Albus Dumbledore did not merely demonstrate Transfiguration; he performed an instantaneous, living overhaul of reality. Sebastian watched, mesmerized, as the Headmaster's office—a room already crammed with ancient artifacts and whimsical instruments—dissolved and reformed under the effortless, non-verbal sweep of his wand.
The heavy, leather-bound tomes on the bookshelves did not just change shape; the wood and paper flowed into a vast, sprawling oak tree, and the books themselves became the deeply veined, fluttering leaves.
A sudden, non-existent breeze from a hidden charm made them rustle with the sound of a living forest. The stone floor beneath Sebastian's feet turned into a spongy, moss-covered earth, and the various uncomfortable faculty chairs became rough, solid trunks surrounding them.
Dumbledore was not practicing a spell; he was commanding the fundamental building blocks of matter.
The delicate silver instruments on his desk—the ones that measured the subtle fluctuations of magical interference—became darting field mice, quick silver running through the suddenly lush grass.
A pair of quills transformed into chattering squirrels, chasing each other up the wooden arm of a transformed sofa. Even the portraits on the wall reflected the change, their inhabitants now merrily strolling through the enchanted forest, their painted reality shifting in perfect sync with the room's new state.
This was Transfiguration at a level Sebastian had never truly comprehended—not just object-to-object, but full-scale, environmental metamorphosis, conducted with the ease of taking a breath.
Sebastian had always prided himself on his talent. From his first day at Hogwarts, his sheer dedication, combined with his prior knowledge, had allowed him to outpace every genius and star pupil the school had to offer. He had mentally constructed a hierarchy of power, placing himself comfortably among the elite, just below the mythical figures.
Dumbledore: The Apex Class. An unassailable tier of one.
Voldemort: The Devastation Class. Secondary, but overwhelming.
Sebastian and the Contemporary Elite:The Master Class. Talented, dangerous, but constrained by traditional limits.
Now, watching Dumbledore turn an office into a fully operational ecosystem without speaking a single word, Sebastian felt his arrogant, meticulously constructed hierarchy shatter. He realized he wasn't just slightly behind the master; he was flying a child's toy plane behind a military jet. He saw only a sliver of Dumbledore's true power, and it was sufficient to instill a deep, salutary humility.
Sebastian, Sebastian, he chided himself internally, his focus snapping into sharp, desperate clarity.
You fool. You were ranking the legends before you even tied your own robes. This isn't a game of school accolades anymore. Voldemort's return is imminent, and you are unprepared. No more complacency. No more distractions.
With this fresh, cold dose of reality, Sebastian abandoned all pretense of leisure and focused with the intensity of a starving man at a banquet.
He spent hours absorbing Dumbledore's techniques, the master focusing heavily on the mental discipline required for non-verbal command and the rapid succession of multiple, complex transformations—the true keys to dueling at the highest level.
It was hours past the curfew when Sebastian finally left the Headmaster's office, the room having reverted to its antique, chaotic charm. Despite the crushing realization of his magical deficiencies, he was in a genuinely euphoric mood.
The effort of the lesson had been exhausting, but the knowledge gained was exponentially valuable. The 40,000 galleons had been a bargain.
He began strolling down the fourth-floor corridor, a soft, self-satisfied tune escaping his lips. It was a Muggle tune, adapted to fit his current triumphant, slightly aggressive mood:
"What you owe, you'll soon return! Every secret, I shall learn! Hehehe! Hehehe! The knowledge I took, was well earned!"
A grumpy-looking portrait of a Medieval witch snapped to life as he passed. "Professor Swann! Mind the acoustics! It's the middle of the night, and that humming is intolerable!"
Sebastian winked at the portrait and reluctantly ceased his humming, but the adrenaline still pulsed. He was too charged up for sleep.
A perfect night for a low-stakes exercise, he decided. Let's see if the hours of focus improved my magical detection skills.
He relaxed his magical senses, extending them into the silent stone environment like invisible sonar. The results were immediate: Nine unauthorized signatures. Two signatures on the fifth floor, two on the fourth floor, and a suspicious cluster of five signatures around the kitchen area.
Sebastian chose the easiest targets first. Not long after, he found four young wizards—all Hufflepuffs, predictably—loitering near the kitchens, their cheeks still smeared with honey and their arms laden with Butterbeer bottles and empty trays. They were the very picture of guilty, stuffed contentment.
The moment they saw Sebastian, the cluster of Hufflepuffs froze, dropping a tray of treacle tart with a sad little splat.
"Professor! We're terribly sorry! It was hunger, Professor, pure hunger!" cried one, immediately dropping into a deep, butter-stained bow.
"We were just having a post-homework snack, sir, honest!" pleaded another, holding up a half-eaten pumpkin pasty as evidence.
"Please, Professor, no points! We'll clean up the entire kitchen! We'll do anything!" stammered the third, who was clutching a bottle of Butterbeer.
The fourth, a particularly endearing boy with round glasses, shoved the bottle of Butterbeer forward. "Professor, please, take this! It's the good stuff! We found a rare vintage!" He was attempting to bribe the authority figure with the most comforting item he possessed.
Sebastian looked at the small, apologetic foodies. They weren't plotting mischief; they were simply ravenously hungry and entirely incapable of resisting a midnight feast. Their immediate, unreserved honesty was disarming.
"You don't need to apologize for being hungry," Sebastian said, his voice firm but not punitive. "However, you do need to adhere to the curfew. The kitchens are not a common room annex. It is far too late for wandering."
He pushed the Butterbeer bottle back towards the fourth boy. "Given your impeccable candor and your apparent commitment to nocturnal calorie consumption, I shall be merciful. Return to your common room immediately and get to bed. Since you've already confessed and offered restitution,"
Sebastian paused, allowing the slightest edge of humor to creep into his voice, "I will not deduct any points. But do not make this a habit."
The relief on the faces of the four Hufflepuffs was total. They practically levitated back toward their corridor, offering profuse thanks and promises to never sneak out again—a promise Sebastian knew they would break by the next full moon. A small investment in student goodwill, he thought, adjusting his robes.
Leaving the satisfied Hufflepuffs behind, Sebastian frowned. The two magical signatures he had sensed earlier on the third floor were still moving. They hadn't fled to their common room; they were actively evading him.
How arrogant, Sebastian thought, a predatory smile stretching his lips. They saw me, and yet they continue their night promenade. This is a challenge to authority. A duel of wits.
He quickened his pace, but as he reached the main staircase, he noticed something peculiar in his magical detection: the two signatures constantly shifted their path, executing subtle but effective maneuvers to remain one corner or one floor away from his projected route.
Wait a moment...
The familiarity was striking. He remembered the elaborate, nearly impossible cat-and-mouse games played by the infamous four founders of the Marauder's Map.
This can only be the Weasley twins. And they possess the Map.
The knowledge confirmed Sebastian's suspicions and ignited a genuine, competitive spark. The Twins were using an artifact from his own past life's narrative—a perfect magical surveillance tool—to defeat him. Aha. If you want to play a game using the rules of magic, I will not only use the rules, I will rewrite the manual.
Sebastian came to a halt on the deserted landing. He needed to defeat the Map, not the boys.
He raised his wand and began a complex sequence of charms, utterly silent and focused.
1. The Disillusionment Charm: A shimmering, aqueous light enveloped him, blurring his outlines and allowing him to blend seamlessly with the environment. Standard invisibility.
2. The Silencing Charm (Non-Verbal): He cast a concentrated Muffliato variant around his immediate self, ensuring not only his footsteps but the rustle of his robes, the intake of his breath, and the minor, ambient magical hum of his presence were completely nullified. Perfect silence.
3. The Naming Annulment Charm: This was the crucial, high-level counter. Sebastian channeled the essence of his recent lesson, focusing his will to temporarily detach his identity from the pervasive surveillance layer that bound names to locations. It was a targeted, non-verbal charm to defeat the unique enchantment of the Map, making his name signature momentarily drop out of existence on the parchment.
Everything is prepared.
Sebastian moved silently up to the fourth floor, finding a large, freestanding mirror. He could hear the faint, muffled voices of the twins coming from the wall adjacent to the mirror—a secret passage.
"Hey George, what's happened to Professor Swann's name?" Fred's voice was worried. "It was there, walking toward us, and then poof! Nowhere. He's not in the dungeons, not in the Headmaster's office, he's just gone."
"I don't know, Fred," George replied, sounding equally paranoid. "The map says he's not even in the castle! He must be using the most complex, untraceable invisibility magic ever invented! We can't stay here, we're trapped!"
"Right. We have to be braver than the Map suggests. We'll sneak out, keep low, and listen for the tiniest sound. On the count of three—one, two, three!"
The mirror swung inwards, revealing a hidden passageway. Fred and George, identical in their shared terror, crept out. They were hunched over like aged gargoyles, their eyes darting, their ears straining for the slightest sound.
They walked on tiptoe, pausing every two steps to frantically check the Map in their hands, confirming that the dreaded name—Sebastian Swann—was indeed absent.
They're truly good at this, Sebastian conceded, following them silently, enjoying their ridiculous, professional paranoia. Years of practice, I imagine.
The twins climbed an entire floor in agonizing silence, their tension visible in every cramped muscle. Only when they reached the fifth-floor landing and the Map still showed Sebastian Swann's name nowhere on the parchment did they allow themselves a brief, foolish moment of relief.
"Sound the all-clear, George," Fred whispered, visibly relaxing. "The professors are all in the staff room, and Swann's name has completely disappeared. He must have gone home to sleep, like a normal person."
"We are kings of the night once more, Freddie!" George hissed back, pumping a victorious fist. "That corridor we didn't finish exploring last week? Now's our chance!"
Sebastian smiled, a wide, silent, triumphant smile in the shadows. He canceled the Silencing Charm and the Naming Annulment Charm, allowing his signature to snap back onto the Map and his heavy professor's footsteps to sound deliberately behind them.
Thump... thump... thump.
The twins instantly froze.
"George," Fred breathed, his voice a panicked squeak. "I hear footsteps. Loud ones. Behind us."
George didn't respond with words; he simply fumbled frantically with the Marauder's Map, holding it up to the dim torchlight.
Sebastian Swann's name, rendered in elegant, professorially script, was now positioned directly behind them on the landing.
The twins stared at the parchment, then slowly, fearfully, turned their heads toward the spot where the footsteps had ceased. Their expressions were not of simple "caught," but of existential, betrayed grief. They realized the professor had not only seen their trick but had used magic of a higher order to stalk them like a spectral hunter.
Sebastian canceled the Disillusionment Charm. His figure shimmered into solid reality, his black robes stark against the stone wall, his smile utterly charming and completely devoid of mercy.
"Good evening, Mr. Weasleys," Sebastian said, his voice cheerful, conversational, and utterly terrifying in the silence of the night.
"The night air is quite brisk, wouldn't you agree? I was just considering a late-night stroll. What splendid company you have found for me! Let's all go for a little walk... together."