The Floo Network deposited Sebastian not at Beauxbatons itself—which was shrouded in sophisticated, ancient cloaking Charms high in the Pyrenees—but at the Swann Alchemy European Headquarters near Avignon.
The French office was a marvel of modern magical efficiency: glass, light, and sleek, charmed metals, entirely staffed by graduates selected for their competence, not their bloodline.
Sebastian's new role as Deputy Headmaster meant he was no longer merely a private industrialist. He represented the diplomatic face of a major magical institution. To arrive at a school like Beauxbatons unannounced would be a breach of decorum unacceptable for a Hogwarts official. It was the difference between a spontaneous, friendly chat and a formal State Visit.
He spent a quiet morning in the French headquarters, dictating a letter to Madame Olympe Maxime. The parchment was thick and creamy, detailing his recent appointment and outlining the purpose of his visit: to propose a tripartite cultural and educational initiative designed for the mutual benefit of European magical youth.
He focused his rhetoric on concepts of shared heritage and collaborative excellence, meticulously avoiding any implication of competitive dominance. Sebastian sealed the letter with the massive, official Hogwarts Crest, ensuring the weight of the institution's history was behind his words.
The entire procedure was a testament to his new commitment to process—a tedious, soul-sucking necessity that his former self would have simply bypassed with a high-level Teleportation Charm and a charming smile.
An elegant, pure-white French owl was dispatched, and the reply—a warmly worded acceptance setting the meeting for the following Tuesday—was received within the hour.
On the appointed day, Sebastian used a controlled Portkey to access the Beauxbatons grounds. The contrast with the stark, utilitarian aesthetic of Swann HQ was immediate and breathtaking.
Beauxbatons was not built for austere defense like the rough-hewn towers of Hogwarts; it was conceived for romantic, elevated beauty. The palace, sculpted from pale, shining stone, rose organically from the lush valleys of the Pyrenees, its silver roofs and elegant spires glinting under the warm French sun.
It possessed an airy grace that spoke of refinement and artistry. The gardens were a labyrinth of magically synchronized fountains, where jets of water formed intricate, fleeting sculptures of mythical creatures, and flowerbeds exploded with impossible colors year-round.
Sebastian was led through magnificent marble halls to a receiving chamber where Madame Olympe Maxime awaited him. Her presence was commanding; she was, as Sebastian remembered, nearly ten feet tall, yet carried her immense stature with regal dignity.
She was draped in a black satin gown, the fabric shimmering with dozens of meticulously set, flawless opals, their colors catching the light. Her features were strong, her eyes bright, reflecting a mind that was constantly assessing and calculating.
"Welcome, Sebastian," Madame Maxime boomed, her voice resonating with a warm, deep timbre that somehow managed to be both welcoming and intimidating. She extended her large, impeccably manicured hand.
In a swift, practiced movement—a courtesy he had adopted during years of high-level European business dealings—Sebastian gently took her hand and performed a brief, deferential kiss on the knuckles.
"Madame Maxime, the honor is entirely mine. Hogwarts is profoundly grateful for your time," he replied smoothly, the diplomatic language feeling comfortably alien on his tongue.
Once they were seated—Sebastian in a chair that felt surprisingly low, given the height of his hostess—Maxime got straight to business.
"Your letter was intriguing, Sebastian. You speak of elevating the exchange and cooperation between our schools. Now that you are here, representing the ancient institution of Hogwarts, what precisely is the strategic vision you propose? What actionable steps will you take that haven't been considered in the last five hundred years?"
Sebastian leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, shifting immediately into the persona of the Strategic Consultant rather than the nostalgic educator.
"Madam, the truth is stark: European magical education is suffering from cultural stagnation. Our three schools—Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang—possess the highest pedigree, but our students have become insular. We preach global unity, yet we only meet in moments of crisis or in the isolated, high-risk environment of the Triwizard Tournament, which has thankfully remained dormant."
He continued, framing the problem with undeniable logic. "For over a century, our youth have been denied a safe, routine inter-school platform for competition, friendship, and the crucial skill of magical diplomacy. The ancient precedent of the Triwizard Tournament was broken because its risk assessment model was catastrophically flawed—it sacrificed student well-being for spectacle. I have no intention of resurrecting that flawed tradition, which is, frankly, an administrative and moral liability."
Madame Maxime's dark eyebrows lowered slightly, a clear sign of professional concern. "You must forgive my interruption, Sebastian, but the moment you speak of inter-school European competition, the ghost of the Triwizard Cup appears. What you are proposing, even conceptually, is no small undertaking."
Sebastian smiled, a brief, sharp flash of confidence. "My goal is not the revival of a single, deadly event, Madame. My goal is to build a sustainable, zero-fatality, high-engagement cultural investment platform. We need a competition where every student feels vested, where the entire school's collective spirit is raised, and where the primary danger is nothing more than a few scrapes from a fall, not permanent maiming or death."
He drew his wand. With a precise, non-verbal charm, a three-dimensional, holographic display materialized above the table, shimmering with flowing text and kinetic graphics that detailed the core of his proposal.
"I propose the establishment of the Wizarding Schools Quidditch Cup," Sebastian announced, letting the elegant title sink in.
Maxime's gaze shifted to the display, her interest visibly piqued. "Quidditch? A fine choice. It is a universal passion, and unlike some other… pastimes favored by Durmstrang, it is largely safe and instantly marketable to the student body."
"Exactly, Madam. The benefits are multifold: Universal Student Engagement, Zero-Risk Profile, and Mass Spectator Appeal," Sebastian rattled off the key benefits. "The logistics are simple, efficient, and designed to foster mutual respect through administrative parity."
He used his wand to highlight the key operational metrics on the display:
"My plan dictates that each of our three schools—Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang—will field a single, senior Quidditch team. The schedule is structured as a quadruple-game home-and-away season. This means each team will play two matches at their home pitch, and two matches at the opposing schools' grounds, ensuring maximum cultural exchange and travel experience for the students."
"Crucially, to ensure absolute fairness and build immediate trust, the referees for every single match will be appointed by the third-party school. For example, when Beauxbatons plays Hogwarts, the refereeing crew will be supplied by Durmstrang's faculty. This eliminates any perceived bias from the very beginning."
"Following the four-game season, the top two teams, determined by standard Quidditch League metrics (points and goal difference), will proceed to a single, neutral-venue Final Match to determine the inaugural champion."
Sebastian then performed a simple, subtle flick of his wrist, and a beautifully bound, leather-cased dossier detailing the full rules, travel protocols, medical safeguards, and administrative budget floated across the table to land gently before Madame Maxime.
"All administrative details, including contingency planning and transportation logistics, are contained within this comprehensive proposal, Madame. I am prepared to answer any and all questions on the technical aspects."
He paused, lowering his voice slightly and adopting a slightly hesitant, more personal tone—the strategic, theatrical touch designed to secure the deal.
"Now, Madam, I must address the commercial synergy that underpins this venture, as it directly impacts my company and, more importantly, provides the necessary financial engine for this entire program."
Sebastian drew a fresh breath. "Earlier this year, Swann Media—a new division of Swann Alchemy specializing in magical broadcasting—launched three new integrated media devices: the Magic Camera, the Magic Image, and the Magic Television.
These devices were field-tested with spectacular results during the recent Quidditch World Cup, proving that there is an overwhelming, global thirst for high-quality, live-action magical sporting entertainment."
"Swann Media intends to purchase the exclusive global live-broadcast and magical footage sales rights for the entire season of the Wizarding Schools Quidditch Cup. We see this competition as a perfect, high-stakes, family-friendly vehicle to drive our products into the market."
Maxime raised a large, graceful hand, stopping him. A faint, knowing smile played on her lips, and her eyes held a distinct glint of amusement and mockery.
"Ah, Sebastian," she drawled, the sound a low, rumbling chuckle. "You are truly incorrigible. You never, for even a moment, forget to advance the interests of the Swann empire. You change your title, but your objective remains the same."
"The objective is the Quadruple Bottom Line, Madame," Sebastian countered without missing a beat, his face completely serious.
"Benefit to Students, Benefit to Culture, Benefit to Hogwarts, and yes, eventually, Benefit to Swann. But here is the critical distinction: For the entire duration of this inaugural season of the Wizarding Schools Quidditch Cup, Swann Media will retain absolutely none of the revenue."
He let the point hang dramatically. "The entirety of the commercial revenue generated—from the sales of the aforementioned Swann Media products during the season, and every single Galleon derived from live-broadcast advertising—will be calculated and divided equally, in three identical portions, between Beauxbatons, Hogwarts, and Durmstrang. This is not a sponsorship; it is a capital investment that instantly creates a massive, recurring, and unprecedented revenue stream for all three institutions."
He concluded simply: "You gain a transformative new cultural event for your students, a renewed focus on sporting excellence, and a significant, zero-effort endowment that will immediately benefit the Beauxbatons operating budget. All while Swann Media gains the massive publicity and proof-of-concept required to launch our product globally next year."
Maxime, professional to the core, ignored the flattery. She silently retrieved the thick dossier, her eyes scanning the financial projections and legal terms with terrifying speed.
She spent the next several hours in intense, deliberate discussion, challenging Sebastian on everything from the maximum weight allowance for the international broom transportation to the exact definition of a 'Neutral Venue'.
By the close of the evening, the deal was secured. Madame Maxime, seduced by the sheer scale of the financial incentive and the diplomatic genius of the low-risk competition, officially sanctioned Beauxbatons' full participation in the Wizarding Schools Quidditch Cup.
Sebastian's diplomatic marathon did not end there. From the warm, sun-drenched valleys of the Pyrenees, he was immediately transported to the harsh, shadowed coast of Northern Europe to secure the third and final partner: Durmstrang Institute.
This required a completely different approach—less finesse and more raw displays of power and utility to appeal to the school's leadership.
Over the course of the next month, Sebastian worked with relentless, exhausting efficiency. The bureaucratic grind was immense: endless committee meetings, legal drafting, security assessments, and budget finalizations with three separate, proud, and often mutually suspicious institutions.
By the first week of August, however, Sebastian had successfully negotiated, finalized, and signed all the details, securing a monumental cultural and commercial platform for the start of the next school year.
He permitted himself only a single day of true personal leave. During his month of high-stakes diplomacy, he had been called upon to honor a previous, professional obligation: a commitment to play as a substitute Seeker for a major professional Quidditch team that had run into personnel issues during the Quidditch World Cup.
The commitment was brief, brutal, and characteristic of Sebastian's overwhelming talent. In a high-stakes match that determined the fate of his temporary team, Sebastian took to the air, his vision a blur of focus and adrenaline.
Two minutes and seven seconds into the game, he spotted the minute, silver Snitch, executed a daring, near-vertical dive that terrified the commentators, and recaptured the Golden Snitch, instantly ending the match and securing his team a top-four finish in the global tournament.
He landed, accepted the inevitable barrage of media attention with a forced smile, and then immediately Portkeyed back to his next administrative meeting.
Completely depleted, physically and emotionally, Sebastian finally returned to the quiet sanctuary of Swann Manor in the suburbs of London in the dead of night. He collapsed onto his own bed, too tired even to remove his robes. He buried his face deep into the thick, silk blanket, letting out a muffled groan of pure, utter exhaustion.
"Aaah…" he rasped, the sound vibrating through the mattress.
His mind, which normally churned with billion-Galleon schemes, was blank. The contrast between the instant, decisive triumph of a two-minute Snitch catch and the month-long, agonizing process of obtaining committee consensus on broom regulations was overwhelming.
"The days when I am forced to consult with committees, obtain administrative approval, and compromise on the details are utterly draining," he lamented internally, allowing the rare, private moment of vulnerability. He was accustomed to being the autonomous Decision Maker, not the humble Consensus Builder.
"I need the autonomy of the Potion lab, or the immediate authority of the boardroom. This… this diplomacy is an absolute physical torment!"