Albus Dumbledore, who had briefly regained his composure by sipping his forbidden Muggle soda, set the glass down with a slight clink. His expression remained serenely benevolent, but a flicker of genuine anxiety danced in his blue eyes. He decided to confront the matter of the Quidditch equipment, a known quantity whose expense he had yet to calculate.
"Let's dispense with the dramatic flourish, Sebastian," Dumbledore murmured, leaning forward slightly. "How many galleons are we talking about, in total? The truth, now, for the full, detailed reimbursement claim."
Sebastian's face, which had been set in a mask of contrite poverty, instantly brightened. The moment of truth. The carefully rehearsed numbers tumbled out with the precision of a certified public accountant.
"Headmaster, I'm delighted you asked for the detail! It gives me the chance to explain the exceptional value," Sebastian began, pulling a folded, meticulously written ledger from his inner robe pocket.
"The Muggle Studies Infrastructure Project—that includes the self-updating encyclopedias, the entire set of computing devices, the video recorders, the advanced presentation equipment, and the dedicated power converters—all high-grade, enterprise-level assets. The total cash outlay for that alone, in Muggle pounds sterling, came to precisely £217,985.50."
He paused for dramatic effect, allowing Dumbledore to process the number.
"Now, utilizing the prevailing official exchange rate of five Muggle pounds to one galleon—a rate I've generously adopted to reflect the difficulty of moving such funds—that equates to 43,597 Galleons and 3 Sickles."
Sebastian then waved his hand with a grand, patronizing gesture of charity.
"But let's not be pedantic. We won't worry about the Sickles. I've also accrued minor expenses for warehouse rental in London, the specialized, non-traceable transport via the Knight Bus network, and the cost of the initial enchantment on the lecture hall walls to prevent interference with the electronics. I will, however, roll that entire remainder into the discount."
Sebastian concluded his magnificent speech, clasping his hands together and beaming. "Let's just settle on a round, easily manageable figure, shall we? 40,000 Galleons. I will absorb the rest as my way of offering the school a financial boon."
The stillness in the Headmaster's office was absolute, broken only by the frantic whirring of the small, silver instruments on a nearby table, perhaps sensing the financial shockwave.
40,000 Galleons.
Dumbledore slowly rubbed his ear, convinced the cola had suddenly caused a temporary, debilitating form of vertigo. He had dealt with budget deficits, administrative nightmares, and two Dark Lords, but a 40,000 Galleon reimbursement request from a first-term professor was a unique brand of existential dread.
"Sebastian," Dumbledore's voice was strained, the twinkle in his eye replaced by the harsh glare of reality. "Did you say forty thousand? Or did you mean four thousand, or perhaps four hundred?"
"Forty, Headmaster," Sebastian repeated, holding up four fingers, then adding a zero with his thumb.
"It's quite the sum, I grant you, but the asset value is tangible! If it had been anyone else—say, Professor Snape, who deals only in cold, hard numbers—he would have submitted the full 43,597 Galleons. I'm giving the school a massive discount out of loyalty!"
Dumbledore felt a familiar, cold sensation, the feeling of a financial trap closing around him. Hogwarts was asset-rich—tapestries, artifacts, ancient books—but its liquid capital reserves were a constant source of Ministry consternation.
The annual budget was enormous, but almost entirely allocated to salaries, maintenance, and utility bills. Locating 40,000 available galleons before the next quarter's endowment release was not a financial challenge; it was a magical impossibility.
He sighed, the sound echoing the despair of countless cash-strapped administrations before him.
"Sebastian, you have successfully cornered the school," Dumbledore admitted, laying his hands out in a gesture of helplessness.
"The quality of the equipment is beyond dispute, and your generosity in discounting the transport is duly noted. But you must understand the immediate situation. We cannot, at this precise moment, conjure that volume of liquid gold. It is simply not available in the accounts."
Dumbledore leaned forward, his face serious. "We must devise an alternative repayment strategy. We cannot allow this debt to stand unresolved. What alternative compensation would you deem acceptable for this extraordinary investment on your part?"
Sebastian allowed a carefully calibrated flicker of dejection to cross his face. Perfect. He's trapped. Now for the exit.
"Forty thousand galleons... yes, this complicates matters substantially," Sebastian muttered, rubbing his hands over his face as if in genuine distress. He then slowly lowered his hands, revealing an expression of noble, self-sacrificing resolution.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, I am a Slytherin, and while I appreciate the value of gold, I also appreciate the value of power," he stated, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "The truth is, I'm not entirely focused on immediate liquidity. My career is still young, but the world is... changing. The rumors are intensifying."
Sebastian leaned forward, his eyes burning with focused ambition.
"If the school cannot pay the gold, then let the school pay in the knowledge I desperately need. I need to enhance my combat capabilities. Teach me your unique magics, Headmaster. Show me the methods behind your greatest spells: the secrets of the Vulcan's Way for elemental fire control; the fluid, devastating power of the Water Dungeon conjurations; and, most importantly, the non-verbal, rapid-fire Transfiguration techniques you use in combat. Consider 40,000 Galleons as my private, specialized, and highly intensive tuition fee."
A silence settled over the room, thick with magical understanding. Dumbledore took another, very long, reflective sip of his cola, his eyes twinkling dangerously.
Ah, Sebastian. You are magnificent.
Dumbledore realized the entire financial maneuver—the lavish spending, the transparent invoice, the round number—had been a perfectly orchestrated pretext.
Sebastian hadn't been after money; he had been after leverage. He knew Dumbledore was morally bound to pay, and he knew Dumbledore couldn't afford to. The debt was the key that unlocked the Headmaster's closely guarded magical secrets.
Dumbledore smiled, a slow, deep smile that reached his soul. He had solved the riddle. The game was afoot. But Dumbledore, as always, had one final twist.
"You are a remarkably forthright negotiator, Sebastian," Dumbledore chuckled, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "And remarkably predictable, once one understands the Slytherin inclination toward elegant complexity. You always wanted the knowledge, not the cash."
Sebastian immediately tensed. Dumbledore hadn't conceded. He had understood, but he was choosing to play with his food.
"However," Dumbledore continued, his voice taking on a slightly teasing tone, "we cannot allow a debt of 40,000 Galleons to simply vanish. Hogwarts' reputation depends on rectifying its financial obligations. You are suggesting a magical form of payment, which is commendable, but the school must be seen to be solvent. I cannot allow you to suffer this loss of goodwill."
Sebastian's mind screamed. No, no, no! He understands the trap, but he's refusing to spring it!
"Perhaps," Dumbledore mused, tapping his chin playfully, "we could begin with an installment payment? Say, 5,000 Galleons next month, followed by another 5,000 the month after? Or perhaps a more creative solution?"
He gestured expansively. "I could convene the Heads of House! We could brainstorm. Professor Snape could dedicate a year to brewing high-demand, high-value potions that could be sold to the Ministry, the profits dedicated entirely to repaying you. Or Professor Sprout could dedicate a portion of her rare Mandrake harvest to a special auction! We absolutely cannot allow Professor Swann, the generous benefactor of our Quidditch team and Muggle Studies, to go uncompensated. It would ruin Hogwarts' sterling reputation for financial integrity!"
Sebastian was paralyzed. The ancient fox had turned the tables with devastating efficiency.
If Sebastian accepted the installment payments, his persona as the generous, high-minded professor who acted purely for the students would be instantly destroyed.
The students would learn that Professor Swann was, in fact, merely a clever businessman who demanded the school pay for his 'gifts.' His prestige among the student body would crash, sabotaging Phase One of his ultimate plan.
The 40,000 Galleons were worthless compared to the magical knowledge, and even more worthless compared to the prestige and trust he had painstakingly built.
Sebastian's composure cracked. He realized he had been checkmated. He abandoned the elaborate ruse and went for the truth, his voice devoid of all pretense.
"Professor Dumbledore, please!" Sebastian pleaded, scrubbing his face with his hands again, this time in genuine frustration. "I confess. I do not care about the gold. I care about the reality of the situation."
He stared intensely at Dumbledore. "Voldemort will return. You know it, and I know it. I have invested heavily in this school, and I have invested heavily in my own future, but if I am confronted by the power of the Dark Lord in my current state, my investments—and my life—will be jeopardized."
Sebastian lowered his voice, speaking with raw sincerity. "I am not asking for a handout, Headmaster. I am asking for the tools necessary to defend the children and the institution that I have sworn to serve. I will not kiss a robe, and I will not pledge allegiance to your name, but I will stand against him. I need your knowledge to stand a chance. Please, consider the debt forgotten, and let us begin."
Dumbledore watched the young man shed his layers of Slytherin calculation, revealing the core of his ambition and his self-preservation instinct. He was satisfied. The boy was not entirely selfish, merely practical, and fundamentally aligned against the Dark Lord.
"Ah, Sebastian," Dumbledore said softly, his eyes twinkling once more, the warmth returning, "so it was never about the 40,000 Galleons at all."
Sebastian could only smile a wide, resigned smile. "You were right, Headmaster. The debt is a formality. You see, I really didn't have a choice in the matter, did I?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore conceded, a gentle nod of respect. He reached out and tapped the ledger Sebastian had placed on the table, which suddenly vanished with a plume of harmless green smoke. "The debt is settled. The school is solvent. And my own conscience is clear."
He leaned back, his eyes alight with the joy of a master finally finding an apprentice worthy of his most secret lessons.
"Very well, Professor Swann. Your tuition is paid in full. We shall start with the fundamentals—the magic that teaches control and precision above all else. We shall begin with Non-Verbal, High-Level Transfiguration. You will learn to reshape the world with a whisper of thought. Let us convene tomorrow night. Be prepared to transform something… complicated."
Sebastian had secured his prize, but at the cost of revealing his hand to the master of manipulation. He was now Dumbledore's reluctant student, preparing for a future clash with a power he could barely imagine.