the Persian rug.
"Sir?"
"First, take Professor Snape to the Master Guest Suite. Ensure he is dressed in fresh, clean, elegant pajamas—none of his wretched black sleepwear. He must have a comfortable, dignified rest.
Secondly," Sebastian added, a flash of pure Slytherin embarrassment crossing his face, "if word gets out that the fearsome Potions Master was defeated by a single dose of rice liquor and left to sleep on my drawing-room sofa, my reputation as a serious academic will be ruined. Discretion is paramount!"
With his administrative duties complete, Sebastian finally headed to his own room for a well-deserved, deep sleep.
Sebastian awoke the next morning, feeling revitalized and ready to take on the world. It was a crisp, clear day. After a quick, efficient wash and a light, magically prepared breakfast, he changed into a simple but flawlessly tailored deep-green wizard's robe—professional, but without the ostentatious flair of his business attire.
As he finished adjusting the lapels, Jeff popped back in, holding a thick, imposing letter sealed with the heavy, official Hogwarts crest.
"The morning owl, Sir," Jeff squeaked. "It was very fast."
Sebastian broke the seal and pulled out the thick stack of parchment. At the very top, emblazoned in elegant script, was the official letter of appointment:
Mr. Sebastian Swann:
We are pleased to announce your official and immediate appointment as Deputy Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Your responsibilities will commence forthwith, primarily focusing on forging and strengthening Inter-Institutional Relationships and Curriculum Innovation between Hogwarts and other esteemed international magical educational bodies.
We look forward to the dynamism and vision you will bring to this ancient establishment.
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Sebastian's lips curled into a smirk of genuine admiration. Incredibly effective. Less than twenty-four hours after the initial meeting, the paperwork was complete, his title secured, and his official mandate—Inter-Institutional Exchanges—clearly defined, giving him the perfect, irrefutable excuse to travel globally and implement his reforms without Dumbledore's constant oversight.
He swiftly sorted through the stack of documents, noting that Professor McGonagall had, with her characteristic efficiency, already handled every single piece of orientation and administrative enrollment paperwork required. The bottom of the pile held a single, small piece of personal parchment, handwritten in McGonagall's severe but elegant script:
"I've thoroughly reviewed your proposal submitted to the Headmaster. Proceed with the necessary confidence. I will always support your efforts. P.S. I am eager to see the new educational focus you bring to Hogwarts—especially in the younger years."
A genuine warmth spread through Sebastian's chest. Dumbledore gave him the political cover; McGonagall gave him the moral authority. Despite her initial sternness, she was a true ally, providing the kind of succinct, heartening support that cut through the politics and spoke directly to the soul. Sebastian was deeply grateful.
He finished his coffee, his ambition now burning with renewed, calculated heat. He knew that outside these walls, many were still waiting for their simple Hogwarts acceptance letters. He, however, was already a Professor, already a Deputy Headmaster, and already positioned to orchestrate a global transformation.
"The opportunity is now mine," Sebastian declared to the empty room, squaring his shoulders and adjusting the line of his robes.
"This is not just an administrative role; it is the first great step toward reforming the entire system of magical education. I have mastered finance, media, and alchemy. Now, I shall master pedagogy."
He strode toward the network of fireplaces in the main hall.
"I made significant boasts to the faculty yesterday. I will not disappoint the teachers, nor will I betray the ideals of a truly modern, effective Slytherin. My transformation begins now."
He threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace, the emerald flames roaring to life, and spoke the destination with sharp clarity, his first act as the new Deputy Headmaster:
"For this reason! First stop! The French School of Magic—Beauxbatons Academy!" Sebastian proclaimed, stepping into the green fire, ready to execute the first strategic move of his global exchange program. The true Grand Adventure had just begun.