The sheer, unrestrained joy emanating from the arcade was a powerful, tangible force. Sebastian, basking in the unexpected success of his pedagogical experiment, found his resolve weakening under the relentless barrage of pleas. The students, hours after the mandatory end time, were still utterly absorbed in the glowing screens, their cries of triumph and defeat echoing off the steel walls.
"Five more minutes, Professor! I'm finally understanding the optimal gear ratio for the final hairpin turn!" Charlie Weasley yelled over the screech of virtual tires.
"Sir, this is a crucial moment of cultural exchange! We can't abandon the platforming principles now!" Marcus Flint, his usual sneer replaced by the desperate grimace of a dedicated gamer, was sweating profusely as he executed a series of perfectly timed, impossible jumps. He had transcended the bias of blood and was now merely an athlete obsessed with victory.
Sebastian consulted his charmed pocket watch. It was already 5:45 PM. His own stomach provided a sharp, biological objection to any further delay. The wizard realized that if he allowed the lesson to continue, he might have a full-scale starvation riot on his hands.
"Alright, alright! One final compromise!" Sebastian's voice, amplified by a subtle Sonorus Charm, cut through the electronic clamor. "I will extend our time by precisely forty-five minutes. That gives us until 6:30 PM. Then, immediately, we return to Hogwarts for dinner."
A triumphant cheer erupted, the students scrambling back to their cabinets with renewed ferocity. Sebastian sighed internally. A forty-five-minute extension, and yet, the thought of returning to an empty Great Hall with hundreds of starving students is less palatable than the idea of teaching Ancient Runes.
At 6:30 PM, the atmosphere of pure, competitive fun was violently disassembled. With firm finality, Sebastian ordered the students out. The young wizards, though grudgingly compliant, continued to discuss the day's revelations as they streamed back toward the Knight Coach.
"You saw my score multiplier on that racing game? My broomstick handling directly translates to Muggle acceleration!" Charlie boasted, still buzzing from the adrenaline.
"Nonsense, Weasley. The Muggle game demanded far superior timing and tactical retreat," Marcus refuted, still walking with his arm slung around the shoulders of young Justin, the Hufflepuff Muggle-born who was now his undisputed Contra mentor. "I owe this Muggle wizard a great debt; he taught me the true meaning of precision in chaos."
As the hundreds of students loaded back onto the Knight Coach 2.0, Sebastian performed the ritual of wand collection once more—a necessary safety measure for travel into Muggle territory. He then settled into the aisle, feeling the deep, rumbling complaint of his empty stomach.
7:00 PM. The House-Elves will have finished serving. Even the late-night snack table will be cleared by the time we arrive.
A decision needed to be made. Sebastian pulled out his administrative mobile phone and made a quick, decisive call.
"Driver," Sebastian commanded, "take us not directly to Hogwarts, but to the nearest, largest Kentucky Fried Chicken establishment."
The driver, a silent professional from Swann Alchemy's logistics department, simply grunted in acknowledgment and executed a rapid, smooth turn that belied the vehicle's size.
A new wave of excitement rippled through the bus. "Professor, what is a Kentucky Fried Chicken?" a Pure-blood asked hesitantly.
"It is a marvel of Muggle industry," Sebastian announced grandly. "A place of profound efficiency, dedicated to the quick, mass-production of delicious, high-calorie sustenance. Tonight, the Professor is paying. We eat like Muggles."
The Knight Coach 2.0, its elegant, magically-damped chassis gliding silently, stopped outside a brightly lit, garish establishment. It was a jarring contrast: the pinnacle of wizarding transportation parked outside a mundane, mass-market food parlor.
Inside, Sebastian waved a benevolent hand toward the glowing menu boards.
"Young wizards, today you have earned a reprieve from bland school fare! Eat and drink to your heart's content! Tonight's feast is on the Swann account!"
The students, initially hesitant, quickly formed small, eager huddles around the Muggle-born students, who had suddenly become invaluable cultural interpreters.
"What is 'coleslaw'?" "Is 'gravy' a potion?" "What precisely is 'Chicken Fillet'?"
The Muggle-born students, reveling in their elevated status as temporary gastronomic experts, patiently explained the concepts of fast-food economics, dipping sauces, and carbonated sugar water.
Soon, the place descended into a joyous, messy chaos. Pure-blood wizards, who had been taught since infancy that Muggle food was dangerously crude, were clutching paper-wrapped chicken pieces in one hand and oversized cups of soda in the other.
"This 'fizzy sugar water'—this Coca-Cola—is quite simply the best thing I have ever tasted! Burp! It is superior to even the Pumpkin Juice at the feast!" cried one Hufflepuff, entirely unconcerned with manners.
The pure-bloods, initially determined to sample the food with academic detachment, were quickly consumed by the primal joy of grease, salt, and sugar. They were not analyzing; they were simply consuming with gusto.
Sebastian watched from a corner, feeling a genuine wave of quiet satisfaction. His gaze settled on Marcus Flint. The massive Slytherin sat with his mentor, Justin, discussing the merits of a spicy dipping sauce versus the original recipe—their previous ideological chasm entirely bridged by the shared experience of The Colonel's Secret Herbs and Spices.
Excellent. The sugar-coated bullet is always the most effective, Sebastian thought. His initial purpose was to prepare them for the exam, but his broader, Slytherin-centric goal was to dismantle the antiquated social barriers that were crippling the wizarding world's ability to compete.
In Sebastian's view, the distinction between Pure-blood, Half-blood, and Muggle-born was not a matter of social standing, but a catastrophic waste of combined intellectual capital. The wizarding world, with its tiny population, could no longer afford the luxury of such snobbish, self-defeating isolation.
If a shared love of a fried poultry product and a simple video game could begin to mend that rift, then the expenditure was justified.
With stomachs full and spirits high, the hundreds of students re-boarded the Knight Coach 2.0 for the final leg of the journey. Sebastian retrieved their wands from the pouch, returning their magical identities. Almost immediately, the exhaustion from the long day began to set in, and the bus fell quiet, lit only by the faint glow of the vehicle's interior lights.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over Sebastian. Marcus Flint—the very model of Pure-blood entitlement and Quidditch arrogance—stood beside his seat. The young man's face was no longer red with gaming frustration or burger grease; it was etched with a deep, unsettling conflict.
"Professor," Marcus began, his voice lowered, thick with genuine turmoil. "I… I have a problem. A conceptual query."
Sebastian patted the empty seat beside him. "Sit down, Flint. Speak your mind. You just participated in a truly revolutionary educational experience. It is natural to feel… intellectual dissonance."
Marcus sat, fidgeting with the heavy, familiar weight of his own returned wand.
"I have always believed that the magical world is superior in every conceivable way," Marcus confessed, staring at the floor. "Superiority is the very basis of our identity. But today…" He trailed off, struggling for the right words.
"Today, I saw that Muggles are capable of creating things—like that Contra game, or those tiny, complex calculators—that are objectively more engaging, more complex, and more fun than anything we wizards create. Outside of Quidditch, we have… exploding snap and chess. That is it."
Marcus looked up, his expression a plea for guidance. "My confidence, my pride as a wizard, depends on our absolute superiority. Yet, the evidence today suggests Muggles possess a creative power that we seem to lack. I don't understand why we are so far behind in things that aren't strictly magic."
Sebastian listened carefully, his smile gentle, recognizing the familiar, agonizing moment of a worldview collapsing. He had gone through the same process himself, decades ago.
"That, Marcus, is an excellent, profoundly Slytherin question," Sebastian praised, choosing his words with surgical precision. "It is the question that separates the successful Slytherin from the snobbish idiot."
Sebastian leaned closer. "The answer is simple, Marcus, and it comes down to a matter of scale and necessity. You were born a wizard. You have magic—a boundless, easy shortcut to solving almost any physical problem. Muggles were born without it. Therefore, Muggles must be creative to survive. They must solve the problem of distance with an internal combustion engine. They must solve the problem of darkness with a battery-powered light. Necessity is the mother of all innovation, Marcus."
He tapped the student's arm lightly. "Now, consider the scale. Our world—the entire global wizarding population—is tiny. We are an isolated village. The Muggle world has eight billion minds constantly working, competing, and innovating. Even if only one out of every ten thousand Muggles is a genius, the sheer quantity of Muggle genius vastly outstrips the total number of wizards on Earth. When you factor in the thousands of schools, universities, and dedicated research facilities they possess, our creative output cannot possibly compete."
Marcus's face was pale. "So… we are inferior?"
"We are specialized," Sebastian corrected sharply. "And there is no shame in admitting a specialization gap. We are masters of the Arcane. Muggles are masters of the Industrial and the Digital. The Slytherin principle is not about being inherently superior; it is about being strategically superior—using every available resource to achieve your goals."
Sebastian gestured around the smooth, silent cabin of the bus. "Look at this coach, Marcus. This is the Knight Coach 2.0. Muggles invented the rapid wheel and the highway. We layered upon that Muggle foundation the Perfect Inertial Dampening Charm and the Seamless Stretch Charm. The result? A transportation method faster and safer than anything they could produce, and smoother and more efficient than anything the Ministry could produce. We took the Muggle strength and expressed it in the form of magic."
"That is the future, Marcus!" Sebastian declared, his voice a low, fierce murmur. "You must shed the wizarding arrogance that cripples our innovation. You must look at a Muggle invention, identify its fundamental principle—its strength—and then ask: 'How can I use magic to make this twenty times better?' That is how Swann Alchemy thrives. That is how we, as wizards, ensure our continued relevance in a rapidly evolving world."
He finished, giving Marcus a final, friendly rumple of his hair. "Observe more. Think more. Your confusion is the first step toward true understanding. You have the rest of the year in Muggle Studies to find your own, powerful answer."
The Knight Coach 2.0 glided to a perfect stop, the only sound the soft whoosh of its hydraulic brakes outside the Hogwarts gates. It was 7:15 PM.
Sebastian led the massive cohort of students back into the castle, arriving just as the last of the faculty were leaving the Great Hall. The students, now fed, philosophically shaken, and completely exhausted, gathered one last time in the main entrance hall.
Sebastian clapped his hands, his voice carrying the finality of the academic day. "Did you enjoy your Muggle Studies lesson today?"
The answer was a loud, chaotic, and enthusiastic chorus.
"Yes! I understand the electromagnetic spectrum now!"
"It was the best food I've ever eaten!"
"The arcade was brilliant! I finally beat the final boss on Contra!"
Sebastian smiled, allowing their excitement to reach a crescendo before delivering the final, crucial blow.
"Excellent. I am delighted to hear that. However, this level of experiential education is a privilege, not a right. It is not easily organized, and it is not cheap."
He paused, letting the statement sink in. "If you wish to return to the Museum of Modernity—if you wish to earn the privilege of further field training, and the guarantee of high marks—you must prove that you learned the concepts, not just the joysticks."
"You have two weeks to complete a comprehensive, written analysis. This must be a detailed, independent assignment, handed in during our next consolidated Muggle Studies block."
Sebastian's expression turned serious, detailing the differentiated, highly challenging assignment:
"Third and Fourth Years: Your task is Comparative Inventory. Select five Muggle items from the Third-Year Module. For each item, you must record its name and primary function, and then research and identify a directly analogous item or spell in the wizarding world. For example: Muggle Light Bulb vs. Lumos Charm. Your analysis must briefly compare the Efficiency and Safety of the two items."
"Fifth Years: Your task is Comparative Advantage. Select three Muggle items and three wizarding spells/artifacts. You must perform a detailed analysis of the Primary Advantage of each system. Why is a Muggle telephone superior to owl post for immediate global communication? Why is Apparition superior to the Knight Coach for short-distance travel? You must assess the trade-offs in terms of speed, cost, and reliability."
"Sixth and Seventh Years: Your task is Philosophical Disparity. You must select three areas—for instance, Medicine, Entertainment, and Transportation—and discuss the root cause of the functional and creative differences you observed today. Your essay must directly address the concepts of population density, technological necessity, and the role of the Statute of Secrecy in fostering intellectual stagnation within our community."
Sebastian finished the complex instructions with a decisive nod. "What are you waiting for? Go to bed! Dream of Electromagnetic Waves and Uranium-235! Class dismissed!"
The hundreds of students, suddenly faced with the weight of analytical homework designed by an administrator obsessed with corporate efficiency, staggered toward their respective dormitories, the sheer joy of the day tempered by the sudden realization that Sebastian Swann was perhaps the most demanding professor they would ever encounter.
The Muggle Studies easy credit was officially dead.