The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling, which currently reflected a velvet-dark, star-dusted night, was nearly ripped from the rafters by the ensuing wave of sound. The students, already intoxicated by the sudden introduction of luxury ergonomics, were propelled into a state of hysterical reverence by the personal gift.
"A Protective Badge!"
The cry was repeated a thousand times, blending into a singular, deafening roar. Every young wizard held the small, heavy object—the Protective Badge of Shared Virtue—as if it were a fragile piece of ancient, priceless history.
They ran their fingers over the cool, precisely engraved metal: the intertwined lion, snake, eagle, and badger encircling the central 'H'. It wasn't just the aesthetic perfection of the craftsmanship; it was the meaning and the value that stunned them into awe.
"It's the Hogwarts crest, but it's for me!" a young first-year shrieked, clutching the badge tightly.
The older students, more acutely aware of the wizarding world's economic structure, were calculating the staggering cost.
"I saw this model in the Diagon Alley window! Even the basic, lowest-grade Guardian Charm version from Swann Alchemy costs at least ten Galleons! And this one is clearly bespoke! The Headmaster said Sebastian is rich, but this isn't just rich; this is economic dominance disguised as a goodwill gesture!"
"We can keep it! Forever!" cried another, his eyes wide with the realization that he now possessed a personal piece of high-tier defensive magic, gifted by a celebrity billionaire. "No more need to rely on hand-me-down charms or cheap, unstable wards! This is genuine Swann Quality!"
The collective hysteria swelled to a painful pitch, approaching the point where the auditory effect of the hundreds of screaming voices became physically overwhelming. Sebastian, foreseeing the potential for actual auditory trauma, raised his wand and smoothly cast a self-targeting Sonorus Charm.
"Young wizards, I must insist on silence!" His amplified voice, now a deep, booming resonance, was enough to immediately cut through the chaos and command attention, though a few students jumped violently in surprise.
Instantly, all heads turned toward their idol, the noise level dropping from a roar to an intense, expectant hum.
"I recognize your enthusiasm," Sebastian continued, his voice now modulated but still powerfully projected.
"But you must understand the exact nature of this item, particularly before you attempt any… extracurricular testing." He cast a deliberate, pointed glance at Fred and George Weasley, who had their wands half-drawn and were clearly preparing a synchronized Flipendo to test the badge's resistance. They froze instantly, their faces a mixture of disappointment and professional respect for being caught so efficiently.
"This is a mid-level Defense Badge," Sebastian explained, allowing the technical term to sink in. "When activated under stress, it automatically executes an Iron-Clad Magic counter-charm. The resulting shield has the protective power equivalent to a specialized defensive spell cast by an average adult Auror, buying you crucial seconds to escape or seek help."
He added the vital, practical information: "Furthermore, do not panic if the badge's power dissipates after activation. It is designed to be rechargeable. A simple standard Reparo Charm applied every few months, or any basic flow of magical energy, will restore its charge."
The students, however, were not calmed by the technical details; they were galvanized. The description of a shield that could withstand an Auror-level attack simply fueled their urge to experiment.
The Great Hall was now filled with the subtle, frantic fidgeting of hundreds of young people wrestling with the immediate impulse to try casting a mild hex at their neighbor to witness the glorious, billion-Galleon defensive response.
The psychological tension was immense; they knew the feast was moments away, yet the need to activate the Iron-Clad Magic was almost unbearable.
Sebastian, observing the near-mutiny, decided to deliver the final, most potent distraction. He lowered his voice slightly, adopting a tone of calculated excitement.
"Now, for my final announcement, one that concerns all Houses and will challenge the very concept of House rivalry in the spirit of athletic excellence."
He paused for dramatic effect, leaning forward.
"This year, I will personally be creating and coaching the Hogwarts Quidditch School Team."
The reaction was initially stunned confusion, then a ripple of excitement, but Sebastian cut off the ensuing cheer, delivering the punchline.
"This team will not merely compete internally. We will represent Hogwarts in a series of highly publicized, international friendlies against the best players from rival schools, including Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute."
The volume rose to a chaotic, excited pitch, instantly silenced again as Sebastian delivered the financial incentive.
"And the prize for every winning team member, sponsored personally by Swann Alchemy? A single, discreet deposit of one hundred Galleons each."
The hall exploded in a fresh wave of noise. One hundred Galleons was an unthinkable sum for a student—enough to buy the best racing broom on the market, or to secure years of extravagant holidays.
Charlie Weasley, who had been sitting bolt upright in a state of barely contained hyperventilation since the mention of the international competition, sprang to his feet, unable to contain his House pride.
"Professor Swann! The Gryffindor Team is ready!" Charlie roared, his red hair almost vibrating with adrenaline. "We are the strongest, most cohesive unit! We can beat Durmstrang immediately!"
His challenge instantly sparked the predictable, ancient House rivalries.
"Nonsense, Weasley!" snapped the Slytherin Captain, rising quickly, an arrogant smirk fixed on his face. "We have three current players who could run rings around your entire team while blindfolded! The Slytherin Seekers are far superior!"
The Ravenclaw Captain, equally incensed by the slight to intellectual prowess, stood and objected with academic fervor.
"Sir, with all due respect, Gryffindor relies on brute force. Our strategic Beaters and complex Chaser formations are the only mathematically sound approach to winning against European rivals!"
The Hufflepuff Captain, usually the most reserved, simply glowered in the direction of the other three. "Our loyalty and dedication to teamwork ensure we have the best defense! We should be chosen!"
Chaos threatened to engulf the Great Hall once more, the initial unity of celebrity worship instantly dissolving into the thousand-year-old tribalism of the Houses.
"SILENCE!" Sebastian's command, backed by a non-verbal gesture that caused a palpable stillness in the air, was absolute. The students, recognizing the shift from celebrity charm to professional severity, instantly collapsed back into their chairs, sitting so unnaturally straight that the self-adjusting mechanism of their settee probably registered extreme spinal compression.
Sebastian's gaze was hard, leveled directly at the four bickering House Captains.
"I thank you for the display of House passion, gentlemen. But you misunderstood my announcement," he stated, his voice cutting through the silence like a cold blade.
"I will not be selecting a single, pre-existing House team to represent this school."
He allowed the silence to draw out, letting the revolutionary nature of the statement sink in.
"Instead, we will conduct an open, rigorous, talent-based draft. We will select the seven most talented players—regardless of their uniform, their House badge, or their surname—from all four Quidditch teams to create the single, strongest, most fearsome Hogwarts Quidditch Squad this school has ever seen."
The reaction was fascinating. A slow, uneasy murmur rippled through the Hall.
"He's going to break up the teams?" whispered a distraught Hufflepuff.
The Slytherins, who moments ago were arrogant, suddenly looked concerned. What if he doesn't pick our pure-blood talents? Their captain's expression darkened with suspicion. "This sounds like… unfair interference."
Sebastian caught the look and fixed the Slytherin Captain with a stare that held no warmth.
"Let me be clear on the process," he said firmly. "The selection will be entirely open and transparent. I am interested only in the audition results. Your previous House affiliation is irrelevant. The top seven performers, judged purely on skill, will automatically form the team. This is not about favoritism; it is about absolute, ruthless meritocracy."
Charlie Weasley, whose mind had just done a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, now slammed his fist on the table, adrenaline pumping. Fair election! The strongest team! One hundred Galleons!
This was not the old, messy politics of House rivalry; this was pure, competitive sport, a concept he understood and adored. Meritocracy was Gryffindor's best chance against inherited Slytherin wealth.
Before Charlie could leap up and pledge his undying loyalty to the new regime, Sebastian delivered the final, calculated strategic bomb.
"The tryouts will be held promptly: This Saturday morning, 8:30 AM, on the large training pitch by the Quidditch goals. Do not be late. Punctuality, like winning, is non-negotiable."
He continued, observing the hundreds of eager faces, knowing he had secured the commitment of every aspiring athlete. Now, he needed the participation of the rest of the student body.
"And finally, to ensure our team has the support it deserves on an international stage, I also require sixty highly spirited young wizards to form a professional Hogwarts Cheerleading and Morale Squad."
A confused silence was followed by skeptical muttering. Cheerleaders? That sounded frivolous.
Sebastian smiled, showing a flash of the charming celebrity that made him a marketing genius.
"The benefit? When the Hogwarts Quidditch Team travels to Beauxbatons Academy or Durmstrang Institute for these competitive matches, the Cheerleading Squad will travel with them."
The Hall dissolved into pandemonium a third time, but this time, it was pure, self-interested desire.
"Travel? To Durmstrang?" shrieked a third-year girl who had no interest in flying but desperately wanted to see a new castle.
"I can see other Magic Schools and support the team?!" cried a fifth-year Hufflepuff boy, who saw this as an incredible, free, intercontinental field trip.
Sebastian raised his hand once more to quell the noise, but then decided against it. He had delivered his payload. He had given them comfort, safety, money, athletic challenge, and now, the promise of travel. The students were fully engaged.
"The specific competition rules, the selection criteria for the Cheerleading Squad, and the travel protocols will be posted on the Grand Staircase notice board tomorrow morning," Sebastian stated, his voice dropping slightly as he walked back to his seat.
"It is getting late, and I fear the continued conversation is cooling the excellent roast pheasant," he concluded with a final, dismissive gesture. "We must eat. I look forward to seeing the results of your training and preparation in the coming days."
He bowed deeply to the young wizards one last time and settled back into his plush seat. The students were left in a state of utter, joyous frustration.
Professor Swann! they silently wailed. You cannot simply drop these massive, beautiful bombs and then tell us to eat! We are no longer hungry! We need details! We need tryout schedules! We need to know the specific criteria for Morale Squad applications!
The Great Hall buzzed with frenzied, whispered planning for the rest of the feast. Quidditch players were discussing conditioning. Non-players were already imagining their Cheerleading routines and the potential for meeting charming wizards from Beauxbatons.
As the feast finally drew to a close and Dumbledore finished his final remarks, the House Heads stood up. Snape, who had spent the entire Quidditch announcement staring at Sebastian with an expression of complex, grudging respect, rose with impeccable timing.
He swept his gaze across the Slytherin table, his expression severe and tactical.
"Slytherin House. Outside. Now." Snape's voice was low and gravelly, carrying the distinct urgency of a military order. "We will convene a meeting in the common room immediately. The new Deputy Headmaster has just created a landscape of ruthless competition. We will discuss how we intend to dominate it."
The Slytherins, their smiles now replaced by focused, predatory determination, rose as one, following their Head of House out of the Hall. The lesson was clear: Sebastian Swann had just declared war on the old system, and the game had fundamentally changed.