The atmosphere in the Alchemy Workshop was thick with a tension that Sebastian couldn't quite name at first. He stood behind the primary obsidian-processing station, his hands moving with practiced precision as he oversaw the final imprinting of the soul-signatures. Usually, this was the part of a project he enjoyed most—the moment where abstract theory finally became a tangible, functioning tool.
But today, the air felt heavy.
As the first-year students filed in, Sebastian noticed their eyes. They weren't looking at the glowing runes or the fascinating alchemical vats. They were looking at him. Their gazes were fleeting, darting away the moment he turned his head, but he caught the whispers.
"Is it true?" a tiny Gryffindor girl whispered to her friend. "Must be. Look how focused he is. He's clearly overcompensating for something," the other replied, her voice brimming with a precocious, tragic sympathy.
Sebastian's eye twitched. By the time the second-years arrived, the "discreet" looks had evolved into blatant staring. He felt like a rare, wounded animal on display at a magical menagerie. He considered using Legilimency to rip the thoughts straight from their heads, but his internal moral compass—and the sheer headache of processing the hormonal chaos of sixty teenagers—stopped him.
"Harry," Sebastian called out, his voice cutting through the hushed murmurs.
Harry Potter, who had just finished pressing his thumb onto the contract parchment, jumped nearly a foot into the air. He walked over to Sebastian's desk, his face a vibrant shade of scarlet that rivaled the Gryffindor banners.
"Professor?" Harry squeaked.
"Harry, walk with me," Sebastian said, leading the boy toward a quieter corner of the workshop. "Tell me exactly what is going on. And don't give me the 'everything is fine' routine. I've had three students offer me their snacks today as if I'm on my deathbed, and a Hufflepuff just tried to give me a hug."
Harry looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He stammered, his glasses slipping down his nose as he struggled to find the words. "It's... well, Professor, it's about the... the conversation Professor Mia had with the girls."
"Go on," Sebastian prompted, his heart beginning to sink.
"And... and someone found an old copy of the Daily Prophet," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "The one from your Quidditch days. The 'Two-Minute Man' headline. People are... they're connecting dots that aren't there, sir. They think you and Professor Mia don't have kids because... well, because you can't."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Sebastian felt the blood rush to his face, his skin heating up until he was sure he was glowing in the dark. Merlin's saggy left sock, he thought, his vision blurring. He had fought an ancient basilisk, stared down a dark lord, and dismantled a werewolf pack—and yet, he was being defeated by a two-year-old sports headline and a bunch of gossiping teenagers.
"Red heat," he muttered to himself. He was literally radiating embarrassment.
"Professor?" Harry asked tentatively. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Harry," Sebastian lied, his voice sounding like it was coming from a long way off. "I'm just... reconsidering my career in education. Perhaps a hermit's life in the Himalayas is more my speed."
He waved Harry away, unable to bear the boy's sympathetic gaze for another second. He watched as the next group of students entered, their eyes immediately locking onto his flushed face.
"Look! He's turning red!" a Ravenclaw third-year whispered loudly. "He must be so ashamed. It's so brave of him to keep teaching."
"Ashamed?" Sebastian hissed under his breath. "I'm not ashamed, I'm incandescent with rage."
He realized quickly that any attempt to explain himself would be suicide. If he stood up and shouted, "I can have kids, I just don't want them yet!", the rumor would only evolve into: "Professor Swan is shouting about his virility because he's deeply insecure about his failure." It was a classic logical trap. The only winning move was not to play.
Feeling like his soul had been scrubbed with sandpaper, Sebastian called Fred Weasley over.
"Fred, take over the supervision. I have... an urgent matter in my office. Something related to... research."
"Right, boss," Fred said, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a look of somber solidarity. He patted Sebastian on the shoulder. "Don't let the bastards get you down, sir. We know you're a legend where it counts."
Sebastian didn't even have the energy to fire him. He practically fled the workshop, his strides long and panicked, and didn't stop until he had bolted the door to his Muggle Studies office.
He slumped onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling. The silence of the office was a balm, but his mind was a whirlwind of social catastrophe. How did it come to this? He was a master of alchemy, a man of power and prestige, and now he was the "Two-Minute Man" of Hogwarts.
A rhythmic, heavy thud sounded at the door.
Sebastian stiffened. "I'm not in!" he shouted.
"A lie, Sebastian. Your magical signature is currently vibrating with the frequency of a panicked mandrake."
Sebastian groaned and unlocked the door. Severus Snape stood there, his black robes billowing as he stepped into the room. His expression was, as always, as unreadable as a tombstone.
"Are you here to mock me, Severus?" Sebastian asked, dropping back onto the sofa. "Because if so, the line starts behind the second-year Hufflepuffs."
"I do not waste my time on the mindless drivel of children," Snape said, his voice a low drawl. He sat in the chair opposite Sebastian, crossing his legs. "I am here because I have finished my latest refinement of the Draught of Living Death and wished for your... academic perspective."
Sebastian blinked. For the next hour, they actually talked shop. Snape was focused, sharp, and entirely professional. He didn't mention the rumors, the children, or the Prophet. Slowly, Sebastian's heart rate began to return to normal. He felt a surge of gratitude. This is a true friend, he thought. He knows I'm suffering, and he's giving me a way to reclaim my dignity through intellect.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Snape stood up to leave. "Our discussion was... adequate," he said, smoothing his robes.
"Thank you, Severus," Sebastian said, feeling genuinely touched. "I needed the distraction."
Snape paused at the door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tightly folded piece of parchment. "One more thing. I spent the weekend... experimenting. A private project. I believe you will find the results pertinent to your current... public image."
He dropped the parchment on the desk and vanished into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him.
Sebastian opened the parchment, expecting more potion notes. Instead, his eyes widened. It was a recipe—but not for any potion he'd seen in a textbook. It was titled: 'The Alchemical Vigor Restorative (Mark II).'
Sebastian stared at the page. "Severus... you old dog," he whispered.
He scanned the ingredients: Houttuynia cordata (a Muggle herb?), malt oil, toad venom, goblin beard, and dragon's blood herb. Most were incredibly cheap, easily sourced, and when combined in this specific ratio, they wouldn't just be a medical supplement—they would be a gold mine.
This wasn't just a "pity gift." This was a blueprint for a billion-dollar industry. Snape had basically invented the magical equivalent of Viagra, and he'd done it using ingredients that cost less than a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.
"He actually researched this," Sebastian said, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in his chest. "The most feared Potions Master in Europe spent his Saturday night brewing a potency potion for me."
The sheer absurdity of the situation broke the tension. Sebastian laughed until tears pricked his eyes. He looked at the parchment again. He could see it now: mass production, global distribution, the Muggle market... Snape was going to be the wealthiest bachelor in Britain, and Sebastian would be his business partner.
The door opened again, and Mia stepped in. She looked at her husband, who was currently clutching a piece of paper and giggling like a madman.
"I see the rumors haven't completely broken your spirit," she said, leaning against the doorframe with a playful smirk. "Though I'm told your face was red enough to serve as a beacon for the Hogwarts Express."
"Mia, look at this," Sebastian said, waving the parchment. "Severus gave me a 'get out of jail free' card. Or rather, a 'get into the bank' card."
Mia walked over and read the recipe. Her eyes widened, and then she burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking. "Oh, Severus... he really is a man of hidden depths."
"He thinks I need it," Sebastian said, grinning. "The whole school thinks I need it. But you know the truth, don't you?"
Mia stepped into his space, wrapping her arms around his neck, her eyes dancing with mischief. "I know that my husband is a man of... many talents. And a 'Two-Minute Man' is certainly not one of the titles I would use for him."
Sebastian pulled her close, the embarrassment of the day finally washing away. "Good. Because I think it's time we went home. I have a reputation to uphold, even if it's only for an audience of one."
"Are you sure?" Mia teased. "I heard you were feeling 'pitiful.'"
"I'll show you pitiful," Sebastian whispered, pulling her toward the fireplace. "Once we're back at the manor, I think I'll demonstrate exactly why Snape's recipe is going to remain strictly for commercial use only."
As the green flames of the Floo network engulfed them, Sebastian felt the last of his "red heat" vanish. He had a billion-dollar potion, a beautiful wife, and a dragon's strength. The students could whisper all they wanted; he was the one going home to a legend.