The morning air was crisp and cool as Sebastian stepped out of the fireplace in his official staff quarters. He wrinkled his nose instantly. The room had not seen human attention in months. The stale, unmoving air was thick with the scent of ancient parchment and fine-grained, settled dust.
"A bit stuffy, wouldn't you say?" Sebastian muttered to the empty room.
He didn't bother with a wand-waving effort. He simply stood at the window, focused his intent, and with a non-verbal, complex spell born from his alchemical training, initiated a powerful, localized displacement charm.
The window shuddered open, and the entire volume of stale air, along with every dust particle, motes of lint, and even a desiccated spider, was violently swept out in a single, focused vortex that dissipated harmlessly into the sky.
Sebastian inhaled a long, satisfying breath of the clear mountain air. The sight that greeted him was confirmation of his political maneuvers.
In the distance, bordering the dense, dark edge of the Forbidden Forest, stood an unmistakable row of new, immaculate greenhouses. Their modern glass architecture glinted sharply in the morning sunlight, a striking contrast to the medieval stone of the castle.
Excellent. Pomona Sprout is highly efficient, Sebastian thought, a surge of professional satisfaction running through him. The infrastructure for the Work-Study Program is ready.
His strategy was simple: funding infrastructure (greenhouses, new potions labs) for faculty he respected (Sprout, Snape) ensured their loyalty, and the work-study program itself guaranteed the long-term financial and political independence of Hogwarts from the Ministry of Magic. Once the first-years arrived, the delicate machinery of his grand plan could truly begin to turn.
Checking the time on his enchanted watch, Sebastian realized he was almost late for his scheduled meeting with Dumbledore. He quickened his pace, his shoes echoing slightly on the cold stone corridors as he made his way toward the gargoyle entrance.
When he arrived in the Headmaster's office, however, the large, comfortable space was completely empty. The silver instruments on the tables whirred quietly to themselves, but the Headmaster's chair was vacant.
Did the old man truly stand me up? Sebastian thought, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. After agreeing to meet immediately after the summer break? That's utterly unprofessional, even for him.
Just as Sebastian was about to leave a terse, magically-written note, a voice boomed from the wall.
"Ah, Sebastian! Dumbledore informed me to relay this message," declared a haughty, aristocratic wizard with a pointed goatee, stirring to life in his ornate portrait. It was Phineas Nigellus Black, perpetually disdainful even in two dimensions.
"He received an eleventh-hour summons from the Minister of Magic, Fudge. Apparently, it was an urgent request for assistance regarding some public relations disaster—a rather Muggle concern, I gather. The Headmaster will be returning shortly. You are to wait here, if you please."
A political decoy, then, Sebastian realized. Dumbledore likely needed to discuss Grindelwald and the concept of a magical deterrent weapon, but wanted to be absolutely sure Sebastian had calmed down before the conversation.
Sebastian sighed dramatically. "How dreadfully tedious."
He reluctantly sank into a nearby velvet armchair. To pass the time, he forced himself into a bored chat with Phineas's portrait, discussing the merits of proper beard grooming and the scandalous behavior of the current Black family generation.
Just as the conversation about the superiority of pure-blood politics began to make Sebastian's eyes glaze over, a new voice cut through the air—a thin, ancient, and slightly moth-eaten voice coming from the high shelf where the Sorting Hat rested.
"Hmm… A Slytherin boy… yet he carries the scent of Gryffindor's approval."
Sebastian's eyes snapped wide open. The Sorting Hat.
Of course! He hadn't considered the Hat a sentient entity on the level of Dumbledore or Grindelwald, but it was an incredibly powerful, unique alchemical artifact, imbued with the judgment and wisdom of the four Founders. And it was currently speaking to him.
Sebastian instantly realized the strategic opportunity.
He stood, walking slowly toward the shelf, his voice dropping to a serious, expectant register. "I have indeed earned Gryffindor's inheritance and its approval, venerable Hat. We are, therefore, operating on the same side, bound by the same ancestral magic. For the benefit of the Gryffindor legacy, could I perhaps ask for a small, necessary adjustment?"
As Sebastian spoke, he performed a subtle, internal magical visualization. Before his eyes, the subtle, layered shield of the Ironclad Charm—the ancient, long-lost magical protection—flickered into existence.
"Ah! The Ironclad Charm!" the Hat exclaimed, its tattered fabric trembling. "That magic has not been deployed here in centuries. You are one of the bloodline now. Very well, young man. You have earned the right to petition the Founders' will. Tell me what you desire, but be swift."
"Can you arrange for the House placement of a few key students?" Sebastian asked, holding the Hat carefully.
"Impossible! Absolutely impossible!" the Hat recoiled, its voice cracking with self-righteous fury. "I am a fair, objective, and incorruptible judge! Students are placed according to the raw blueprint of their character and aptitude! There is no collusion! Do not sully my purpose with your political machinations!"
Ah, the self-preserving program is kicking in, Sebastian thought, a smug confidence settling in. As a Muggle-raised mind steeped in data science and systems engineering, he refused to accept the Sorting Hat's claim of absolute, divine impartiality.
"Fairness and objectivity are beautiful ideals, Hat," Sebastian began, his voice taking on the sharp, dissecting tone of a seasoned academic. "But you are a program—an exquisite, complex alchemical algorithm created by four thinking, flawed, and ideologically polarized humans. Your decisions are based on pre-entered conditions, not cosmic truth."
Sebastian advanced his argument, using logic to dismantle the Hat's thousand-year-old self-image.
"I believe you are relatively fair when a young wizard presents a distinct, singular personality—a pure Hufflepuff or a pure Ravenclaw. But there are always special circumstances in this world. Tell me, honestly, how do you categorize a young witch who is immensely brave and courageous, yet also possesses the sharpest intellect and an unparalleled thirst for knowledge?"
He pressed on, not allowing the Hat time to formulate a defense.
"Or how do you classify a student who is hardworking, loyal, yet ruthlessly ambitious and utterly obsessed with the historical purity of their lineage?"
"Throughout your long history, the records show you constantly faced Hatstalls—cases where the student was suited for two, sometimes three, Houses. You took minutes to decide, often forcing the student toward one path. Everyone claims the subsequent successes of those wizards proved the validity of your Sorting, calling it prophecy."
Sebastian leaned closer, his voice sinking to a rhetorical whisper. "But I ask you: Who can definitively prove that those same brilliant, multi-talented young wizards wouldn't have achieved even greater success if they had been placed in the other suitable House? The current placement becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, masking a fundamental, philosophical flaw in your programming."
The barrage of logic, drawn from Sebastian's Muggle education on confirmation bias and algorithmic integrity, left the Sorting Hat reeling. Sebastian knew the artifact possessed wisdom, but it had never been forced to defend its method against a logic born of a different, more technological world.
The Hat, after a profound, drawn-out silence that hung heavily in the Headmaster's office, finally offered a weary reply.
"Do not make so much noise, boy. It is early, and the portraits are trying to rest. You make a sound point regarding the subjective nature of talent and the limitations of prophecy."
The Hat grudgingly conceded the core of the argument. "For the sake of the Founders' peace of mind, and only because you carry the mark of a worthy inheritor—and only in cases where the student is undeniably suitable for more than one House—I will consider your recommendations. State your case, but understand: I remain the fair and impartial Sorting Hat."
Sebastian internally crowed with success. He hadn't just secured a favor; he had established a precedent for Headmaster-level influence over the Sorting, a critical piece of leverage.
Sebastian wasted no time on further philosophical tangents. He thought through the current year's intake, specifically the students whose inherited ideologies often masked their true, simpler natures.
"Only two names for now, Hat," Sebastian confirmed, his tone professional. "I need you to consider Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. If their internal metrics show any flexibility, please assign them both to Hufflepuff."
The Sorting Hat made a sound like dry leather being scraped over stone. "Are you certain? Those names are synonymous with long-standing Slytherin families. They are bred for ambition and pure-blood dogma. Are they truly suitable for Hufflepuff?"
"I am completely certain," Sebastian replied, his gaze distant, remembering the two slow, lumbering figures from the alley. "I observed them over the summer. Their minds are currently alarmingly simple. Their only genuine, driving ambition is their immediate need for food. Their desire for Slytherin is entirely a conditioned response, instilled by their fathers' failed political dogma. They have zero personal ambition."
He sighed, the sound entirely genuine. "Sending them to Slytherin now is condemning them to become two-dimensional, thuggish bodyguards for a spoiled, arrogant brat—Malfoy. It will crush their basic, gentle nature. Hufflepuff, with its emphasis on loyalty and community, and its proximity to the kitchens, is the best, most benign placement for them."
Sebastian also had a strategic advantage in mind: dismantling Malfoy's inner circle before it formed. Without Crabbe and Goyle serving as his silent, massive protection, Malfoy would be forced to navigate the intense social landscape of Slytherin house alone, relying only on his own limited intellect and inherited arrogance.
Sebastian wanted to observe just how quickly that arrogance would crumble under the inevitable pressures of teenage social politics.
The Hat considered the request. After a minute of quiet deliberation, it gave a weary assent. "Very well. If their core traits show a foundational capacity for the loyalty and dedication of Helga Hufflepuff—and if their ambition truly registers as little more than a desire for frequent meals—I will, in accordance with the Founders' principle of supporting the student's best future, place them where they can flourish."
"Just the two of them?" the Hat pressed.
Sebastian hesitated. He had considered asking for the removal of certain toxic elements, or perhaps nudging another critical student toward a House that would better challenge them. But the first-year sorting was a delicate ecosystem. Too many changes could have catastrophic, unpredictable consequences on the timeline.
He finally let out a soft sigh, accepting the small, but critical, victory.
"Just the two of them, for now, Hat. Thank you for your cooperation."
Sebastian returned the Sorting Hat to its shelf, feeling a profound sense of power. The battle for the future of the wizarding world was not fought with wands or fire, but with subtle influence, strategic planning, and the selective re-sorting of two food-obsessed pure-blood children.