The twins' synchronized outrage was magnificent to behold. They instantly shed their awe for the advanced magic and returned to their default state: indignant mischief-makers who believed they were being unjustly taxed.
"Professor, that's simply not fair!" Fred exploded, leaping to his feet and knocking his empty Coke tumbler slightly askew.
"We were having a delightful, high-level strategic planning session! We even toasted your 'Disruption of Stagnation'! You can't just slap a penalty on us after we've verbally agreed to your R&D proposal!"
"A mere two points?" George added, his voice dripping with faux-wounded pride. "For an offense that clearly merited, at most, a stern look? Our reputation for midnight adventures is worth more than a paltry two-point deduction, sir! You're cheapening the entire escapade!"
Sebastian merely leaned back in his chair, the picture of benevolent professorial authority, and savored the moment. Their indignation was so pure, so Gryffindor.
"Ah, but gentlemen, you misunderstand the function of this deduction," Sebastian explained, his tone measured and patient.
"This isn't about arbitrary punishment; it's about establishing accountability—a core principle of effective partnership. You violated the contractual terms of your residency at Hogwarts; the two points are the penalty for that breach."
He held up a single, imperious finger. "I have just demonstrated that I am fully capable of detecting and capturing you, even when you employ a sophisticated magical artifact. I could have brought in Professor McGonagall, which would have resulted in twenty points being lost, mandatory detentions, and a severely distressed mother receiving a lengthy owl. By keeping this matter within the confines of my office, I am shielding you from the much higher cost."
Sebastian fixed them with a warning gaze. "And to ensure you understand the necessity of restful sleep for magical growth phase optimization—which is vital for your new project—the penalty must escalate. The next time I catch either of you past curfew, it will be two points each. The third offense will be four points each, and so on. The cost of your midnight strolls will become fiscally prohibitive very quickly. Do you understand the escalating scale of the risk?"
Fred and George, recognizing the cold, unyielding logic of a seasoned negotiator, deflated like two punctured balloons. Sebastian hadn't simply punished them; he had laid out a terrifyingly efficient deterrent structure. They realized their glorious, long-running game had just ended, replaced by a ruthless form of magical compliance.
"Yes, Professor," they mumbled in unison, sinking back onto the sofa. They offered a swift, perfunctory promise to never, ever break curfew again—a promise Sebastian accepted with a knowing, internal smirk. He knew it was a lie, but the threat was now in place, and that was enough to ensure they directed most of their energy toward the R&D project.
Sebastian then performed the maneuver he knew would utterly demolish their remaining moral defenses. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a heavy, slightly worn velvet pouch, and with an almost contemptuous casualness, tossed it onto George's lap. It landed with a heavy, satisfying clatter of gold.
"By the way," Sebastian said, his voice entirely dismissive of the sum, "this is the initial capital allocation for the Hogwarts Navigation Initiative. There are exactly one hundred Galleons in that pouch. Consider it the immediate start-up fund for phase one research."
The twins stared at the pouch as if it contained a Mandrake that was about to scream.
One hundred Galleons. It was more liquid capital than the entire Weasley household saw in a good year. It was a sum that could buy every potion ingredient in Snape's private stock or fund their joke shop dreams for a full six months. And the professor had just casually thrown it at them for agreeing to a conceptual project.
George, ever the morally grounded one, immediately tried to shove the heavy pouch back across the table. His hand was shaking slightly.
"Professor, this is far, far too generous," George stammered, genuinely distressed. "We can't possibly accept this as a gift! We haven't even written the project brief yet. We haven't earned a single knut of this."
Fred, though internally vibrating with greed and excitement, backed his brother. "Sir, we appreciate the confidence, but we come from a long tradition of self-sufficiency. We can fund our own research with odd jobs!"
Sebastian was momentarily surprised by their reaction. Their genuine reluctance confirmed the strength of the Weasley family's deeply ingrained values. He felt a wave of satisfaction. Molly Weasley truly raised honorable children.
He refused the pouch with a firm wave of his hand.
"Gentlemen, you must stop treating this exchange like a personal gift or a student loan," Sebastian instructed, adopting the crisp, impersonal tone of a venture capitalist addressing his founders. "I am not offering charity; I am initiating a professional partnership with my new R&D team."
He leaned forward, his eyes shining with the fervor of commerce. "At Swan Alchemy, when a new project is established, the initial capital allocation is determined by a professional risk assessment of the inventors' potential. I have assessed your ingenuity, your technical skill—even your devious mastery of the Map—and concluded that 100 Galleons is the minimal, justifiable sum required to begin the research phase."
Sebastian's voice dropped to a boastful, arrogant whisper.
"Besides, what is 100 Galleons to me? This is merely the initial tranche of funding. Follow the professor's program, deliver results, and the Galleons will flow. Consider this a revolving fund: you have one month to spend this entire amount wisely on research materials, specialized tools, and necessary components. If you deplete the funds before the deadline, and can demonstrate efficient usage, you come back with your account book, and new funding will be immediately provided."
The sheer scale of the financial commitment, and the bizarre instruction to spend the money, not save it, stunned the twins into silence.
"However!" Sebastian's tone snapped back to absolute seriousness. "This funding comes with stringent accountability. You must learn the foundational discipline of professional finance. Every single Galleon, Sickle, and Copper Knut spent must be meticulously recorded in a ledger. Clear receipts, clear expenditure narratives. This is non-negotiable. Do you understand the requirement for financial transparency?"
The twins' eyes were wide with wonder and sudden, stark terror at the accounting requirement. Fred stared at George, silently asking, Copper Knuts? Does that include the chocolate frog we bought from the Trolley Witch?
"Don't worry, Professor," George managed, holding the heavy pouch protectively. "We will record every expenditure. We understand. Fiscal responsibility is paramount."
"Excellent," Sebastian smiled. "If you encounter any complex procurement issues or administrative roadblocks—perhaps a professor refusing you access to certain restricted-section materials—you come directly to me. I will handle the political aspects. Your sole focus is innovation and engineering."
Sebastian picked up a fresh quill and began scribbling rapidly on a clean sheet of parchment, creating a reading list. "The core issue with the Marauder's Map is its conceptual simplicity. To create a marketable product that is legally distinct from it, you need to master the underlying, cross-disciplinary magic."
He handed the extensive list to the twins.
Reading List: Phase One - Conceptual Foundations
A Survey of Material Transference and Tracking Charms (Focus on Persistent Tagging)
The Principles of Identity Mapping and Biometric Magicks
Advanced Charting and Cartography in an Unstable Environment (A particularly obscure text on castle architecture)
Alchemy Explained: Volume IV – Refinements and Practical Application
The Ethics of Magical Surveillance (For light evening reading, of course)
Fred and George huddled over the list, their previous exuberance replaced by a look of academic dread. The sheer volume was crushing. This wasn't an R&D project; this was a full-scale, unsanctioned minor degree in Applied Thaumaturgy.
Sebastian was immensely satisfied. These boys were brilliant, but their energy needed focus. He needed to channel their mischievous drive into structured, high-value learning.
"Some of these are available in the Restricted Section; others you can borrow from the main library," Sebastian instructed. "If you face bureaucratic resistance, use your new funding to owl-order the rest from Flourish & Blotts. Just keep the receipt, naturally."
He banged his hand on the desk, recapturing their focus. "I want you to take your time. This project has a full year on the clock. No shortcuts, no rushing. I need mastery of the fundamental charms before you even begin the practical application. That leads us to the grander strategy."
Sebastian then launched into a quick, ruthless piece of market analysis. "You are focused on the Map, but that is merely the entry point. Have you noticed the profound stagnation in the joke and novelty market?"
The twins slowly nodded.
"Joko's Joke Shop," Sebastian scoffed, "is a relic. They rely on the same five-year-old gags: fertilizer bombs, sneezing powder, and the occasional dungbomb. Swan Alchemy ran a product analysis: their refining methods are archaic, their ingredients are basic, and their product innovation rate is zero."
"I am funding you not just to create a Navigation Map, but to create the foundational knowledge that will allow you to utterly disrupt that market. This project is your training wheels. Once you master the principles of persistent magical tagging and complex enchantment stability, you will be unstoppable. Think beyond the Map. Think Alchemy. Do you grasp the scope of the opportunity before you?"
The twins, their faces alight with the vision of becoming the industry-defining innovators Sebastian had just painted, nodded vigorously. The promise of disruption—of utterly humiliating Joko's—was far more intoxicating than a simple Galleon bribe.
Sebastian let the entrepreneurial excitement settle, then delivered the final, non-negotiable blow—the one that secured his control over their schedule and their focus.
"And now, for the terms that will guarantee the continuation of this lucrative partnership," Sebastian said, his eyes chillingly serious. "This funding—this access, this specialized tutoring—is contingent upon your unwavering academic performance."
"Your overall grades in all of your subjects—from Charms to Potions to History of Magic—must remain above an 'Acceptable' level. Furthermore, you will complete all your assigned homework, and you will not cause any significant administrative trouble that lands you on Professor McGonagall's permanent hit-list."
He paused, lowering his voice to an intimate, dreadful whisper. "I will be meeting weekly with the Heads of House to review your records. Should your performance dip, or should I receive a single, angry owl from your mother about your lack of commitment, this project, the funding, and all future contracts will be immediately and irrevocably terminated. Study first, research second. Do not test my commitment to this rule."
Fred and George simultaneously slumped against the back of the sofa, their newfound gold and grand visions suddenly feeling like an immense, suffocating weight. Their ambitious plan to strategically 'de-prioritize' certain, less interesting classes—namely History and Charms—was instantly dead in the water.
Their future, their gold, their disruption of the joke market—it all depended on them behaving like model students.
Goodbye, our nocturnal adventures.Farewell, our cherished freedom from homework.Farewell, our beautifully chaotic, unstructured youth.
They had traded two points and a secret map for 100 Galleons and the yoke of academic diligence. It was, they realized, the most devastatingly effective magical trade-off they had ever encountered.
"We… we understand, Professor," Fred muttered, defeated. "Academic excellence. Mandatory."
"Good," Sebastian replied, his smile back in place. "Now, off to bed, gentlemen. And do not forget your reading list. I expect a preliminary report on Identity Mapping by the end of the week."