The stone walls of Hogwarts had always been excellent conductors for two things: ancient magic and juicy gossip. While Sebastian was busy calibrating the soul-signature sensors in the Alchemy Workshop, the rest of the school was gripped by a sudden, intense bout of vanity. After all, the "Student ID" wasn't just a security measure; it was a permanent record of what you looked like in your teenage years. For a witch or wizard, having a "bad photo" that lasted seven years was a fate worse than detention with Filch.
The boys were relatively simple—a quick splash of water, a bit of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion if they were feeling fancy, and a clean robe. But for the girls, the upcoming photo session was nothing short of a tactical operation.
Hermione Granger stood in front of the girl's dormitory mirror, her expression one of utter defeat. She had spent the last twenty minutes fighting a losing battle with her hair. The humidity of the Scottish Highlands had turned her usual frizz into a sentient cloud of bushy brown chaos. And then there were her teeth. She stared at her reflection, her upper lip curling slightly. Her parents were dentists—Muggle experts in oral perfection—and yet here she was, in a world of magic, still rocking front teeth that could easily double as a beaver's primary tools.
"It's not fair," she whispered, tugging at a particularly stubborn knot. "I can brew Polyjuice Potion, but I can't even make myself look presentable for a piece of obsidian."
An idea struck her. There was one person in the castle who always looked effortlessly poised, whose hair was never out of place, and whose makeup was subtle yet flawless.
Mia Swan.
Hermione gathered her things and hurried toward the St. Mungo's Training Office. She expected to be the only one with such a shallow request, but when she arrived, she found the corridor packed. It looked less like a medical office and more like a high-end salon. Dozens of girls from all four houses were queued up, clutching mirrors and whispering excitedly.
Mia was at the center of the room, her movements fluid and graceful as she moved from student to student. She wasn't just using magic; she was using an artist's touch.
"Don't worry, Lavender, the blush will fade into a natural glow once you step into the light of the workshop," Mia said, her voice like silk.
When it was finally Hermione's turn, she felt a bit self-conscious. "Professor, I know you're busy with actual medical training, but my hair... it's simply refusing to cooperate. And my teeth..."
Mia smiled, and it was the kind of warm, genuine smile that made Hermione feel instantly at ease. "Appearance isn't everything, Miss Granger, but I understand the desire to feel confident in one's own skin. Especially when Sebastian is involved—he does have a way of making everything feel very permanent, doesn't he?"
With a rhythmic wave of her wand, Mia began to work. Hermione felt a strange, tingling sensation on her scalp. It felt like a thousand tiny fingers were massaging her head. In the mirror, she watched as her unruly mane smoothed out, the frizz vanishing to reveal rich, chestnut waves that caught the sunlight.
"A bun, I think," Hermione decided, feeling a surge of boldness. "Something... elegant. Like you."
"A fine choice," Mia whispered. The hair moved as if it were alive, twisting and pinning itself into a sophisticated knot at the nape of Hermione's neck.
"Now, about those teeth," Mia continued, her eyes twinkling. "Hold this mirror. Tell me when to stop. We don't want to go too far; your smile is part of who you are."
As the spell took hold, Hermione watched in a daze. Her front teeth, which had been the bane of her existence since third grade, slowly shrank. They didn't become tiny; they became proportional. For the first time in her life, her smile didn't feel like an apology.
"Thank you, Professor! Truly!" Hermione beamed, feeling like a weight had been lifted.
But as she prepared to leave, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, emboldened by the relaxed atmosphere, leaned in with a cheeky grin. "Professor Swan? Can I ask a personal question? We were all talking about it in the common room."
Mia paused, wiping her wand with a silk cloth. "I suppose curiosity is a Ravenclaw trait. What is it?"
"You and Professor Sebastian... you've been married for ages. Since right after school, right? Why haven't you had any little Swans running around yet? Is he too busy with his alchemy?"
The room went deathly silent. Every girl held her breath, their ears practically twitching with the effort to hear the answer.
Mia didn't look offended. She leaned back against her desk, looking thoughtful. "Children are a blessing, of course. But they are also a profound responsibility. A child isn't just a mini-version of yourself; they are a whole person who requires your time, your emotions, and your absolute presence."
She looked out the window toward the Quidditch pitch. "Sebastian and I... we value our freedom. We enjoy being a 'we' before we become a 'them.' We want to travel, to research, to simply wake up on a Saturday and decide to spend the day reading without worrying about a nursery. As wizards, we have a long life ahead of us. There is no rush to compress our youth."
The girls nodded, murmuring in agreement. It sounded so romantic—the idea of a couple so in love they didn't want anyone else to intrude on their time.
However, as the girls filtered out of the office and back into the hallways, the story began to mutate. In the way of teenagers everywhere, "we want to enjoy our time" was far too boring a narrative. It needed spice. It needed a scandal.
By the time the news reached the Gryffindor common room, it had undergone a radical transformation.
"Did you hear?" Seamus Finnigan whispered to a group of third-years. "The reason the Swans don't have kids isn't because they don't want them. It's because they can't."
"What? No way," Parvati Patil gasped. "They're both so... healthy."
"It's true! My sister heard it from a girl who was in the office," a Hufflepuff boy added, joining the huddle. "Apparently, there's some sort of magical blockage. Or maybe Sebastian's alchemy experiments did something to him."
Then, someone—no one is quite sure who—remembered a piece of ancient history.
"Wait," Ron said, his eyes widening as he looked up from a game of Wizard's Chess. "Remember that old headline in The Daily Prophet from a couple of years back? When Sebastian was playing seeker? What did they call him?"
"The 'Two-Minute Man,'" Harry muttered, remembering the embarrassment Sebastian had felt back then. "But that was because he caught the Snitch in two minutes! It was a compliment!"
"Was it?" Ron asked, his voice filled with a newfound, morbid curiosity. "Think about it. Those reporters... they're snakes. They love a double meaning. Maybe they knew something back then. Maybe it wasn't about the Snitch at all."
"Oh, poor Professor Swan," Lavender Brown sighed, her eyes welling with sympathetic tears. "To be so handsome and so brilliant, and yet... so broken."
The rumor caught fire. It swept through the Great Hall, into the dungeons, and up to the Astronomy Tower. By the time the afternoon photo session began, the entire student body was operating under the assumption that Sebastian Swan was a tragic figure, a man harboring a secret, "short-lived" shame.
Down in the Alchemy Workshop, Sebastian was in his element. He was wearing a crisp, charcoal-grey suit, his hair perfectly coiffed, looking every bit the prestigious academic. He was directing the line of first-years with efficient, firm commands.
"Next! Stand on the gold mark. Chin up, please. Don't blink when the flash triggers—it's capturing your magical resonance, not just your face."
He noticed a group of second-year Hufflepuffs staring at him. They weren't looking at him with the usual awe or the occasional fear. They were looking at him with... pity. One girl even mouthed the words "Stay strong" before scurrying away.
Sebastian stopped, his brow furrowing. He looked down at his suit. Was there a stain? Had he forgotten to do up his fly? No, everything was perfect.
As Harry Potter stepped up for his photo, Sebastian noticed the boy's gaze lingering on him with an uncomfortably somber expression.
"Is something wrong, Harry?" Sebastian asked, his voice low. "You look like you're attending a funeral."
Harry cleared his throat, looking away guiltily. "Oh, nothing, Professor. Truly. We just... we really appreciate everything you do for the school. Even the... difficult parts."
"The difficult parts?" Sebastian repeated, his confusion mounting.
"You know," Harry mumbled, stepping onto the gold mark. "The things you have to live with. We're all behind you, sir."
Sebastian watched Harry leave, the boy's words echoing in his mind. He looked over at Fred and George, who were busy at the back of the room. The twins were uncharacteristically quiet, occasionally casting glances at Sebastian and then whispering fiercely to each other.
"George," Sebastian called out.
The twin jumped as if he'd been hit by a Cheering Charm. "Yes, boss? Sir? Captain?"
"Why is everyone looking at me like I've just been diagnosed with Spattergroit?"
George rubbed the back of his neck, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled his hair. "Well, you see, Professor... there's a bit of a... misunderstanding. About the ID cards. And the soul signatures. And... your personal life."
"My personal life?" Sebastian's eyes narrowed, a glint of draconic gold flickering in his pupils.
"I think," Fred chimed in, appearing from behind a crate of obsidian, "that you might want to avoid the girl's lavatories for a while. And maybe don't look at any old copies of the Prophet. People are... jumping to conclusions. Very fast conclusions."
Sebastian stood there, the master of ancient runes and the slayer of werewolves, feeling completely out of the loop. His reputation was, for reasons he couldn't yet fathom, being dismantled by a bunch of eleven-year-olds with too much imagination and a skewed sense of empathy.
"Just take the photos," Sebastian commanded, his voice tight.
He didn't know it yet, but the "Two-Minute Man" was back, and this time, it had nothing to do with Quidditch. He was about to find out that no matter how powerful your magic is, you can never truly defeat the Hogwarts rumor mill.