Sebastian looked at the elegantly sealed letter in his hand, a wry smile playing on his lips. He was suddenly struck by a piece of information he had filed away moments earlier: the Messenger Owl Incident during the Quidditch match.
He had never once considered that the reason Charlie Weasley had nearly been clotheslined by an avian missile was that the very same creature was desperately trying to deliver a financial update.
Of course, he thought, shaking his head. Leave it to White to employ an owl so thoroughly terrified of my presence that it executes an emergency landing in the middle of a sporting event, only daring to approach once I'm safely tucked away in the security of my office.
The owl had not been delivering a message; it had been executing a hasty, panicked retreat.
Sebastian broke the wax seal, a distinctive crest that looked less like a family heirloom and more like a complicated, abstract financial chart. He unfolded the thick parchment and began to read, his easygoing expression gradually hardening into one of satisfied, focused scrutiny.
Dear Sebastian,
It has been an unnecessarily long period since our last proper correspondence. I trust you are finding the theatrical atmosphere of your professorship adequately stimulating.
The company foundation was a logistical nightmare—a bureaucratic swamp of paperwork, shell corporations, and redundant protective wards. However, the lengthy preparation is complete, and the financial and legal framework is now fully established and untraceable by any standard Ministry or Muggle regulatory body. A satisfactory outcome, all things considered.
I am now facing the critical transition to Phase Two: Operations. I have certain anxieties regarding the strategic launch schedule and the integration of the intellectual properties. Your direct input and final approval on the specific action plan are non-negotiable before we proceed.
Please travel to London at your earliest convenience. We must consolidate our vision for the company's future development. I firmly believe that with your strategic oversight and my management skills, we will quickly surpass the projections you initially laid out.
Your loyal (and currently overworked) friend, Bay White
P.S.: Under no circumstances use an owl for a reply. My administrative team suffers from a distressing tendency to faint when presented with magical fowl.
Sebastian let out a genuine, hearty chuckle at the post-script. White had always possessed a dry, scathing wit. The letter confirmed exactly what Sebastian needed: the complex, multi-layered financial infrastructure designed to fund the media enterprise was operational.
He rose from his chair, smoothly rolling the letter into a tight cylinder. With a focused, silent effort of will, he Apparated from his Hogwarts office—a feat that violated numerous school rules but saved him the tedious journey through the grounds—and materialized seconds later in the study of his own lavish, heavily warded villa on the outskirts of London.
He called White immediately, bypassing pleasantries to arrange dinner for 6:30 p.m.
Sebastian arrived promptly at the designated London villa. It was architecturally modern, minimalist, and discreet—the kind of house chosen by someone who valued security and anonymity over gaudy display.
The door was opened almost instantly by White—a tall, impeccably dressed man who looked exactly like a highly successful, slightly stressed Muggle venture capitalist in his late thirties.
"Sebastian! You colossal drain on productivity!" White's initial greeting was accompanied by a tight, firm hug that belied his exasperated tone. He pulled Sebastian inside, immediately launching into a well-rehearsed tirade.
"You, sir, are the laziest genius to ever exist. You swan off to play professor with a handful of minors, abandoning a multi-billion Galleon venture in its most precarious developmental phase! How you sleep at night trusting a mere Muggle-born to manage such a staggering enterprise is beyond my comprehension."
Sebastian merely laughed, a deep, easy sound that only seemed to amplify White's professional indignation.
"Calm yourself, White. The world spins perfectly well without me hovering over it, doesn't it? Besides, the quality of your work speaks for itself. Why would I worry?" Sebastian replied, shrugging off his bespoke traveling cloak.
"Why? Because I need a roadmap, you magnificent brute! Now, you've traveled all this way; you won't be leaving until the next three years of strategic development are outlined in meticulous detail!" White declared, ushering him toward the dining room.
"Perfectly agreeable. Let's strategize over some proper food."
The dining room was vast, sleek, and utterly sterile. The only warmth came from the incredible, professionally prepared dinner spread out on the polished mahogany table—a feast designed for at least six people.
Sebastian surveyed the immaculate surroundings, noting the absence of any personal touches—no photographs, no clutter, no hint of occupation beyond professional efficiency.
"Your villa is terribly lonely, White," Sebastian observed, pulling out a chair. "Have you considered remedying this structural emptiness? Perhaps procuring a mistress to occupy the northern wing? Or perhaps something more... permanent? We should commission at least two house-elves to manage this place; the amount of maintenance required for this level of sterility must be astronomical."
White paused mid-stride, his jaw clenching with exasperated patience. He released a long, tired sigh.
"Sebastian, I swear, if we weren't about to discuss the future of the company, I would have security Obliviate you and deposit you back on Dumbledore's doorstep. Sit down! Even that spectacular spread won't silence your ceaseless mockery. You have become incredibly annoying since you took up teaching."
Sebastian smiled, pulling back the chair as if genuinely preparing to leave. "Should I depart then? The evening is young."
White simply sat down, ignoring the gesture. Sebastian chuckled, enjoying the power imbalance, and finally settled in opposite him.
The dinner was a flurry of satisfied chewing and light conversation about market futures, completely separate from the heavy magical agenda. Once the plates were cleared, White lit a premium Muggle cigar—a small, personal rebellion against the wizarding world—and watched the smoke curl toward the high ceiling.
He leaned forward, the casual atmosphere dissolving entirely. "Right. Business. Witchcraft Films and Wizardry Publications is fully capitalized and ready to go. Tell me, Sebastian, your strategy is sound, but I must ask again, and perhaps for the final time: why the title 'Wizardry'?"
White blew out a thick smoke ring, his concern palpable. "The Ministry of Magic views the use of terms too closely aligned with reality as a direct threat to the Statute of Secrecy. They could shut down the entire operation simply on the grounds of incitement. Aren't you concerned about regulatory interference?"
Sebastian leaned back in his chair, the picture of intellectual confidence. He picked up the cola glass and took a meditative sip, letting the question hang in the air.
"You worry too much about the limitations of the Ministry, White," Sebastian countered, his voice smooth. "You are thinking about the law in terms of prohibition. I am thinking in terms of narrative saturation."
He set the glass down. "The concept of the wizard did not spring out of thin air in 1689 just to annoy the Statute drafters. The idea is ancient. Merlin, in the Arthurian legends, wasn't just a wizard; he was a symbol of mystical, powerful authority, deeply woven into the Muggle cultural fabric since the Middle Ages."
Sebastian began to tick off points on his fingers. "Werewolves, vampires—these stories are not just fables; they are deeply rooted cultural traditions. Look at Bram Stoker's Dracula in the 19th century—a sensationalized, fictionalized monster that became a classic horror trope. For centuries, Muggles feared the very word 'wizard' with the full backing of the Church, driving us into hiding."
"But now?" Sebastian waved a hand dismissively. "Centuries have passed. Fear has been replaced by fascination, and most importantly, fictionalization. Muggles don't fear magic; they consume it. They have created dazzling worlds that are entirely their own."
He paused, his eyes gleaming with a strategic fire. "You mentioned J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. You said the wizards in that book—Gandalf, Saruman—are different from us. And you are correct. But isn't that precisely the point?"
Sebastian leaned forward slightly, emphasizing his next words. "Who, precisely, holds the monopoly on the definition of a wizard? Is it the secretive, aging bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic? Is it a handful of secluded families? Or is it the millions of Muggle imaginations, who are currently generating thousands of distinct, contradictory, and utterly fictional narratives every year?"
"The Ministry has authority over us, the factual magical community. But they have zero authority, zero oversight, over the Muggle imagination," Sebastian asserted, a note of triumph entering his voice.
"Our role at Wizarding Publishers is to encourage Muggle authors to generate an overwhelming diversity of magical concepts. We want wizards who wield staffs, wizards who live in space, wizards who are mere metaphor. Our Films studio will bring these diverse, contradicting characters to the big screen, inspiring Muggles to fall in love with the concept of wizardry, thereby diffusing the fear and suspicion that underpin the Statute of Secrecy."
"The goal is not to reveal the real world; the goal is to create such a vast, contradictory fictional umbrella that when a Muggle does encounter genuine magic, they simply dismiss it as a quirky, low-budget rendition of something they saw in a movie," Sebastian explained, his monologue becoming a grand strategic declaration.
"And once our unique, superior Swann Media magical world is introduced—through a careful blending of fantasy and recognizable reality—it will simply be integrated into the existing Muggle lexicon, a slightly more polished version of the fantasy they already consume."
He finished his cola, the logic unassailable. "As for the Ministry's concerns? It is a non-issue. We are two steps removed from their jurisdiction. We are running a Muggle company, using Muggle methods, based on Muggle-created concepts, employing Muggle crews to film works written by Muggle authors."
Sebastian then indulged in the promised comedic flourish, spreading his hands and making a slightly mocking, tongue-in-cheek grimace. "I mean, look at you, White! You are a Muggle-born who has adopted a Muggle identity, operating a Muggle-registered corporation using Muggle legal loopholes. It is all so terribly… Muggle!"
White sat quietly, slowly exhaling a perfectly formed smoke ring. He understood. Sebastian wasn't challenging the Statute; he was rendering it irrelevant by manipulating perception. It was a massive, decades-long project of cultural and psychological engineering.
White tapped the ash from his cigar, his expression reflective. "An audacious strategy, Sebastian. The Ministry cannot regulate fiction. I accept your logic. We proceed with the strategy of narrative saturation."
He straightened up, his tone shifting from professional agreement to deep, lingering concern. "Now that we have established your supreme confidence in your Alchemical defenses against the Ministry… I must turn to the human cost of this endeavor."
White looked Sebastian directly in the eye, the formality of the Muggle world dissolving instantly.
"Eleven years," White said, his voice low and tinged with bitterness. "Eleven years of living a lie. Eleven years of pretending to be 'Bay White,' a ruthless, entirely non-magical man of finance." He gestured to the empty, sterile villa. "Do you truly believe I can maintain this deception indefinitely? This Muggle identity I have cultivated? It is a prison, Sebastian, however golden its bars are."
Sebastian's easy smile vanished. He returned the intense gaze, his focus suddenly absolute.
"Of course, White," Sebastian said, his voice quiet, almost conspiratorial. "The man known as Bay White is a necessary, formidable tool. But he is still merely a tool. And tools, no matter how sharp, must remember who their master is, and what their true purpose is."
Sebastian paused, allowing the tension to coil in the air. He leaned across the table and delivered the final, devastating word—the truth that bound their partnership with absolute loyalty and irreversible shared history.
"Welcome back, Black."