Sebastian stood before the massive, gleaming array of Muggle artifacts, his voice booming across the cathedral-like expanse of the Swann Alchemy Museum of Modernity. The hundreds of young wizards, wands safely contained within his Markless Stretch Pouch, stared at him, their expressions ranging from wary skepticism to nascent fascination.
"I have a singular, ambitious objective for this afternoon," Sebastian declared, his smile sharp and assured. "By the time the sun dips below the battlements of Hogwarts, every student enrolled in Muggle Studies will have the requisite knowledge to pass your OWL or NEWT exams—in this subject alone—with flying colors."
A low murmur of disbelief swept through the crowd. One afternoon? The concept was preposterous. It flew in the face of the Ministry's mandatory seven-year academic framework.
Sebastian cut through the doubt with a wave of his hand. "Do not let the slothful standards of the Ministry curb your enthusiasm, young wizards. Have faith in the efficiency of your Deputy Headmaster. This subject, in the grand tapestry of human knowledge, is utterly simplistic. The previous failure was a failure of pedagogy, not intellect. There is nothing in the required curriculum that cannot be synthesized, demonstrated, and internalized within the next two hours."
Sebastian felt an intense, self-satisfied glow. He was, quite simply, the most brutally effective, exam-focused educator at Hogwarts. There was no fluff, no esoteric theory, only high-yield knowledge transfer.
"As you can see, every piece of technology here is organized precisely according to the academic syllabus. We have the Third-Year Module (basic mechanical concepts), the Fifth-Year Module (complex electrical devices and communications), and the Seventh-Year Module (theoretical physics and global networking). You will only focus on your designated zone."
He held up three fingers, crisp and precise. "You have only three academic objectives for each item in your zone: Learn its Muggle Name. Master its Function. Execute its Usage. That is all the Examination Board demands."
Sebastian delivered a final, crucial instruction, one that was designed to shock the wizards out of their natural magical caution.
"Do not treat these items with the deference you would a magical artifact. Muggle technology is robust, reproducible, and easily repaired. Break them. Dismantle them. Take them apart and put them back together again. If you damage an item, fear not; your Professor has a highly competent repair division standing by." He paused, making eye contact with the few Muggle-born students. "And Muggle-born wizards, today you are the Subject Matter Experts. It is your sacred duty to educate your magically-inclined classmates. Consider this your practical teaching module."
With that, Sebastian waved them off with a flourish. "Now, go! Have fun! And learn the truth about the world that functions without your wands!"
The initial rush was less chaotic and more academic frenzy. The students didn't run towards the items out of simple curiosity; they charged with the high-stakes determination of students who finally saw a path to victory in an otherwise unwinnable academic challenge.
Percy Weasley, still slightly stunned by the sheer size of the warehouse, found himself in the Third-Year Module, standing before an upright, two-wheeled device. His textbooks referred to it only as a "Velocipede"—a charmingly archaic term.
This is the bicycle, he mused, circling it with the cautious respect he usually reserved for a dangerous first-edition text.
How does the Muggle maintain equilibrium? When a broomstick stalls, the charm corrects the balance. This device lacks even a basic Self-Righting Charm. He was trying to derive a gravitational vector formula based on rotational speed when a Ravenclaw witch, Penelope Clearwater, approached him.
Penelope, a fifth-year with naturally curly hair and the practical confidence of a Muggle-born who had successfully navigated the arcane world, spotted the distress on the aspiring Prefect's face.
"Need a hand, Weasley?" she offered kindly, recognizing the blank look of intellectual paralysis.
Percy straightened his prefect's badge, feeling the sting of his ignorance. "Thank you, Miss Clearwater, but I was simply attempting to deduce the fundamental principles of human-powered kinematic stability as they apply to the bicycle. I fail to see the mechanism of self-correction."
Penelope grinned. "It's called practice and forward momentum, Percy. Just call me Penelope." She effortlessly mounted a nearby bike, pushing off gracefully onto the perimeter running track and circling back to him. "Come on. Professor Swann said to break things. I'll hold the seat. It's shockingly simple."
Percy reluctantly straddled the machine. With Penelope stabilizing his center of gravity, he managed a few wobbly pushes. The sensation is deeply unsettling, he thought. The control is entirely dependent on the muscle structure, not on will and incantation.
A familiar, loud voice shattered his concentration. Charlie Weasley, having learned the initial technique faster due to his innate pilot's reflexes, was now treating the bicycle like a low-flying broomstick. He sped down the track, his red hair streaming behind him, convinced that the skills for Quidditch directly translated to the velocipede.
He was wrong.
Charlie, approaching a corner with the zeal of a Seeking Beater, realized that there was no Decelerating Charm and no easy Hover Charm. He only had the rudimentary manual controls.
"Professor! HELP! I cannot halt the forward motion! There is no counter-spell!" Charlie bellowed, his voice filled with a desperate panic that would have sounded ridiculous anywhere but a magical education setting.
Sebastian, who had been observing from the sidelines, merely pointed a finger at the handlebars. He spoke with the clinical detachment of a mechanic.
"Weasley. Apply the Hand-Activated Friction Devices. Gently. Your speed is determined by your physical output, not an enchantment. No magic is coming to save you."
Charlie fumbled wildly, squeezed too hard, and the tires locked. He launched forward, executing a stunning, three-rotation airborne somersault before landing with a controlled thump and a puff of dust. His bicycle, miraculously, landed beside him, intact.
The entire hall erupted in laughter, the tension broken by the image of the great Dragonologist being defeated by simple physics.
Sebastian turned his gaze to Marcus Flint, who had been laughing the loudest, a look of arrogant amusement plastered across his face. Marcus, standing next to a display of Internal Combustion Engines, was clearly mocking Charlie's lack of grace.
Sebastian's voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. "Flint. Your laughter suggests supreme competence. If your mastery of Muggle mechanics is so profound, demonstrate your superior Physical-Kinetic Synchronization. Mount the bicycle. Are you so afraid of failure that you will not even attempt a demonstration?"
Marcus's smirk instantly dissolved. He couldn't refuse the challenge—not in front of this many rivals and non-magical inferiors. Grinding his teeth, he reluctantly mounted the machine. His Quidditch training did give him strong leg power, and his determination kept him upright. He quickly gained speed, his face a mask of intense concentration.
He sped past a still-shaken Charlie, yelling a superior taunt: "Weasley! My motor coordination is based on discipline, not luck! A race! Let's see whose magical arrogance is superior now!"
Charlie, his Gryffindor pride wounded, ignored the lingering pain and leaped onto his bicycle. He was never one to back down from a challenge, especially one that questioned his athletic prowess. The two rivals vanished down the track, turning the academic exercise into a high-stakes, non-magical duel.
Sebastian merely shook his head, a wry smirk on his face, before turning his attention to the more pressing academic struggles. Excellent. Competitive pressure vastly improves long-term recall.
Throughout the afternoon, Sebastian moved through the different zones, observing the glorious struggle between magical assumption and Muggle reality.
In the Fifth-Year Communications Module, Sebastian observed two pure-blood students attempting to communicate with an ordinary mobile telephone. They were holding it at arm's length, attempting to cast their words into the microphone.
"Confero!" whispered one, clearly trying to use a Charms spell to transmit his thoughts.
"It is obvious, you fool," hissed the other. "The Muggle 'wireless' requires focused telepathic projection. Aim your thought at the receiver."
Sebastian intervened, picking up a second mobile phone and dialling the first one. When the Pure-blood shrieked and dropped the device as it ringed—the sound utterly alien and terrifying to him—Sebastian calmly demonstrated the simple act of answering, speaking, and hanging up.
"It is a Portable High-Frequency Signal Transceiver," Sebastian explained, summarizing three textbook chapters in eight words. "It functions via Electromagnetic Waves, not concentrated intent. Next topic: The Global Positioning System."
The most revealing moment, however, occurred in the Seventh-Year Energy Module, where the graduating students were grappling with a cutaway display of a Nuclear Fission Reactor—the theoretical cornerstone of modern Muggle power.
A top Ravenclaw, heir to an old Pure-blood family, was tracing the complex piping with his finger. "Professor, I believe this is a containment vessel for a Fire Elemental. The Muggles contain the elemental and then use a controlled Ignis spell to harvest the heat. The challenge is ensuring the elemental does not escape its containment circle."
Sebastian nearly massaged his temples. The sheer creativity of their delusion was impressive.
"Young wizard," Sebastian said, sighing dramatically. "There is no magic involved. It is a process of Thermodynamics. The heat is generated by splitting a subatomic particle, Uranium-235, which is not a mystical creature but a radioactive element. This process generates massive heat, which boils water, which creates steam, which turns a turbine. The energy is purely mechanical." He tapped a diagram. "This process is more powerful and more stable than most traditional magical energy sources. Now, write down the three key stages: Fission, Steam Generation, Turbine Conversion."
At 5:00 PM precisely, Sebastian called for a halt to the technical training. The students, dizzy with new facts and the effort of manually operating complex machinery, gathered near the main entrance where a door led to an adjacent, smaller room.
"Your brains are full of Thermodynamics and Kinetic Energy. Now, for the final module of the day: Muggle Social Recreation," Sebastian announced, opening the door.
The room was not a classroom but an authentic 1980s-style arcade, complete with pulsing neon lights, synthesized music, and rows of glowing cabinets.
A chorus of delighted shrieks erupted from the Muggle-born wizards. "Arcade Games! This is amazing!"
Sebastian smiled. "These are the cultural artifacts that shaped modern Muggle society. You will now be paired up, magically, for a mandatory Cooperative Social Training Exercise."
Numbers appeared floating above every student's head—a random, non-discriminatory pairing that forced students of different Houses and blood statuses together.
Marcus Flint, the arrogant Pure-blood, found himself paired with a small, unassuming Third-Year Hufflepuff named Justin. They were assigned the legendary scrolling shooter: Contra.
Marcus, still fuming over his loss to Charlie on the bicycle, felt an instant surge of disdain. "A third-year Puff? And a Muggle-born? This will be humiliatingly easy."
Five minutes later, Marcus was slumped over the machine, sweat beading on his forehead. His character had died repeatedly, falling into pits, running into bullets, and being obliterated by the first boss. The little Hufflepuff, however, was a force of controlled destruction, his tiny avatar leaping, ducking, and unleashing constant streams of laser fire.
"Move, Flint! You have to time the jump exactly when the floor disappears!" Justin instructed patiently, his voice calm amidst the electronic explosions.
"But why doesn't my character simply hover over the gap?" Marcus snarled, his face red with a humiliation far deeper than any bicycle crash. He, the captain of a world-class Quidditch team, was being repeatedly defeated by a two-dimensional representation of a soldier designed by non-magical means, and he was being lectured by a child.
Justin, sensing the Pure-blood's struggle was rooted in pride, not skill, relinquished control of his own character for a moment. "Look, forget the broomstick, Marcus. Think of it as Chaser strategy: you have to execute the pattern—Dodge, Fire, Dodge. No room for error."
The comparison to the aggressive, predictable maneuvers of a Quidditch game clicked. "Execute the Pattern!" Marcus roared, gripping the joystick. He finally managed a difficult jump and blasted an oncoming enemy. "Yes! Target neutralized!" The two boys, one Pure-blood, one Muggle-born, were suddenly fused by the common goal of non-magical victory.
Elsewhere, Charlie Weasley was locked in a furious Racing Game. He was a natural driver, but his Quidditch instincts—built on the principle of minimal contact and optimal altitude—were disastrous for a ground-based machine. He kept trying to cut corners in impossible angles and steer his car into the crowd.
"The turns are too tight! Where is the Braking Charm when you need it?!" he yelled, throwing his head back in defeat as the screen displayed GAME OVER.
Meanwhile, Percy Weasley was paired with Penelope Clearwater on a Pac-Man machine. Percy, unable to simply enjoy the game, was attempting to predict the ghost AI's pathing using a mental Markov Chain model, meticulously charting the movements of Blinky and Pinky.
"No, Percy, stop writing that down!" Penelope shrieked, batting his hand away from his notes. "Just eat the dots! He's coming for you! Run! Run! It's not about probability, it's about panic and food consumption!"
The hall was a cacophony of Muggle noise: synthesized screams, electric gunshots, the mechanical thump of pinball flippers, and the shouts of hundreds of young wizards finally understanding that the non-magical world had its own potent, deeply engaging forms of power and pleasure.
At 5:30 PM, the clock charm on Sebastian's wrist chimed precisely, ending the most engaging class in Hogwarts history.
Sebastian clapped his hands again, and a sudden, sharp, non-magical buzzer sounded, overriding the noise of the arcade. "Time, young wizards. The curriculum has been completed. The knowledge transfer is successful."
The reaction was immediate and desperate. The previously disaffected students mobbed the platform, their fatigue forgotten.
"Professor, no! I haven't mastered the Turbo Boost on the racing simulator yet!" Charlie Weasley pleaded, his eyes wide.
"Please, Professor Swann, I almost deduced the ghost traversal algorithm on Pac-Man!" Percy called out, clutching his theoretical notes.
"We need ten more minutes! Justin is teaching me the Three Lives Code on Contra!" Marcus Flint demanded, his Pure-blood arrogance replaced by gamer frustration.
"We're learning about Muggle culture! This is vital for the exam!" a sixth-year argued, attempting to justify his enjoyment academically.
Sebastian smiled, feeling utterly victorious. He had not just taught a lesson; he had manufactured a demand for his product.
The Muggle Studies course is no longer an easy credit, Sebastian silently thought. It is now the most fascinating, essential, and most terrifying class in the castle.