The sheer volume of students that flooded the front gates of Hogwarts resembled an evacuation rather than a field trip. One hundred and fifty young wizards, a vibrant collision of black and house colours, jostled for position in front of the looming, triple-decker behemoth: the Knight Bus.
The new Third Years, having only heard the embellished legends of the bus's impossible acceleration and jarring trajectory, were in a state of shrieking excitement.
"Look, it's even taller than they said!"
"Do we get to ride on the very top?"
"Is it true you have to hold onto the beds when it corner-drifts?"
The older, experienced students—particularly the Sixth and Seventh Years who had endured the previous trip—tried, with varying degrees of success, to project an air of jaded superiority.
Honestly, thought Charlie Weasley, attempting to suppress the involuntary flutter of his stomach, it's just a Knight Bus. We have Dragons that move faster than this.
Ignorant children, sneered Marcus Flint, shoving a smaller Hufflepuff out of his path. I've been on a Knight Bus. It's nothing but a glorified, self-driving tea tray on wheels.
Despite their manufactured boredom, the competitive instinct of the senior boys was undeniable. Charlie, already standing near the door, found his path blocked by Flint. Their eyes locked—two alpha predators competing for the choicest view on the top deck.
"Swann said seniority first, Flint," Charlie stated coolly, adjusting the strap of his shoulder bag.
"Swann said orderly procession, Weasley," Flint countered, planting his large frame firmly in the doorway. "And I prefer to inspect the vehicular infrastructure before allowing smaller, more combustible elements inside."
Sebastian, who was observing the entire scene from the entrance with an almost paternal amusement, allowed the tension to simmer for precisely three seconds. He wasn't running a daycare, but he wasn't running a gladiatorial arena either.
"Enough!" Sebastian's voice boomed, amplified and echoing off the stone walls. "Flint! Weasley! Your competitive spirit is admirable but misplaced. The top deck is reserved for those who submit their papers without complaint. Step aside. Third Years first! They need the best vantage point for cultural orientation."
Defeated, Charlie and Marcus stepped back, muttering complaints about the blatant injustice of youth preference. Sebastian only allowed the driver to move once he had visually confirmed that every single student was securely fastened into their seats—a necessity, given the Knight Bus's disregard for Newtonian physics.
Sebastian settled into a small, relatively stable corner seat and pulled out the collected stack of exam papers. He worked in focused silence as the outside world blurred into streaks of impossible colour, ignoring the synchronized gasps and squeals of the younger students.
Hmm. Flint's descriptions of a 'cellular phone's' function are remarkably accurate, though he keeps calling it a 'portable thinking mirror,' Sebastian mused, marking the paper. This confirms the effectiveness of the initial exposure. They are learning the 'What' and the 'How,' but still lack the context of the 'Why.' Excellent.
The Knight Bus deposited the large, slightly disoriented group back at the anonymous, magically secured warehouse.
Sebastian gathered the students in the central area, where piles of neatly labelled Muggle artifacts awaited inspection.
"The lesson remains bifurcated," Sebastian announced.
"Tier 1: Years Three through Five. Your task for the next hour is the practical application of basic mechanics. You will continue to interact with the objects from last time—the vacuum cleaner, the toaster, the television—but this time with a specific focus on verbally articulating the function."
He addressed the excited younger crowd. "Remember the three pillars of Muggle mastery: Nomenclature, Function, and Operation. What is it called, what does it do, and how do you make it do it? Master this, and your path to a stress-free O.W.L. is guaranteed. Go!"
The younger students immediately dispersed into groups, heading toward a newly installed set of kitchen appliances. The warehouse instantly filled with the hum of electronics and the excited shouts of children arguing over whether a blender was a 'low-power crushing potion machine' or a 'semi-sentient food pulper.'
"Tier 2: Years Six and Seven," Sebastian continued, his voice dropping to a more serious, analytical tone for the older group. "You have already passed the Integration Imperative. You are now engaged in the Innovation Mandate."
He pointed to a large partitioned area where tables were laden not with appliances, but with technical manuals, circuit boards, and disassembled electronics.
"Your task is not simple learning; it is comparative analysis. You will be examining the underlying principles of Muggle communication and comparing them to our own. Focus today on the Muggle concept of wireless fidelity versus the inherent limitations of the Floo Network and the postal owl system. Your assignment is to draft a five-point proposal on how Muggle network architecture could be magically synthesized to create a faster, more secure Wizarding communication grid."
Charlie Weasley and Percy Weasley, along with the handful of other Sixth and Seventh Years, instantly gravitated toward the dense technical manuals. This was the truly challenging, valuable material—the reason they had risked their schedules for this class.
"I'll be circulating," Sebastian finished, giving a cryptic smile. "If you need assistance with the name of a kitchen utensil, ask a Fifth Year. If you require help with the theory of telecommunications infrastructure, do not hesitate to call for me."
For an hour, the warehouse was a perfect dual-class environment: chaos and confusion in the Tier 1 zone, contrasted with deep, focused silence and the scratching of quills in the Tier 2 section.
As the clock hit the halfway mark, Sebastian clapped his hands sharply, the sound instantly overriding the noise of the children and the humming machinery.
"Time, everyone! Pack up, form your ranks, and prepare for the second phase of today's lesson. This, I promise you, will be infinitely more enjoyable than dissecting a vacuum cleaner."
The students, minds racing with images of arcade consoles and virtual reality headsets, piled eagerly back onto the Knight Bus. But the ride was surprisingly short. The bus screeched to a halt not in a brightly lit entertainment district, but in front of a sprawling, brightly lit building that looked suspiciously utilitarian: a massive Muggle Supermarket.
A collective groan went up from the students.
"A shop?" Marcus Flint muttered, his hopes of a laser gun fight immediately dashed. "We came all this way for a mundane shopping trip?"
Sebastian stepped off the bus, pulling out a bulging wallet and flourishing it dramatically.
"Today, we conquer the final frontier of Muggle civilization: Capitalism and Retail," Sebastian announced with a flourish. He had a small, charmed bag suspended from his hand. "Come forward, my budding consumers! Each of you is about to receive your first allowance of Muggle currency. Exactly Twenty-Five Pence (25p) each."
The distribution process was a flurry of eager hands. The pure-blood wizards—accustomed to Galleons and Sickles—were ecstatic. Twenty-Five pence! That sounds like a respectable amount!
The Muggle-born and Half-blood students, however, exchanged weary, knowing glances. They understood the grim reality of 25p purchasing power.
Sebastian waved the students toward the supermarket's automatic sliding doors, which hissed open to reveal an overwhelming landscape of brightly packaged food, fluorescent lights, and the sickly-sweet scent of synthetic vanilla.
The pure-bloods charged forward, full of adrenaline and purchasing enthusiasm, only to crash into the brutal reality of the price tags.
Marcus Flint, reaching for a glittering, cold can of Fizzy-Pop-Cola—a brand he'd seen advertised on the Muggle television—faltered. The price sticker stared back at him: 35p.
"Thirty-Five?" he hissed, clutching his measly 25p. "This is a farce! It's less than half a Sickle! That's all a can of sugary water costs?"
The realization dawned on the collective pure-blood cohort: 25p was nearly useless. They could buy a tiny, unbranded stick of gum, or maybe one loose, sad-looking banana. The coveted items—the colourful bags of crisps, the chocolate bars, the fizzy drinks—were all tantalizingly out of reach. Their high-value allowance was, by Muggle standards, pocket change.
At that moment, Sebastian's amplified voice, magically broadcast throughout the enormous, echoing supermarket, cut through the sounds of beeping checkouts and rolling trolleys.
"Are we experiencing a liquidity crisis, children?" Sebastian's voice dripped with mock-sympathy, a highly effective form of academic taunting. "It seems my young capitalists have encountered the inherent limitations of the purely individual financial model."
The students whipped their heads around, searching for the professor, finding him nowhere. He remained safely on the bus, observing the chaos via remote scrying charms.
"Today's true lesson is not about the value of a penny," Sebastian's voice continued, firm and authoritative, "but about the absolute necessity of collaboration. You cannot purchase your desired goal—be it a single, glorious 35p can of cola, or a shared bag of high-end crisps—alone."
"Therefore, the second half of this lesson requires a new, immediate structure: The Four-House Consumer Alliance."
"MANDATORY RULE: Every single purchasing unit must consist of at least FOUR MEMBERS. Furthermore, those four members MUST be drawn from ALL FOUR HOUSES of Hogwarts: one Gryffindor, one Slytherin, one Hufflepuff, and one Ravenclaw."
Sebastian's voice hardened, leaving no room for argument. "This is not optional. This is not negotiable. I will be monitoring the transaction receipts. Any group attempting to circumnavigate this rule—or any group found to be entirely composed of one House—will be immediately disqualified, and all their accumulated funds will be permanently confiscated and donated to the Hogwarts Library Fund. Go forth, and learn to cooperate."
The order dropped like a tactical nuclear strike. The students, who had happily played together in their own house groups during the warehouse session, now stared at each other with dawning horror.
Forcing a Slytherin to collaborate with a Gryffindor on an academic project was one thing; forcing them to pool their limited, precious pocket money and agree on a single brand of chocolate was an entirely different, highly volatile exercise.
The pure-bloods, desperately needing the accumulated 100p (four times 25p) to afford any decent snack, now had to find and convince the Muggle-borns and Half-bloods of other Houses to join them, recognizing that those students were their only experts on what was actually worth buying.
Charlie Weasley (Gryffindor, Tier 2) immediately saw the tactical necessity. He nudged Oliver Wood (Gryffindor, Tier 2), his fellow Quidditch-obsessed senior.
"Wood, listen up. We're Sixth and Seventh Years; we're a minority. We can't waste time haggling with Third Years. The maximum potential purchasing power is in a senior quad. Find a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff now."
Wood, already moving, stopped. "Wait. We need a Slytherin. And the only Slytherin in our Tier is..."
"Flint," Charlie finished, his mouth tight. "Yes. We hate him, but he's the only logical choice to complete the senior alliance. He brings the 25p, and we bring the Muggle product knowledge necessary to maximize the transaction value. It's mutual economic dependence."
They approached Marcus Flint, who was still glaring furiously at the 35p price of the cola.
"Flint," Charlie said, cutting straight to the point. "The professor has forced a strategic convergence. We know how to navigate this maze; you provide the necessary capital injection. We need a four-House Alliance from the senior tier. We'll handle the logistics; you provide the Gryffindor-specific antagonism necessary to keep the deal interesting."
Marcus, whose desire for the Fizzy-Pop-Cola now transcended all House loyalty, gritted his teeth. Work with Weasley? The humiliation is total.
But... he looked at his 25p, then at the 35p cola. He looked at the vast, intimidating shelves of unknown, unlabeled foodstuffs. If I don't partner with them, I'll end up buying the pathetic stick of gum, while they'll be feasting on sugary oblivion.
"Fine," Marcus spat out, the word tasting like ash. "I'll find a Hufflepuff. You find a Ravenclaw. We will pool the funds, but I get final veto power over the sugar content of the combined purchase."
"Deal," Charlie said, already sprinting toward the main aisle. The forced alliance was formed, born not of friendship, but of the ruthless, undeniable logic of shared financial necessity. The ultimate lesson in cross-cultural business cooperation had begun.