Not enough funds?
Sebastian's triumphant internal reply was instantaneous: Perfect.
He had calculated this precise moment. A perfectly sound, ethical, and necessary reform plan would be rendered unworkable by a simple, bureaucratic fact: poverty. Hogwarts was resource-rich in history and magic, but functionally cash-poor, relying on ancient, dwindling endowments. If Dumbledore had been able to fund the Work-Study Program himself, Sebastian would have zero leverage.
"Do not distress yourself about the lack of funds, Headmaster," Sebastian announced, his confidence radiating outward like a low-level warming charm. "I anticipated this inevitable structural limitation. I am fully prepared to invest in the future of the school and the success of this program."
He paused for calculated effect, allowing Dumbledore's eyes to settle on him.
"I am prepared to start the investment at Ten Thousand Galleons."
Dumbledore smiled, a look of profound relief washing over his face. Ten thousand Galleons was a gargantuan sum. It would cover the Work-Study stipends, necessary equipment purchases, and likely keep the lights on for another year without financial anxiety. I would not have to worry about delaying the paychecks of the Ancient Runes lecturer, Dumbledore thought gratefully.
But before Dumbledore could even begin to voice his sincere acceptance, Sebastian's expression subtly shifted. The pleasant, businesslike smile evaporated, replaced by something dangerously slick, a look Dumbledore recognized with a painful jolt of memory. That precise, manipulative glint had been there last year, right before the young man asked him to teach him the secrets of magic itself.
"Headmaster," Sebastian continued, his voice dropping slightly, becoming more confidential, more negotiable. "You must acknowledge the significant and substantial investment I am making here—an investment not merely of capital, but in the academic longevity of your institution. Given this generous commitment…"
Sebastian allowed his words to hang in the silent, expectant air of the office.
"...Might I humbly request a small favour in return?"
Broken! Dumbledore's mind screamed, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. This is not a donation; it is a transaction with the highest possible premium attached. I should have known this ambitious young man never does anything for free.
"I should have kept a few more secrets in reserve," Dumbledore muttered under his breath, though he maintained his outward composure. He settled back in his seat, the blue eyes behind the crescent spectacles regaining their famous, unsettling depth.
"Speak your request, Sebastian," Dumbledore invited, his tone betraying nothing but curiosity.
"Headmaster, through your direct intervention and accompaniment, I wish to visit the prison cell of Gellert Grindelwald."
The effect of the name was immediate and devastating. Dumbledore's vision swam for a brief, agonizing moment. His focus fractured, and his gaze turned inward, distant and haunted, as if Sebastian had physically reached out and touched an ancient, festering wound. The brightly lit office and the cheerful, tickled phoenix seemed to recede, replaced by flashes of youthful laughter, the clash of raw magic, and the deafening shock of loss.
Gellert.
What could this young man possibly want with him? Dumbledore wondered, the pleasant warmth of the summer morning instantly chilled. Is this about power? Is it about the Deathly Hallows?
The Headmaster's easy smile vanished. He leaned forward abruptly, the motion conveying a latent, coiled threat. The air in the room seemed to compress, and his gaze—now sharp and penetrating—pierced Sebastian from behind his half-moon lenses. He was no longer a mild-mannered academic; he was the most powerful wizard in the world, focused entirely on a perceived threat.
"I require the full, unvarnished reason, Sebastian."
Sebastian felt the weight of Dumbledore's power—the sensation was indeed like standing before a colossal lion that had abruptly ceased its pretence of sleep. The lion was now fully awake, its eyes fixed on its prey, ready to execute a lethal pounce if the slightest untoward movement was detected.
Sebastian, however, did not flinch. He met Dumbledore's piercing gaze with his own steady, unblinking clarity.
"The reason is singular and straightforward," Sebastian replied calmly, his voice a clean counterpoint to the Headmaster's hidden agitation. "I require a detailed, practical understanding of your former acquaintance's signature group offensive spell: Fire Shield, or as the Dark Arts enthusiasts call it, the controlled deployment of Fiendfyre."
"I have studied the accounts of the Paris confrontation decades ago. The sheer power, the ability to selectively separate friend from foe, and the terrifying magical complexity of that conflagration left an indelible impression."
"I wish to see Grindelwald, Headmaster, and acquire the knowledge necessary to replicate and master that formidable, destructive magic."
Dumbledore's expression immediately became heavy, complex, and deeply troubled. He recognized the raw, terrifying power Sebastian sought.
"Sebastian," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice now laden with warning, "Fiendfyre is an unparalleled horror. It is the spell of last resort for madmen. It is an extremely dangerous and unstable magic. The raw power it unleashes cannot be easily directed, let alone contained, even by a master. It consumes everything in its path, friend and foe alike, and possesses a perverse, nearly sentient will of its own."
He lifted his gaze, his eyes filled with profound seriousness.
"Why would you, a wizard of near-flawless command and intellectual brilliance—a brilliance I would argue surpasses my own at your age—deliberately seek such dark power? The excessive pursuit of powerful, destructive magic, and the obsessive need for ultimate power, inevitably begins to corrupt the mind."
"No, Headmaster, you misjudge my motive!" Sebastian interrupted immediately, preventing Dumbledore from sinking into a lengthy, moralistic exposition. "I am not afflicted by an obsession with power; I merely pursue efficiency."
Sebastian leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, his tone becoming intensely philosophical.
"I refuse to believe that power itself is inherently evil; the fault always lies with the caster's intent. You yourself know that during the height of the last conflict, many Aurors began resorting to the use of Unforgivable Curses to dispatch high-ranking Death Eaters. We do not categorize those individuals as 'dark' or 'evil'—we categorize them as people forced to utilize terrible means to achieve a necessary, just end."
A meaningful, almost unsettling smile touched Sebastian's lips.
"I have always believed that there is a colossal difference between not having a wand and possessing a wand but choosing not to use it. I would rather possess the knowledge of Fiendfyre—learn its principles, its structure, its weaknesses, and its counter-measures—and then voluntarily choose to keep it in my theoretical arsenal, than face the threat of Voldemort one day and realize I lack the singular, destructive capability required to stop him."
"Furthermore, my true interest lies far deeper than the simple destructive application of the curse. I am primarily interested in the fundamental, underlying magical principles that allow Grindelwald to command such a complicated entity. If I can understand the knowledge behind the Fire Shield—the methods of establishing boundaries and selecting targets within a colossal, uncontrolled magical effect—my own skill in Intent and Control Charms will be elevated to an entirely new echelon."
Sebastian's sincerity was absolute; he did not waver under the Headmaster's scrutiny. He was telling the truth: the knowledge was indeed more valuable than the simple, destructive spell. Fiendfyre is a multi-target, self-sustaining charm—a terrifying innovation. I need to understand its source code.
Seeing Dumbledore remain silent, wrestling with his conscience, Sebastian drove the point home, anchoring the abstract conversation in the concrete reality of the coming war.
"Headmaster, Voldemort's return is not a matter of if, but when. We must capitalize on every opportunity to increase our magical capabilities. If he is not completely and permanently eradicated, the wizarding world will be left to wither in his shadow. How can we talk about a 'happy, easy future' for Harry if we are not taking every conceivable step now?"
Dumbledore was forced to concede the logical validity of the argument. He continued to study Sebastian's eyes, searching for the madness, the arrogance, the tell-tale sign of corruption that had ultimately consumed his friend Gellert. But Sebastian's gaze remained startlingly clear, his will uncompromising. He was not a man to be dissuaded by moral caution.
It would be far better that he seek this knowledge under my direct supervision than by circumventing me and finding it through more dangerous means, Dumbledore reluctantly concluded. If I refuse, I may be simply pushing him toward a more disastrous, unsupervised encounter.
Dumbledore sighed softly, his expression relaxing slightly. He was clearly moving towards acceptance, but Sebastian decided to use the momentum to settle the financial debt.
"To further demonstrate the absolute sincerity of my dedication to the Hogwarts educational reforms," Sebastian proposed, his voice regaining its sharp, business tone. "Allow me to increase my investment."
"Thirty Thousand Galleons. Consider this my formal investment in the academic excellence and financial stability of the school."
"Sebastian, this is not about money…" Dumbledore began, sounding genuinely helpless and slightly offended. The boy constantly treated him as if he were a corruptible Minister.
Why must this young man always default to a financial solution? I am not a venal creature!
However... thirty thousand Galleons was a truly staggering sum. That money would guarantee the Work-Study Program's funding for three years, provide much-needed refurbishment to the library, and potentially even purchase a new set of potions equipment for Snape, keeping his beloved staff happy.
Dumbledore hesitated, his principles warring violently with his responsibilities to the students. He frowned, his resistance wavering.
"Even if I were to escort you to Nurmengard," he stipulated, attempting to cling to the last vestiges of his control, "I cannot, under any circumstances, guarantee that Gellert will consent to teach you anything. Moreover, the Austrian Ministry of Magic is notoriously difficult, and gaining high-level clearance will be problematic."
"Difficult situation." Sebastian translated Dumbledore's coded language into its common Muggle equivalent. Dumbledore is making excuses, desperately trying to protect the last vestiges of his old relationship.
Sebastian saw the hesitation, the crack in the moral armor, and he knew he had won. He held up five fingers, his gaze absolutely fixed on Dumbledore's.
"Fifty Thousand Galleons."
Fifty thousand Galleons. That was five full years of guaranteed funding for the Work-Study Program, a complete overhaul of the student facilities, and a financial cushion for a decade. I will not give Dumbledore the opportunity to say no, Sebastian thought. No wizard, no matter how noble, can refuse that much money when the welfare of hundreds of students hangs in the balance.
Dumbledore's hesitation this time was barely a breath. The needs of the students—the very students Sebastian's reform plan was designed to help—eclipsed his old pain. He realized that this transaction, this dark bargain, would fundamentally ensure the survival and prosperity of Hogwarts for years to come.
Dumbledore closed his eyes momentarily, a brief spasm of resignation crossing his face. When he opened them, the Lion had finally retreated, leaving only the complex, weary Headmaster.
"Very well, Sebastian," Dumbledore said, his voice flat with the finality of the decision. "I will assist you in convincing Gellert. As for the bureaucratic complications with the Austrian Ministry of Magic, as you correctly assessed, that is a trivial matter for me to resolve."
Sebastian's face finally broke into a satisfied, unrestrained smile. He had achieved his goal. But just as he was basking in the glow of his victory, he felt a strange, cold shift in Dumbledore's demeanor. When the Headmaster had heard the sum of Fifty Thousand Galleons, his eyes had narrowed slightly—not with greed, but with a subtle, wounded pride.
Did I offer too much? Sebastian wondered, momentarily baffled. Did he feel that I valued the secret knowledge of his old friend at a higher price than Dumbledore himself was worth? Was that a flash of ancient, romantic jealousy?
Before Sebastian could process the strange reaction, Dumbledore rose to his full height. He walked to Fawkes, effortlessly gliding onto the phoenix's broad, golden back.
Dumbledore raised his arm, an impatient, beckoning gesture, and a wide, mischievous grin returned, erasing the weariness.
"Less talk, more action, Sebastian! We have a long journey ahead. Get on!"
"To Nurmengard!"