Albus Dumbledore's eyes, magnified behind his half-moon spectacles, were not merely looking at Sebastian; they were attempting to peer into the deepest recesses of his being, searching for the core motivation hidden beneath the layers of ambition, charm, and overwhelming financial success.
The Headmaster's gaze was renowned for being the greatest lie-detector in the magical world—a subtle, effortless form of Legilimency that few could withstand.
Sebastian, however, remained utterly unperturbed. He met Dumbledore's intense scrutiny with the calm, reflective composure of someone staring at a pond. He was confident the Headmaster was not using genuine Legilimency; Sebastian's own augmented magical perception—his internal Haki—would have shrieked a warning instantly.
Furthermore, he knew he didn't need to lie. His new philosophy, forged by two lifetimes of experience, affirmed that sincerity, when presented with supreme confidence, was the most disarming tool of all.
Sebastian leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk, palms down, a gesture that was at once submissive and dominating.
"Before I give you the answer, Professor Dumbledore, which will be the most transparent explanation I have ever offered anyone, I need to frame our context," Sebastian stated, his voice dropping slightly, commanding absolute attention.
Dumbledore and Snape, who had been sipping his chilled 'Happiness Water' with grudging enjoyment, both settled. The tension in the room was now palpable, thick enough to warrant a Sticking Charm.
Sebastian cleared his throat. "You asked what motivates the richest wizard in the world. I must start by clarifying one crucial point to prevent a massive misunderstanding from the outset."
He paused for dramatic effect, allowing his blue eyes to sweep briefly over the silent portraits of the Headmasters, then locking onto Snape's cynical stare.
"Professor, I can state this unequivocally: I have no interest in Galleons."
A low, guttural sound escaped Snape's throat—half-choke, half-snort—as the Professor of Potions nearly sprayed his Coke across Dumbledore's prized alchemical instruments. He swallowed hard, his dark eyes wide with incredulity, and his lips curled in an expression of pure, concentrated disgust.
The audacity! The gilded, pampered, golden-plated toad! Snape's mind screamed, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arms of his chair.
This is not human arrogance; this is a declaration of divinity! No interest in Galleons? He literally controls the majority of the world's gold supply! If Dumbledore weren't here, I would personally test the durability of his expensive Italian suit with a full-powered Bat-Bogey Hex!
Dumbledore, however, merely smiled, a knowing flicker in his blue eyes. He waited, letting Sebastian's outrageous statement hang in the air like a poorly cast Boggart.
Sebastian, fully aware of the volcanic rage brewing in Snape and the quiet amusement in Dumbledore, continued seamlessly, his expression utterly serious.
"Let me elaborate before my esteemed colleague suffers an apoplectic fit," Sebastian said, nodding curtly toward the still-clenching Snape.
"Earning capital, Professor, ceased being an objective years ago. It became a means to an end. The Swann family fortune now runs on autopilot. Whether I'm awake or asleep, traveling the Silk Road, or simply sitting in this chair, the income compounds exponentially. Therefore, my actual focus has always remained squarely on the magical world itself, not the currency it uses."
He paused, then added a subtle challenge. "Professor Dumbledore, you are, understandably, deeply engaged in the ongoing political struggle against the remaining Dark elements. You haven't been forced to walk through Knockturn Alley in quite some time, have you? With your permission, I'd like to share a recent memory to illustrate the real problem I am trying to solve."
Sebastian reached into his coat pocket again, extracting a curious, palm-sized bowl wrought of polished, obsidian stone and shimmering silver—a Swann Pensieve of Paradox. Unlike the plain, ancient Pensieve Dumbledore kept hidden, this was a sleek, modern alchemical marvel, designed for portability and clarity.
He touched his wand to his temple. The magical extraction was instantaneous, not a slow, wispy thread, but two thin, perfectly focused silver ribbons of pure thought and memory. He flicked his wand, sending the two ribbons plunging into the obsidian bowl. They dissolved instantly, creating a swirling, luminous pool of silver mist.
"I had to hide the Headmaster's official Pensieve for this conversation, Sebastian, as the Board's new 'asset inventory audit' requires me to catalog all ancient artifacts," Dumbledore sighed dramatically, winking before plunging his face toward the bowl.
Snape, though disgusted by the display of wealth, couldn't suppress his academic curiosity. He leaned over, following Dumbledore into the memory.
Sebastian found himself, once again, in the familiar gloom of Knockturn Alley. The alley was perpetually dark, even under the sun, a narrow, cobblestone canyon lined with decaying storefronts. He saw the projected image of himself—a young, sharp Sebastian, impeccably dressed and radiating a confident, almost intimidating aura.
The original memory-Sebastian walked slowly, wand discreetly ready, through the shadowy marketplace. The shifty, strangely dressed denizens of the alley—many of them desperate or simply down on their luck—parted before his projected image like a dark sea before a gleaming ship.
"This memory is from a recruitment drive I conducted shortly after the first conflict ended," Sebastian's guiding voice explained, standing beside Dumbledore and Snape in the memory.
"Notice the density of the foot traffic. It's certainly not Diagon Alley, but it's busy. And I ask you both: are all these individuals Dark Wizards, Severus?"
Snape's memory-image huffed. "They are certainly not candidates for the Order of the Phoenix, Sebastian."
Sebastian ignored the jibe, leading them to an unoccupied section of the alley where a wizard was packing up a tattered cloth spread with meager goods. The wizard looked ordinary—tired, perhaps, but not inherently malicious.
Dumbledore's memory-image paused, his blue eyes softening slightly. "Ah, young Bilbo Henry. Hufflepuff, wasn't he? A good heart, though sadly, his OWL scores were… challenging."
"Precisely," Sebastian confirmed, satisfied Dumbledore remembered the small details. "Bilbo Henry, Muggle-born, Hufflepuff, a decent human being who flunked out of the job market. Only managed two respectable N.E.W.T.s. Not enough to secure a decent position, not enough to rise above minimum wage at the Ministry, and far too afraid of becoming a criminal to take the easy path."
Sebastian's memory-image watched the memory-Bilbo pack away his meager wares.
"Bilbo told me he chose to buy a small, damp flat here because it was the only place he could afford to be a wizard. He saw the wonders of our world and couldn't bear to go back to the Muggle commuter train and the drab, fluorescent lighting of an office block. So, he eked out a living brewing low-grade, technically legal potions—just enough to stay afloat and avoid becoming truly evil."
The memory-Sebastian turned to face the two Professors. "Bilbo had poor grades, but a pure soul. Yet, this alley is full of wizards just like him—desperate, marginalized, clinging to the magic they love, but dangerously close to falling into the hands of those who would exploit them. I hired Bilbo on the spot for Swann Alchemy. We pride ourselves on recognizing latent talent, not just transcript grades."
Sebastian paused, a genuine sense of gravity in his voice. "But I can't hire them all. And there are thousands more like Bilbo graduating every year, wizards who fail to realize the promise of their Hogwarts education because the Wizarding World is a job market failure."
He turned their attention to the contrast between the memory-alley and the world outside.
"Consider this, Professor. Every day, the Muggle world accelerates. They develop instantaneous global communication, complex computing systems, and rapid, global travel. Meanwhile, our world has not fundamentally changed since the invention of the Self-Stirring Cauldron. We are stagnant. We are archaic. We are becoming a museum."
Sebastian then drove home his core strategic concern—the fear that drove his ambition.
"What if the next generation of Muggle-born wizards—the true engines of innovation and fresh perspective—discover that life in the Muggle world is no longer less exciting, but actively more comfortable, more convenient, and more prosperous than life in the magical world?"
"What happens when a new Muggle-born Bilbo Henry fails his N.E.W.T.s and realizes he can make fifty times the income designing a Muggle app than he can brewing potions in a leaky flat in Knockturn Alley? What will he choose then, Professor? And what about the Half-Bloods, or even the Pure-Bloods who have Muggle connections? They will simply leave."
Sebastian's voice resonated with the chilling clarity of a dark prophecy. "The British magical community, Professor, is not just facing an external threat from dark wizards; we are facing an internal threat of brain drain and irrelevance. Our tree is rotting at the roots."
He retracted his hand, and the Pensieve memory vanished, leaving only the sound of gentle crackling from the fireplace and the intense silence of the room.
Sebastian leaned back, the image of the desperate, good-hearted Bilbo still hanging in the air.
"I could, as you noted, ignore all of this," Sebastian concluded calmly. "I could retire to my private island, spend my endless Galleons, and watch the Wizarding World slowly crumble into an isolated relic while I live a life of perfect, Muggle-enhanced comfort. My family would be safe, and my money would be secure. I have zero need to be here."
He paused, letting his gaze drift over the ancient Sorting Hat, a worn symbol of the system he was trying to save.
"However," Sebastian declared, his voice suddenly thick with the true, raw pride of a Slytherin. "I am a wizard. I am a product of this school. I am a man of immense power, and I possess the unique foresight to see the slow, inevitable collapse of this system."
"My ambition is not about the money, Professor. My ambition is to be an architect. I want to be the one who ensures this great tree not only survives the Dark Lord but, more importantly, thrives in the modern world. I want to make the Wizarding World so innovative, so compelling, and so economically viable that the most talented Bilbo Henrys of tomorrow are drawn to it, not repelled by it."
Sebastian tapped his chest, where the Swann crest lay. "I cannot achieve systemic change solely through Swann Alchemy; that only addresses the economic symptom. I must address the root—the education system. I must start with the children, the curriculum, and the cultural philosophy. I need a formal position of influence at the center of this institution to gather the resources, the students, and the faculty necessary to begin this generational shift. I need the legitimacy of Hogwarts to effect global, lasting change."
He paused one final, lengthy moment, his blue eyes challenging the Headmaster. "I believe with great power comes the greatest responsibility to oneself: the responsibility to pursue a legacy worthy of that power. My legacy will be the revitalization of magical Britain, not merely being its banker."
Sebastian concluded with a calm, triumphant smile.
"That, Professor Dumbledore, is my sincere answer. I am not here for the gold, I am here for the glory of being the savior this system needs. Are you satisfied with the ambition of your newest Deputy Headmaster?"