The final tally was displayed with cruel, unblinking authority on the great obsidian scoreboard. Sebastian's rigorous, multi-faceted assessment—combining the raw speed of the morning's Precision Circuit with the functional results of the afternoon's Utility Trials—had churned out a final, data-driven roster for the Hogwarts Quidditch Team.
The selection was unconventional, reflecting Sebastian's meritocratic, House-blind methodology. Seven individuals, spanning all four houses, earned the honor:
Captain & Seeker: Charlie Weasley (Gryffindor, Seventh Year).
Keeper: Oliver Wood (Gryffindor, Fourth Year).
Chasers: Debbie Henry (Ravenclaw, Seventh Year), Paul Ford (Ravenclaw, Seventh Year), and the surprising Cedric Diggory (Hufflepuff, Second Year).
Beaters: Marcus Flint (Slytherin, Fifth Year) and Landon Kirk (Slytherin, Seventh Year).
Charlie, the fastest flyer and strongest overall leader based on the trials, was immediately granted the role of Team Captain.
Sebastian observed the results with a blend of professional satisfaction and deep, internal curiosity. The older students who retained their positions, like Charlie and Oliver Wood, were less of a surprise.
Wood, in particular, was the very definition of a maximal effort player; his single-minded obsession with Quidditch meant he was always a top-tier keeper, regardless of the complexity of the test. Charlie, the powerful, daring flyer, had simply earned the right to his Seeker role through raw, unmatched velocity.
But the data had thrown up anomalies that Sebastian, relying on his prior-life memory of the canon, found fascinating.
Marcus Flint... Sebastian recalled the Slytherin being a notoriously average, brute-force Chaser in the books. Yet, in the afternoon trials, the numbers showed an extraordinary spike in his performance during the Beater Utility Challenge.
"He wasn't a Chaser," Sebastian murmured to himself, watching Flint swaggering slightly. "He was an undiscovered Beater. His strength and brute timing allowed him to redirect the Bludgers with unexpected, lethal accuracy. The Scoreboard exposed his true calling."
And then there was Cedric Diggory. A Second Year Chaser. Not only had the young Hufflepuff made the elite team, but he had done so in the position Sebastian remembered him not occupying.
"He was the Seeker, traditionally, but his flight control and measured, conservative accuracy during the Quaffle drills were flawless," Sebastian thought. "His talent isn't specialization; it's complete utility. Who said a badger couldn't attack? The boy has the best shot conversion rate of the entire Chaser pool!"
The post-announcement reaction was as varied as the students themselves.
While the Gryffindors cheered their captain and keeper, the Hufflepuff reaction was a tidal wave of pure, non-competitive joy. The entire student section converged on Cedric, engulfing the startled Second Year in a collective hug.
"You did it, Ced! You showed them the Badger spirit!" cried a Fifth Year Hufflepuff, hoisting the boy onto his shoulders.
"They thought we were just good at finding things on the ground! Now we're finding the goal in the air!" shouted another.
The celebration was sincere, a unified embrace that lacked the usual boastfulness of the other houses. Sebastian watched them retreat toward their common room, a profound sense of satisfaction settling over him.
If only all of Hogwarts could possess that kind of supportive, non-toxic unity, he thought. The breakdown of house rivalry is a journey, but moments like these are the crucial milestones.
The Slytherins, meanwhile, had a different form of celebration. While they only secured two spots, their natural focus on results meant victory was victory. Marcus Flint, swelling with newfound confidence in his Beater role, acted immediately.
"Right, you lot!" Flint bellowed, not bothering with subtlety. "Two spots on the school team is a good investment! We are initiating Phase One: Gratuitous Celebration. All current funds are approved for immediate disbursement!"
He pulled out a pouch of galleons and commanded two eager, slightly older Slytherins to make an emergency, high-speed trip to Hogsmeade. "Butterbeer, Treacle Fudge, and Sparkling Venom for every member of the house! And if the professors ask, we're studying the Economic Impact of Regional Beverage Sales!"
The column of green-robed students marched back to the dungeons, their usual measured pace replaced by a triumphant, slightly disorderly cheer.
Meanwhile, Severus Snape stood near his office door, the low roar of the Slytherin celebration echoing off the stone walls. His face was a mask of thunderous displeasure.
Two. Only two students from his esteemed house had made the team. He had expected at least four, given the raw talent pool. His thoughts were a tortured monologue of contradictory principles.
It's an inadequate representation! A failure to dominate! That Weasley boy, Charlie, remains the Seeker, and now a Hufflepuff... a Second Year Hufflepuff has usurped a key Chaser role!
He reached for the door handle, ready to emerge and deliver a cutting, precise rebuke about the dangers of overconfidence and poor statistical performance, but he stopped. He could hear Marcus Flint's booming laughter, the sound of genuine, unbridled pride, a sound rarely heard in the severe quiet of the dungeon common room.
We must value our students, he repeated the mantra Sebastian had annoyingly instilled in the latest faculty memo. We must not extinguish the flame of minor success... even if it is a statistically unimpressive minor success.
Snape sighed, the sound barely audible. The very idea of celebrating a 2/7 success rate made his stomach churn, but interrupting true Slytherin joy—however misguided—was counterproductive to house loyalty.
He took a fortifying, painful breath, retreated into his office, and slammed the heavy oak door with enough force to rattle the vials on his desk. The celebration continued, unabated and victorious, much to his private agony.
Monday afternoon, 5:30 PM.
The seven newly selected champions arrived at the vast, green sweep of the Quidditch pitch, brooms in hand, their anticipation radiating like heat from a bonfire. The excitement of the weekend had worn off, replaced by the nervous energy of their first official team practice.
Sebastian, observing from the entrance, noted the inevitable grouping. Charlie Weasley and Oliver Wood stood together, deep in a familiar Gryffindor discussion about defensive patterns.
The two Ravenclaws, Henry and Ford, were conducting a quiet, analytical conversation, presumably dissecting the Coefficient of Momentum Transfer on Quaffle throws. The two Slytherins, Flint and Kirk, were separated from the rest, their posture radiating competitive distance.
Cedric Diggory, the lone Second Year, and the sole Hufflepuff, stood awkwardly in the very center of the field, gripping his broom and looking like a polite guest who had arrived an hour too early.
Sebastian sighed inwardly, the scene a perfect microcosm of Hogwarts' enduring social architecture. The barriers of house rivalry are structural, not superficial, he thought. They require more than just a single data-driven tryout to dismantle.
He strode onto the pitch, his presence immediately silencing the nervous chatter.
"Seven selected students, over here," Sebastian called out, his voice carrying clearly across the immense field. "Before we discuss formation, strategy, or the optimal parabolic trajectory of a Bludger—I have a formality to attend to. A... Signing Bonus, if you will."
The mention of a "gift" or "bonus" immediately intrigued the students. The Weasley twins, Fred and George, had inevitably secured a vantage point in the empty stands, waiting to observe their newly selected captain.
Sebastian produced seven large, identical rectangular boxes, conjured from a simple conjuration charm—no fancy presentation needed. He handed one to each of the players.
"Open them," he instructed with a wry smile. "This is not standard school-issue equipment. This is a perk."
The students ripped open the boxes. Inside, nestled in velvet lining, was a complete set of highly specialized Quidditch gear: a jersey, a helmet, and a pair of goggles.
But the uniform was unlike any house robe. It was a single, sleek, obsidian black color, devoid of any house crest save for a small, elegantly embroidered Hogwarts Crest over the heart. The material itself was thick but impossibly light, possessing a subtle, shifting sheen that looked less like fabric and more like solidified shadow.
Charlie, never one for delay, immediately stripped off his practice jersey and pulled on the new black kit.
"Blimey!" he exclaimed, flexing his shoulders. "It feels like a second skin!"
The effect was instantaneous and dramatic. The uniform, designed to fit like a professional athlete's gear, made the players look taller, sharper, and utterly unified.
The observing students in the stands—especially the excluded Gryffindors—howled with envy.
"That is inspirational design!" Fred shouted from the stands, holding his hands up to frame Charlie. "The aesthetics alone will intimidate Slytherin! It's what Muggle marketers call 'Aggressive Minimalist Branding!'"
"I desperately need one of those!" George lamented, clutching his own worn, faded Gryffindor practice jersey. "It looks like it repels dust! That fabrication density is extraordinary!"
As the other six players, including the quiet Cedric, quickly donned their new gear, Sebastian explained the technical specifications, allowing the players to appreciate the value of their prize.
"That jersey is woven with a blend of self-cleaning, charmed fibers and a powerful, low-level Thermal Retention Charm," Sebastian explained, gesturing to Charlie. "It is entirely waterproof and temperature-neutralizing. Whether you play in a blizzard or a torrential downpour, you will remain dry, warm, and your muscles will maintain optimal flying temperature."
He moved to the matching black helmets and goggles. "The helmets are reinforced with a featherlight Goblin-silver alloy, protecting against impacts that would normally result in a concussion—even from a direct Bludger hit. And the goggles are charmed with a complex Clarity-Maximization Rune-Set. They are anti-fogging, anti-dust, and they will adjust for any light condition, allowing you to maintain perfect visual fidelity in heavy rain, mist, or glaring sun."
He finished with a flourish. "This entire kit was custom-manufactured by Swan Alchemy over the weekend, utilizing my own material sciences and enchantment methods. This equipment is not just flashy; it is a performance enhancement tool and it is yours. It is a fundamental perk of being selected for the Hogwarts Varsity Quidditch Team."
The seven champions stood straighter, a collective surge of pride and worthiness running through them. They no longer looked like students; they looked like a cohesive, professional unit.
The chorus of despair from the onlookers intensified.
"Professor! That's not fair! I only missed the cut by three seconds!" "Does Swan Alchemy sell a version for casual fliers? I'd pay triple the price!" "I want a second chance! Please! I'll fly the whole course backwards!"
Sebastian raised his voice, silencing the mob once more.
"Let me be clear," he stated firmly. "The selection process was predicated on data, transparency, and objective performance. I designed the system to be immune to bias. Therefore, there will be no appeals, no special exceptions, and no second chances until the next annual tryouts."
He looked directly at the disappointed students. "Work hard. Train religiously. Next year, the competition begins anew. If you prove your mettle, you will earn this equipment. But for those of you who have earned it," he addressed the seven standing before him, "do not grow complacent, because this team is a meritocracy. Failure to perform next year will see this gear passed on to your replacement."
Sebastian let the finality of his words settle, then turned to the last element of his "Signing Bonus."
He gestured to the side of the field, where seven brand-new, gleaming broomsticks were laid out on velvet cloths. They were a brilliant, dark mahogany, their handles carved with subtle, flowing runes.
The students' eyes widened in collective shock.
"Merlin's beard, Professor," Marcus Flint whispered, forgetting his swagger. "Are those... are those the Cleansweep Seven?"
Sebastian nodded. "The latest model. Exceptional stability, acceleration, and precision handling. They are, quite simply, the best mass-produced racing brooms available."
The players practically vibrated with excitement. Charlie felt his heart pound—a professional-grade broom was the dream of every young flyer.
"Are these... are these also a gift, Professor?" Cedric asked, his polite Hufflepuff nature still evident despite his shock.
Sebastian gave him a dry, amused look. "No, Mr. Diggory, you are not dreaming. And no, they are not a gift."
He stepped toward the row of high-performance wood.
"These brooms are the property of the Hogwarts Quidditch Team. They are reserved for team use, team practice, and team competition. Only the seven of you have the privilege of using them. They will remain locked and maintained by myself when not in use."
He pointed to a large, newly erected sign beside the maintenance shed: Property of the Hogwarts Quidditch Team. Unauthorized Use Will Result in House Point Deduction and Detention.
"The equipment is here to maximize your potential, but the skill still rests entirely with you," Sebastian concluded. "Now, enough analysis of the gear. Mount up. We begin with a three-lap high-speed formation drill. Practice starts now."