The moment Sebastian uttered Harry's name, the perfectly constructed façade of Number 4 Privet Drive shattered.
Mia did not walk; she launched herself from the sofa, her chair scraping harshly against the spotless wooden floor, a sound that made Petunia wince violently. Her eyes, those beautiful, deep pools of brown, were already blurring with sudden, overwhelming tears.
She didn't merely see a thin, frightened boy; she saw a ghost. The unruly shock of black hair, the too-large, rounded glasses, and then, most devastatingly, the exact shade of Lily Potter's emerald green eyes.
Lily's child. The realization hit Mia like a physical blow. The boy who was supposed to be her godson, the boy they were forced to leave in this sterile, silent prison a decade ago.
She covered the distance between the sofa and Harry in two furious strides. She didn't offer a polite hand or a gentle word. She shoved Vernon Dursley's expansive bulk aside with a surprising burst of strength—a maneuver that nearly sent the man staggering into the coat rack—and swept the small, rigid figure of Harry into a fierce, suffocating embrace.
"Harry! Oh, my little star, you have suffered so much!" Mia's voice was raw, thick with a decade of guilt and frustrated love. Her hold was desperate, possessive. "I am so sorry we are late. We are ten years too late!"
For Mia, this moment was the culmination of an unbearable sacrifice. Ten years ago, when Dumbledore had forbidden them from adopting Harry, citing Lily's protective magic and a cryptic need for Harry to grow up ignorant of his fame, Mia had felt betrayed. She had promised Lily, her closest friend, that she would look after him.
Dumbledore's demand that they sign a magical oath promising not to interfere with Harry's life in the Muggle world until the summer he turned eleven had resulted in an immediate, ice-cold schism between Mia and the Headmaster. She had refused to speak to him ever since, believing his strategy was cruel, arrogant, and unnecessarily isolating for the child.
Now, seeing the evidence of neglect—the too-thin body, the haunted look in the green eyes—Mia's belief was confirmed. The Dursleys had done the bare minimum for sustenance, but had starved his soul.
Harry, pinioned in the grasp of the elegant stranger, was utterly, magnificently bewildered. His internal world ground to a dizzying halt. Who am I? Where are my manners? Is this a part of the corporate rehearsal I missed?
He choked out the only coherent phrase his brain could muster: "Hello, ma'am, I—I don't think I know you."
Mia released him slightly, her eyes brimming. Before she could launch into a tearful explanation that would inevitably reveal the entire concept of magic, Sebastian's calm, deep voice cut in, providing the necessary Muggle cover.
"That's understandable, Harry," Sebastian said, rising smoothly. His eyes met Mia's, conveying a silent instruction: Patience, my love. We must disarm the Muggles first. "We've actually known you for a very long time, in a professional capacity. Do you remember the small birthday gifts you've received since you were five? The ones with the messages inside?"
Harry's small face, which had been frozen in terror, instantly came alive. Birthday presents. The four, small, wrapped packages he received every year, in stark contrast to Dudley's overflowing hoard, were his most treasured possessions.
They were his only certainty in a world designed to make him feel unwanted. Inside each gift, always a small Muggle toy, was a handwritten message that made him feel inexplicably warm.
He hesitated, then frowned. "But… those gifts… Uncle Vernon said they were from his company's 'Orphan Outreach and Corporate Responsibility Initiative'," Harry explained, parroting the official Dursley line. "He said the staff rotated every year to promote 'inter-departmental empathy' and 'social awareness.' I've seen the roster change!"
Sebastian had to suppress a laugh. Vernon is even more paranoid than I thought.
Sebastian couldn't deliver the gifts personally due to the Magical Vow. So, five years ago, he didn't just buy shares in Grunnings; he became the majority shareholder and a permanent, silent board member with a single purpose: to create the perfect bureaucratic cover.
He had established a corporate foundation within the company, disguised as an "Orphan Sponsorship Program," which required employees who hosted foster children or orphans to receive a generous monthly stipend of £1,000. Crucially, it also mandated a discreet, anonymous "birthday visitation" by a rotating team of "empathy volunteers."
"Do you recall the four names at the bottom of the message cards, Harry?" Sebastian prompted, his voice gentle. "The names were always Mr. White, Mr. Wolf, Mr. Prince, and The Swann Couple."
Harry's green eyes widened, clarity dawning with the speed of a sudden epiphany. The Swann Couple… Mr. and Mrs. Swann… He looked up at Mia's tear-streaked, loving face, and suddenly, the complex emotional mathematics of his childhood—the inexplicable feeling of being truly loved by a stranger—made perfect sense.
A sudden, fierce rush of affection for the woman overwhelmed his shyness. His small nose started to burn. "Miss Swann…"
Mia pulled him back into her arms, this time a joyful squeeze. "Don't call me Miss Swann, darling! Call me Mia! I'm going to be looking after you from now on."
"MIA?!"
The shout was high-pitched, thin, and full of raw, retrospective horror. Petunia Dursley, who had been watching the scene with mounting, sickly dread, finally had the final piece of the puzzle click into the place she had fought to keep sealed for ten years. The familiar face, the effortless elegance, the unsettling green eyes of the boy.
Petunia staggered backward, pointing a shaking finger at Mia, her voice a reedy shriek. "You're… you're Lily's friend! You're that witch!"
"You finally remembered me, Petunia," Mia said, turning a cold, hard gaze on Harry's aunt. She still held Harry close. "And yes, I am a witch. And I'm here to tell you that the vow has expired. We're taking Harry today. He is due for his magical education."
A witch? Magical education? Harry's mind spun, momentarily forgetting his fatigue. I'm a wizard?
"NO!" Petunia cried, the word tearing from her chest with a pain that rivaled her twenty-year jealousy. "I will not allow it! He cannot go to that dreadful, filthy place! To be taught by… by freaks! He stays in this house! He stays normal!"
Vernon, who had been recovering from being physically manhandled, finally registered the sheer, catastrophic magnitude of the situation. Wizards in my living room! The Board Member is one of them! His face turned the color of a ripe tomato, his blood pressure soaring to dangerous, pre-stroke levels.
He surged forward, placing his enormous body directly between the Swanns and his traumatized wife. "You are not welcome! You are misfits and freaks! You will leave my property immediately! You are not taking the boy! He is staying right here!"
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, a flicker of disdain crossing his features. He waved a calming hand at Mia, who hugged Harry tighter, and fixed his gaze on Vernon.
"Mr. Dursley," Sebastian said, his tone switching from friendly executive to cold, analytical power broker. "We are absolutely taking Harry today. But before we discuss that, let us discuss corporate ethics."
Vernon faltered. "Ethics? I am the epitome of corporate ethics! This is a simple eviction of trespassers!"
"Eviction is ill-advised when the trespasser holds the deed to the company," Sebastian corrected smoothly, interlocking his fingers on his knee.
"You keep shouting that Harry belongs to you because you 'follow procedures.' But I want to ask you, Mr. Dursley: Does receiving a thousand pounds a month—an astonishing sum that has paid for Dudley's private school fees, I assume, and funded many of your domestic 'improvements'—feel like a fair transaction?"
Vernon's aggression wavered, replaced by a terrible, cold dread. "That—that was a company project! I applied according to the required procedures, and I fulfilled the requirements! I gave the boy a roof over his head!"
"Ah, 'procedures' and 'requirements,'" Sebastian drawled, his lips curling into a predatory smile. "You are so beautifully naïve, Mr. Dursley. You have been in the social world long enough to understand that the benefit precedes the bureaucracy."
Sebastian leaned forward, delivering the killing blow to Vernon's ego. "The 'Orphan Outreach Initiative' was not a pre-existing program you stumbled upon. It was created specifically for Harry Potter. I created a six-figure endowment, established the foundation, and ensured the monthly stipend was precisely one thousand pounds. I mandated the annual 'visitations' and the specific gift-givers. The entire apparatus exists, Mr. Dursley, because of Harry. Every shilling, every raise you have received since 1986, is a direct, transactional payout for housing the person I needed housed."
Vernon's ruddy face drained of all color, turning a sickly, mottled grey. His entire worldview—the belief that his hard work, his normalcy, and his shrewd corporate maneuvering were responsible for his prosperity—collapsed.
He… he has that much power? To create a special project, a special, monthly bribe, just for the boy? Vernon's anger evaporated, replaced by the profound, paralyzing terror of a man facing the loss of his entire financial structure. He saw not a wizard, but a vengeful, all-powerful CEO.
I have a mortgage! Dudley's schooling! Penny's expensive gardening hobby! This vile sorcerer could make me a warehouse attendant with a single word!
Vernon began to sweat profusely. He swallowed hard, his voice suddenly sounding like sandpaper. "Mr. Swann, I… I assure you, I had no idea of the… the intricacy of the company's charitable allocation. It is, of course, a massive relief to know that the boy is so important to your… your strategic humanitarian goals."
Sebastian sat back, his expression now utterly bored. "Indeed. And now, Mr. Dursley, your reluctance to allow Harry to pursue his education is creating a distinct impression of insubordination and poor judgment."
"I had no bad intentions!" Vernon stammered, desperation making him sound pathetic.
"No, I believe your intentions were quite clear: greed, coupled with a deep-seated fear of anything you deem 'abnormal'," Sebastian corrected dismissively.
"Which makes my next intention rather simple. I had originally planned to fast-track your promotion—a generous salary increase, a department manager title, effective immediately. But your current attitude is testing my patience, and more importantly, my faith in your leadership potential."
Promotion! Salary increase! Manager! The words, delivered like a divine promise, cut through Vernon's remaining terror. This was not a demonic curse; this was a career trajectory! This man was not evil; he was merely a discerning, ruthless genius who valued his employees.
Vernon's face snapped back into his practiced corporate smile, even faster than Petunia's. He spun around, pulling his horrified wife into a tight, stifling hug that muffled her protests.
"Penny, my love, my dearest!" Vernon cried, dramatically sighing for Sebastian's benefit. "I understand your reluctance! After all, we promised to keep him safe from that… that place." He leaned in, whispering harshly into Petunia's ear, "Shut up, Petunia! Our raise depends on this!"
He released her and turned back to Sebastian, his eyes shining with false sincerity. "But Mr. Swann, you have made a most compelling case. Petunia, as his aunt, is simply worried for his safety. But if, as you say, this school is safe… perhaps we should defer to the superior judgment of the Board Member."
Sebastian smiled, a gesture that was cold and entirely professional. "The place of instruction is called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And rest assured, Mr. Dursley, it is objectively the safest place in our world. And Petunia," he added, glancing at the woman who was still trembling with silent rage and recognition, "Harry will return here every summer. And as for my promise? Once you are promoted, we can discuss your performance metrics and your department's growth plan."
Vernon's surrender was complete. He launched into an immediate, detailed discussion of his planned strategies for the next quarter, effectively banishing Harry's existence from the house.
Harry, utterly speechless and still clinging to Mia, was gently guided to his cupboard-no-longer-a-room. He gathered his few possessions—the worn photograph of his parents, the four birthday presents, and his ill-fitting clothes—and stuffed them into a ripped pillowcase.
He came downstairs ten minutes later to find his uncle and the terrifyingly composed corporate wizard deep in a conversation about 'leveraging Q3 production metrics.' His aunt was sitting rigidly, staring into space, her face a mask of bitter defeat.
Harry simply walked past his aunt and uncle—wished them a bright, casual "Goodbye!" which made Vernon flinch—and walked out the door with Mia and Sebastian.
As they walked down the immaculate pavement of Privet Drive, Mia's hand resting protectively on Harry's shoulder, Sebastian glanced back.
He paused just as they passed a large, overgrown lilac bush a few doors down. Hidden deep within the shadows, obscured by an amateur-level Disillusionment Charm, was a tall, angular figure cloaked in black.
Severus Snape.
The arrogant man had sworn he would never come, that the gesture was beneath him, that he didn't need to confirm the boy's safe retrieval. Yet, there he was, a silent, dark sentinel, watching from the oppressive gloom of the Muggle world.
A grin—genuine, broad, and utterly victorious—stretched across Sebastian's face. He turned back to Mia and Harry, and without raising his voice, he spoke the single word that acknowledged his friend's hidden presence.
"Ghost!"
Harry, lying in the impossibly large, soft bed of the hotel room Sebastian had taken them to, finally exhaled. He ran a hesitant finger across the smooth, expensive fabric of the duvet. He thought of the suffocating, crushing hug from Mia, the strange, cold power of Sebastian, and the fact that he was, apparently, a wizard.
He closed his eyes, a small, genuine smile finally touching his lips. He finally felt an unfamiliar, delicious lightness—the feeling that he had, after a long, lonely journey, arrived exactly where he was supposed to be.
Magic is the answer to everything, he thought to himself. And I absolutely love it.