At Sebastian's command, the Great Hall transformed from a spectator venue back into a bustling training ground. Hundreds of young wizards scattered, pairing up with a desperate urgency, eager to test the newly learned Petrifying Charm—Petrificus Totalus!
Harry found himself standing alone, and the reason quickly dawned on him with a mixture of shame and acute understanding. No one wanted him as a partner.
Ron edged away, holding up his hands defensively. "Sorry, Harry, mate, but I can't team up with you. Honestly, I need a partner who will give me at least three seconds to finish the incantation before I'm a stiff log on the floor. I need to practice aiming at a realistic target, not a green-eyed blur. It's for my own learning, you see."
Hermione nodded in firm agreement, already moving toward Dean Thomas. "Exactly, Harry. We're drilling rhythm and casting time. If you instantly disarm or petrify your partner, we bypass the learning process entirely. We need to practice the delay and the counter-move. You're just too fast for beginner practice."
Harry sighed, recognizing the logic. His speed, honed by months of Sebastian's grueling, reaction-based drills, was now a deterrent. He was too efficient for the preliminary, awkward stages of learning. He looked around, spotting Neville Longbottom, but before he could call out, Neville was already facing Seamus Finnigan.
Pat!
The sharp, sudden sound cut through the din. Neville stood frozen, perfectly rigid, while Seamus, whose wand had bucked violently, was enveloped in a cloud of sooty, black smoke. When the smoke cleared, Seamus was safe on his crash cushion, but his face was completely blackened, his eyebrows singed away, and his usually neat hair stood out in a perfectly spherical, frizzy afro.
The surrounding students, momentarily stunned, erupted into fresh, raucous laughter. Seamus, though physically unharmed, looked profoundly miserable. Sebastian calmly strode over, checked on Seamus with a quick charm to verify his well-being, and simply instructed the duo to continue.
It was then Sebastian noticed Harry standing conspicuously alone, watching the proceedings with an intense, unsatisfied focus. He also noticed the lone figure standing apart from the Slytherin group, arms crossed, radiating resentment: Draco Malfoy.
Sebastian, realizing the pedagogical potential, walked toward Malfoy and whispered a few quick instructions into his ear—a direct, challenging order from a Professor he secretly respected. Malfoy's eyes narrowed, then widened in surprised indignation, before settling into a grudging, highly competitive determination.
With Malfoy reluctantly in tow, Sebastian led him over to Harry.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy. You are now partners. You are both operating at an elevated level for your year. Engage with seriousness," Sebastian stated crisply, then stepped back to observe the hall.
Malfoy instantly bristled, masking his nervousness with fierce bravado. He squared up to Harry, his wand held high.
"Alright, Potter, Swann's orders," Malfoy sneered, though the challenge in his voice was undeniable. "Don't expect me to be intimidated by your accidental celebrity. Yesterday was a fluke, a momentary lapse of concentration on my part. I am not afraid to face you now. I've practiced all night. Get ready to kiss that ridiculous cushion."
Throughout the vast hall, the training was reaching a fever pitch—and a state of dangerous chaos.
The normally mischievous Fred and George stood facing each other with an unusual, almost grim intensity. Their movements were sharp, their timing synchronized, practicing the art of the sudden, aggressive disarming charm Sebastian had demonstrated.
Percy Weasley, conversely, stood opposite Penelope Clearwater, adopting a carefully formal, almost romantic posture as he meticulously corrected her wand grip, seemingly more interested in the precise aesthetics of her stance than the efficacy of her spell.
Meanwhile, a few yards away, Marcus Flint, a hulking Quidditch player, lay stiffly on his back, having been successfully Petrificus Totalus-ed by his partner ten minutes ago, patiently awaiting a counter-spell.
The entire hall was a maelstrom of activity. Spells flew everywhere, occasionally clashing mid-air with neighboring duos. The air crackled with raw magic, accompanied by the intermittent smells of ozone, burnt fabric (mostly from Seamus), and the triumphant yells of those who managed to successfully incapacitate their friends.
Due to the sheer number of participants, many groups were forced to practice in painfully narrow strips between the walls and the main platform, leading to frequent near-misses and unintended interference.
Sebastian, observing the scene, frowned deeply. The noise and chaotic energy were not conducive to high-level magical development; they were simply encouraging wild flinging of spells.
This will not suffice. This is merely a supervised riot.
For true mastery—for the practice of non-verbal spell-chaining, for large-scale Transfiguration, or for the defense against multiple assailants—they needed space, control, and dedicated facilities. Young wizards needed a place to practice that wasn't a crowded medieval hall. They needed an Armory—a specialized, magically reinforced Dueling Arena.
The idea crystallized in his mind: he would not simply run a club; he would build a world-class training facility. A place where students could safely push the limits of their power without threatening the structural integrity of the castle or accidentally petrifying the kitchen staff.
Sebastian quickly located the other professors overseeing the drills—McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape—and gathered them near the empty high platform, swiftly outlining his vision.
"The space is inadequate," Sebastian explained, keeping his voice low but firm. "For true mastery, we need an environment where the magical output can be safely absorbed. I propose we commission a permanent, purpose-built structure—a dedicated dueling arena. It must be magically reinforced, spacious, and perhaps even self-repairing. This will solve the overcrowding, reduce liability, and provide unparalleled training conditions."
Professor Flitwick immediately clapped his tiny hands together. "Splendid, Sebastian! An excellent idea! A dedicated space will allow students to practice advanced maneuvers without the risk of collateral damage to the castle! We could incorporate adjustable wards and training dummies!"
Professor McGonagall nodded, her eyes assessing the feasibility. "A practical and necessary step. We could choose the expansive, open grounds next to the Quidditch Pitch. There is ample room there for expansion."
Professor Snape merely provided a cold nod. "If this facility prevents future injuries and unnecessary damage reports, then I agree. The chaos is unproductive."
Lockhart, sensing a grand opening opportunity, jumped forward. "Wonderful! An absolute palace of power! I shall personally donate—oh, at least a thousand Galleons! To ensure the finest silk banners are hung!"
Sebastian ignored Lockhart's inflated offer. The scope of his vision required far more than Lockhart's pocket change.
McGonagall, seeing the necessity and Sebastian's determination, cut the discussion short. "Very well. You all remain here and maintain order. I shall go and speak with Albus immediately." She swept out of the Great Hall with characteristic speed.
Her return was remarkably swift. She approached Sebastian, her expression unreadable, and extended a small, worn cloth pouch, an object that seemed utterly insignificant.
"Albus received the proposal with his typical enthusiasm," McGonagall murmured, her voice lowered. "He said he trusts your judgment completely and wishes to provide the necessary resources without bureaucratic impediment. He told you to use this."
The Philosopher's Stone lay silently on the polished mahogany table in Sebastian's private study at Swann Manor, radiating a deep, pulsing crimson light. It was small, unassuming, and yet contained the totality of life and immense magical power.
Sebastian sat on the couch, the glowing red jewel casting long, shifting shadows across his face. His mind was in a whirlwind of conflicted thought, the dueling club chaos and the mundane concerns of Hogwarts now utterly banished by the reality of the gift.
Trust? Or Test?
He had fully prepared to finance the arena himself, anticipating a large expenditure from his considerable personal funds. He had expected Dumbledore to provide a nominal sum or, at best, a complicated application process. He had never, in his wildest imagination, expected Dumbledore to hand over the Philosopher's Stone—the object of every ambitious alchemist and dark wizard—as a form of funding.
Did Old Deng truly trust me this much?
The Stone was not merely gold. It was immortality and infinite wealth. It was the ultimate magical temptation. Giving it to a young, ambitious Slytherin—a professor who had shown he valued power and efficiency above all else—was an act of staggering risk.
Sebastian settled deeper into the cushions, letting his mind unravel the logic. If Dumbledore had merely wanted to fund the arena, he could have provided a blank cheque from the Hogwarts treasury. The only reason to use this specific object was to observe Sebastian's reaction to absolute, unchecked power.
Is he testing my integrity? My greed? Or perhaps... my resourcefulness?
The standard Slytherin would sell the Stone, or, worse, use it for the Elixir of Life. But Sebastian's ambition was rooted in a deeper, more refined philosophy.
Heh. A common gold coin. Why should it offend my Taoist heart?
Sebastian's ambition was to achieve a state of Magical Perfection, not mere physical immortality. The Stone, to him, was not an end but a powerful tool. He would show Dumbledore that he was not a common thief, but a wizard capable of wielding supreme power with dispassionate purpose.
He would use the Stone not to sell for gold, but to infuse the dueling arena with a permanent, self-sustaining magical power source. It would become a perpetual magical battery, making the structure virtually indestructible, self-repairing, and capable of generating the necessary training wards and environmental conditions for truly advanced magical combat. It would be a monument to efficiency and power.
He smiled, acknowledging the genius of Dumbledore's gambit. It was a test of character administered through the temptation of ultimate greed. And Sebastian would pass it by rejecting the greed and embracing the superior application of the resource.
Just then, the bathroom door creaked open, and Mia emerged, dressed in a silk nightgown, her long hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. Sebastian, momentarily distracted from his weighty thoughts, raised his wand and, with a gentle, non-verbal charm, dried and smoothed her hair, releasing the faint, familiar scent of vanilla and lavender.
Mia padded over, her gaze immediately drawn to the table.
"Sebastian," she breathed, her voice soft with awe, "what is that? It's magnificent."
"It is the Philosopher's Stone, my dear," Sebastian whispered, pulling her gently into his arms so she could rest her head on his shoulder.
Mia's eyes grew wide. "The—the Stone? Nicolas Flamel's? But… Dumbledore! He trusted you enough to let you walk away from Hogwarts with this?"
Sebastian simply nodded, gently stroking her hair. "He gave it to me to build a training ground for our students. It seems the old man trusts the heart of the Slytherin more than the world believes."
Mia looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the pulsing red light of the Stone. In that light, she saw not the calculating political operator, but the visionary. Her eyes shone with pure, unadulterated adoration for the man who saw the ultimate prize merely as a means to a grander, more disciplined end.
Sebastian, sensing her love and admiration, scooped her into his arms and headed toward the bedroom.
The Philosopher's Stone remained on the table, shimmering faintly. In the empty, silent room, it did not look like the key to eternal life; it looked like an extraordinarily efficient, though perhaps slightly misused, power core for a future magical training facility. The greatest prize in alchemy, waiting to become a self-repairing wall.
Do you think Sebastian should immediately begin construction on the dueling arena, or first research how to safely integrate the Philosopher's Stone as a power source without damaging it?