"Sebastian…" Professor McGonagall's voice trailed off, the single word hanging in the air like a poorly cast Levitation Charm. She pressed her lips together, swallowing the immediate, sensible objection that was screaming in her mind: We can't afford it.
She, better than anyone, knew the brutal reality of Hogwarts' accounts. The money trickling in from the Board of Governors—mostly old family endowments and Ministry grants—was barely enough to cover the professors' salaries, maintain the ancient stonework, and buy basic classroom supplies.
Offering a course in Alchemy wasn't just about buying a few new cauldrons; it was a permanent, massive capital drain. It meant committing to continuously purchase ingredients like Moonstone, rare fungal spores, and, most terrifyingly, the high-grade materials that Sebastian himself had listed.
Should she, as the school's Deputy Headmistress and financial officer, simply reject the students outright? Tell them their ambition was beyond the school's meager means? The memory of those bright, eager, ambitious young faces—flashing one after the other in the Pensieve—gnawed at her.
They hadn't asked for much, just the chance to learn a lucrative skill. If they were to be disappointed, the fault lay squarely with the administration's financial ineptitude, not the students' desire for knowledge.
McGonagall turned her gaze to Dumbledore, a silent plea in her eyes. Albus, you always have a plan. Give us the perfect solution.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, felt a tingling sensation that had nothing to do with his latest lemon drop infusion. McGonagall's intense, expectant stare was far more painful than any Skele-Gro injection. He met Sebastian's gaze with his usual calm, but internally, his mind was a chaotic flurry of silver threads and failed strategies.
What is the use of looking at me, Minerva? he thought, managing a slight, weary tremor in his silver beard. I cannot conjure Galleons out of thin air.
A sharp pang of regret, deep and sudden, pierced his heart. The Philosopher's Stone. He had acted too quickly, too decisively, reducing Flamel's masterpiece to dust before its true, non-immortality value could be fully assessed. If he had merely hidden the Stone better, or stored it securely, he could have smiled now and assured them both: It's only an Alchemy course. Hogwarts will, of course, provide.
But it was too late. The Stone was gone.
He ran through the mental rolodex of his rich acquaintances. Nicolas Flamel was out of the question. Dumbledore knew that before entrusting the Stone to Hogwarts, Nico, ever the philanthropist, had liquidated and donated nearly all of his accumulated fortune to magical education and charity, reserving only enough for a modest, comfortable retirement for himself and Perenelle. Exploiting his oldest friend now, especially in his final years, was unthinkable.
And Sebastian?
The thought of turning to the young man—the richest person in the wizarding world, the apparent solution to all their financial woes—made Dumbledore feel a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. It was true, Sebastian was capable of bankrolling the entire operation, but Dumbledore possessed a deeply ingrained aristocratic sense of fairness.
He wouldn't—couldn't—exploit a situation just because Sebastian was involved. The moment he asked for a donation, it would look like opportunistic begging, compromising the already complex dynamic of their relationship.
We need a stream of income that is both magical and legal, Dumbledore concluded, his brow furrowing deeper. Most quick-money magical schemes were outlawed by the Ministry of Magic. He needed a sustainable, ethical source.
Suddenly, a realization dawned on him.
Sebastian came to me. He brought Minerva. He used the Pensieve for dramatic effect. He has a plan.
Dumbledore was being played, gently but firmly, right into a pre-established solution. Instead of wrestling with a non-existent answer, he decided to hear the proposal.
"Sebastian," Dumbledore said, finally breaking the silence, his voice measured. "You speak of the necessary longevity of an Alchemy course. You are absolutely correct; it cannot be sustained only for a year or two. You know the school's finances are… constrained."
He leaned forward, his hands resting on the desk. "So, I ask you directly. Before you condemn me as a man without resources, is there a long-term, sustainable solution you have in mind?"
"A solution?" Sebastian grinned, a spark of pure, unadulterated entrepreneurial delight in his eyes. "Absolutely, Director. I wouldn't be here otherwise."
He rose, his movement deliberate and confident, and walked past the Headmaster's desk to the window, throwing a dramatic hand toward the vast, dark expanse visible beyond the glass.
"Headmaster, Professor McGonagall," Sebastian announced, his voice taking on the cadence of a charismatic presenter. "The answer to all of Hogwarts' financial needs is staring us in the face. It's right there! The way out of poverty is in the Forbidden Forest!"
Professor McGonagall immediately stood up and joined him at the window, following his pointed finger. Her expression changed from mild exasperation to sharp, focused comprehension.
"The Forbidden Forest," she murmured, piecing it together. She knew it was a repository of wealth. Dark wizards were constantly attempting to infiltrate the grounds to steal valuable potion ingredients and rare materials. That was why the Forest Guards existed.
But then, the practical problems flooded her mind, causing a renewed wave of nausea.
"But Sebastian, how could we possibly develop it?" she asked, turning back. "It's a massive reserve! We don't have the manpower. Are you suggesting we put poor Hagrid in charge of an entire resource development company? I shudder to think of the paperwork." She immediately dismissed the mental image of Hagrid trying to file inventory reports.
"Of course not," Sebastian assured her, pulling two remarkably thick, professionally bound booklets from his satchel. They looked less like a school document and more like a detailed corporate prospectus. He handed one to Dumbledore and one to McGonagall.
"Headmaster, Professor. This is the Hogwarts Sustainable Magical Resource Development Plan." Sebastian spoke the title with a flourish. "My foundational principle is simple: sustainable development. We do not hunt. We do not exploit. We create a mutually beneficial ecosystem where creatures thrive, and we harvest only their natural, regenerative output."
The word sustainable was the magic key that unlocked Dumbledore's rigid moral code. He immediately opened the binder, his eyes scanning the headings, searching for any hint of unethical practice.
His apprehension quickly turned to fascinated approval.
Sebastian's proposal was ingenious.
Under the section for Unicorns, the plan suggested identifying several small, non-breeding herds. Instead of hunting them for their hair, Sebastian proposed assigning specialized, highly-trained (and all-female, due to the Unicorns' preference) staff to approach them during certain moon cycles. These staff would use calming charms and specially enchanted brushes to groom the Unicorns, naturally collecting the shed hairs—which, once collected, were actually more potent than those violently plucked.
Under Thestrals, the plan proposed a controlled, specialized feeding program in a secluded section of the forest. The gentle, consistent feeding would allow a single, small vial of blood to be painlessly drawn from the creatures periodically, a process that would not harm their health and would be seen by the creatures as an acceptable price for continuous sustenance.
Dumbledore read on, the detail astonishing him. The plan detailed protocols for non-lethal spider silk collection from Acromantula (via highly specialized, non-invasive shrinking charms), the cultivation of rare forest mosses, and even a proposed system for the controlled, safe collection of Dragon dung for fertilizer and fuel.
McGonagall's excitement was palpable. She slammed the book shut with a decisive thump.
"Albus, this is… well, it's a brilliant idea! A year of this could secure the funding needed for the Alchemy course and perhaps much more besides! We must try it!" she declared, her eyes shining with the pragmatism of a woman who could finally see the end of her financial misery.
Dumbledore gently closed his own binder, nodding slowly. He looked at Sebastian with renewed respect. The young man had not come to complain or beg—he had come with a fully costed, ethically sound business plan.
"Sebastian, I accept the proposal in principle. It addresses the ethical concerns of long-term harm to the Forest, and it satisfies the requirement of funding longevity," Dumbledore said. "However, two significant practical obstacles remain, and they require direct, logistical answers."
He steepled his fingers, his gaze becoming laser-focused.
"Firstly, Staffing. The magical handling of these creatures, as you detail, requires skilled professionals, not just Hagrid, however well-meaning. Where do we find reliable, discreet personnel, and how do we prevent the Ministry from interfering, claiming we are operating outside of a sanctioned educational program?"
"Secondly, and perhaps more critically, the Centaurs. They view the Forbidden Forest as their sovereign territory. They despise human interference and they will not take kindly to human staff—no matter how ethical—systematically surveying and removing resources from their land. How do you propose to deal with the Centaur population and ensure their cooperation, or at least, their peaceful tolerance?"