The transition from the brightly lit, newly refurbished Great Hall to the subterranean chill of the Slytherin common room was immediate and dramatic. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of damp stone and a pervasive sense of old, calculated ambition. The passage was silent, but as they reached the rough-hewn stretch of stone wall that concealed the entrance, Sebastian paused, allowing Snape to take the lead.
Sebastian offered a conspiratorial, knowing wink toward the Potions Master—a gesture that implied shared mischief and authority. Go on, then, Severus. Entertain me with your archaic rites.
Snape, ever responsive to intrusion, met the wink with a chillingly disdainful glare that seemed to promise future detentions for Sebastian's entire bloodline. He advanced to the wall, his black robes billowing with a theatrical flourish that was entirely his own.
"Thoroughbred!" Snape pronounced the word with a low, resonant hiss.
A section of the bare stone wall dissolved, the seamless opening revealing a shimmering, green-tinged light spilling from within. The stone door, ancient and heavy, swung inward with a slow, grinding sigh that sounded like the very breath of the dungeon.
Sebastian followed Snape, stepping across the threshold, and his internal critique began the moment the word left Snape's mouth.
"Thoroughbred."
Sebastian allowed a brief, silent, comprehensive scoff. In the second class he was teaching—Muggle Studies—they would learn that the term was generally applied to horses or dogs of exceptional lineage. To use it as the sacred rallying cry of a prestigious magical house was not merely outdated; it was fundamentally lazy and philosophically bankrupt.
In what stagnant, half-forgotten century do we still cling to such brittle, easily shattered notions of lineage? Sebastian mused, his eyes scanning the elegant, yet oppressive, underwater ambiance of the common room.
And coming from Severus, the brilliant Half-Blood Prince, no less. The hypocrisy is an amusing irony, but the operational inefficiency of clinging to a broken code is unacceptable.
The new Deputy Headmaster's mind was already at work on the necessary administrative change. That code is dead. I'll replace that broken shibboleth later this week. No more 'Thoroughbred.' We'll use something functionally relevant. 'Efficiency' has a certain ring to it. Or perhaps 'Unstoppable'.
No, he decided, settling on a more ambitious goal as his gaze swept across the emerald-lit room. The new theme of Hogwarts, the one I am here to architect, is Unity through Merit. Let's change it to 'Excellence.'
The Slytherin Common Room was already thronged with its inhabitants, the air thick with excited, low-toned chatter that instantly ceased upon the arrival of the two most powerful wizards in the school. The green light filtering in through the windows that looked out into the depths of the Black Lake cast the students' faces in spectral, determined relief.
"Professor!"
"Professor Swann, good evening!"
A wave of respectful, though distinctly curious, greetings rose from the students. They weren't cheering as they had in the Great Hall; they were observing. Slytherins were always observers first.
In a quiet corner, two third-year students—one boy and one girl—were finishing a hushed, panicked exchange.
"I'm telling you, it's a new Conditioning Charm!" the boy whispered frantically, leaning into his friend. "Look at the flow! I've never seen Professor Snape's hair achieve that level of organic, controlled volume before! It's like liquid silk!"
"Don't be an idiot, Graham," the girl hissed back, swatting his arm. "He's standing right there! He simply washed it properly for the opening feast. Did you see the sheer amount of oil in the dungeons before the refurbishment? The new Swann Alchemical Drainage System must have made the plumbing work again. It's just clean hair!"
"No, no, that's not mere hygiene, that's structural integrity!" Graham insisted, still mesmerized. "I bet the new Deputy Headmaster gave him some kind of exclusive, high-Galleon alchemical shampoo as a welcome gift. It smells vaguely of pine and existential dread!"
Sebastian, who had caught the tail end of the exchange with his magically enhanced hearing, clamped his jaw shut. The effort required to suppress a powerful, booming laugh was immense. He briefly recalled the saddest, most solemn image he could conjure—a small, damp kitten being denied a saucer of milk—before finally managing to subdue the sudden, internal spasm of humor.
Snape, clearly having registered the sudden, conspiratorial silence and the furtive glances aimed at his skull, simply narrowed his eyes. His face darkened to the color of wet slate, but he did not speak. His professional discipline held fast. He flicked his wand, transforming a hard, stone-backed chair into a perfectly sized, two-foot-tall, obsidian platform upon which Sebastian could stand.
Yes, Severus. Build me a pedestal, Sebastian thought wryly. I appreciate the unconscious cooperation.
Snape cleared his throat, the sound sharp and authoritative. "We will have a brief, necessary meeting. Professor Swann, as the Deputy Headmaster for Administrative Transformation, will address you first."
Sebastian stepped onto the platform, his height instantly granting him command over the room. His posture was effortless, yet every muscle seemed primed with potential. He offered the students a direct, level gaze that held respect, but also clear expectation.
"Greetings, young wizards and witches of Slytherin," Sebastian began, his voice neither loud nor soft, but resonating with the clarity of perfect acoustic engineering. "I speak to you tonight not merely as your new Deputy Headmaster and Professor of the delightfully paradoxical Muggle Studies, but as a wizard who deeply understands the pursuit of excellence that defines this House."
He delivered the necessary initial flattery. "It is a matter of recorded historical fact and pride that Slytherin has achieved the distinction of winning the House Cup five consecutive times—a feat of institutional dominance that demands recognition. I am genuinely proud of that tenacity. This level of sustained victory is a testament to the passion and cunning inherent in your collective bloodline."
Sebastian paused, allowing the students to bask in the validation. Their chests swelled. They nodded to each other, a collective, smug satisfaction settling over them.
Then, Sebastian's tone shifted, becoming grave, pointed, and accusatory. The room grew utterly silent; every eye was riveted to his face.
"But now, let us discuss the shadow that falls upon those five victories. The whispers that degrade your accomplishments and cheapen your pride."
He leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Before accepting this post, I spoke with many prominent alumni and Ministry officials. And the report I received was consistent, disheartening, and utterly insulting to your intelligence."
He fixed the Prefect with a hard stare. "They claim, young Slytherins, that your dominance is not honorable. They claim that your victories are not the result of superior skill, but of cowardly, unsporting actions—of systematic dirty fouls in Quidditch that go unpunished."
His gaze moved to the wider student body. "Worse, they claim that the overall House Cup is a sham, won through the explicit, unapologetic, and unfair bias of your Head of House, Professor Snape—who, they believe, gleefully deducts points from other Houses for the mere act of breathing, while turning a blind eye to your most egregious offenses."
The effect was immediate and volatile. The initial smug satisfaction dissolved into a mixture of genuine fury and defensive shame.
"Insulting!" snarled a fourth-year boy.
"It's a lie!" whispered a girl, though her eyes darted nervously to Snape.
"We earn our marks!" shouted the Prefect, his face flushed with anger. "We are academically superior to the other Houses, especially Gryffindor! Our achievements are solid!"
Sebastian raised a calming hand. "I agree. Your academic record is usually flawless. But can you not see? This tainted reputation nullifies the purity of your success! When you win by a narrow margin, they say: 'Ah, it was Snape's bias that carried them over the line.' When you win a clean match, they say: 'They must have committed a bloodless foul that the referee missed.'"
He looked at them, appealing to their core Slytherin drive: Ambition and Pride.
"They have reduced your excellence to a joke! They have turned your five-year winning streak into a five-year scandal!"
"What should we do, Professor?!" the Prefect demanded, speaking for the entire enraged House. "Tell us how to silence them!"
Sebastian straightened, his posture now radiating commanding purpose.
"The answer is not complex. It requires discipline and ruthless self-improvement."
He turned pointedly to Snape, ensuring every student heard and understood the new administrative policy.
"From this moment forward, Professor Snape will operate with absolute, clinical fairness. The era of House favoritism is over. He will treat every student across all four Houses equally. Points will be given and taken based only on the demonstrable merit or demerit of the action. You are now on your own, Severus."
Snape, standing rigid behind the platform, merely inclined his head in a tight, minimal gesture of confirmation. The students watched in stunned silence, realizing the safety net of their Head of House had just been publicly withdrawn.
"As for you," Sebastian commanded, turning back to the students, his voice rising in power, "I want you to use your anger. Do not waste it on petty insults or childish brawls. Channel it into your performance."
"The members of the Quidditch Squad: I want you to work harder. I want you to become so technically superior, so utterly dominating, that your victories are clean, clinical, and indisputable. You will win with a margin so wide that no one can dare suggest a foul was necessary."
"Every Slytherin student: I want you to work in your classes, your Charms, your Transfiguration, your Herbology, until your academic grades are so transcendent that Ravenclaw is left weeping in your wake! This year, you will win the House Cup, not because of a Professor's prejudice, but because of flawless, overpowering results."
He shouted the rhetorical challenge: "Can you not only win but win cleanly? Can you silence every critic with the purity of your victory?"
"YES!" The entire Common Room roared the affirmation. "WE CAN! FOR SLYTHERIN GLORY!"
A younger, traditionally aggressive student, high on the adrenaline but confused about the new rules of engagement, raised his hand hesitantly. "Professor, what if… what if they provoke us? What if a Gryffindor starts something?"
Sebastian offered a chilling, almost bored smile. "Provocation? You, a Slytherin, are asking about provocation? I distinctly recall your House having the reputation for being the primary architects of low-grade environmental antagonism."
He adopted a severe expression. "What is the true trait of a Slytherin? It is cunning. Cunning is about strategic efficiency. Cunning does not make unnecessary enemies. Cunning avoids unwinnable confrontations. A clever wizard conserves his reputation and his magic. Therefore, you will restrain yourselves. You will show the world the strategic maturity that has been absent for too long. Small talk is for fools. You will learn to silence others with a diploma, a perfect score, and a bloodless victory."
He paced the platform once, his presence dominating the entire, cavernous room.
"However," he concluded, his eyes flashing, "if you encounter true, unprovoked injustice, if you are unfairly targeted, attacked, or wronged—you will come to me."
He drew himself up, adopting a pose of supreme, unshakeable authority.
"When I attended this fine institution, I was known among certain, higher-level Ministry officials by a nickname: The Referee."
"Professor Snape holds the respect of a Head of House, but his hands are sometimes tied by history and protocol. My hands are not. I have been given a new mandate: I am the Deputy Headmaster for Administrative Transformation. I will assume any disciplinary or restorative role your Head of House might typically perform, and I promise you this: I can and will interfere in ways he cannot."
Sebastian's promise was a lightning strike of reassurance. A higher authority! A neutral shield!
"I will not allow any member of this House to suffer an unredressed injury or endure an undeserved slight. You will be protected. But let me be equally clear: if I find that you have been bullying, creating chaos, or bringing shame upon Slytherin by acting like thugs—do not blame me for the disciplinary ruthlessness that follows. I will not tolerate inefficiency."
The Slytherins, stunned into a state of high-alert, energized loyalty, shouted their final affirmation: "We understand, Professor!"
Sebastian left the Common Room, followed closely by a rigid, silent Snape. Sebastian's step was light; the night's work was done. His third major administrative action—the psychological overhaul of the House system—was underway.
By publicly dismantling the safety net of Slytherin favoritism while offering an alternative, higher form of protection (The Referee), he had forced Slytherin to choose merit over bias. This would compel all Houses to raise their game, exactly as Dumbledore and Sebastian had planned.
As they reached the junction leading to the Headmaster's offices, Sebastian reached out and placed a deliberately heavy, encouraging hand on Snape's rigid shoulder.
"Severus," Sebastian murmured, his voice softening, devoid of its earlier theatrical amplification. "You did well tonight. You handled the public divestment of your bias with perfect, disciplined composure. The students believe you are capable of change."
He squeezed the shoulder gently, his gaze compelling. "You are a remarkably intelligent man, Severus. Show them the respect your position deserves. Show them the Professor you should be."
Sebastian slowly raised his gaze to the enchanted ceiling above, which showed a clear, bright constellation. His voice was barely a whisper now, laced with calculated sincerity.
"Lily is watching you, Severus. Don't disappoint the man she deserved."
He held the contact for a moment longer before letting go, leaving Snape standing alone in the cold corridor, his shoulders hunched, his face a complex mask of fury, humiliation, and deep, profound pain.
Sebastian walked away, his internal thoughts cold and pragmatic:
Don't blame me for deploying the ultimate psychological leverage, Severus. The memory of Lily Evans Potter is the only thing that can compel you toward genuine self-correction and impartial goodness. It's the highest, most reliable bond I possess.
And rest assured, my dear Severus. I will be eating off this emotional investment for the entire duration of my tenure.