Sebastian stared at Rufus Scrimgeour with a look of profound, unadulterated disbelief. For a moment, he wondered if the Head Auror had accidentally inhaled some of the volatile fumes lingering from Snape's proximity.
What on earth is this man playing at? Sebastian thought, his mind racing through the corporate implications. Poaching? From me? Is he genuinely trying to cut into the very workforce I've spent months meticulously curating and stabilizing? Does he not understand the basic laws of supply and demand?
As a seasoned capitalist, Sebastian lived by a very simple, very firm set of rules: You are the one who undermines the competition. You are the one who acquires the assets. You never, under any circumstances, allow a government entity to simply walk off with your prime human capital.
"Impossible," Sebastian muttered under his breath, though he kept his public face perfectly composed.
Even if Scrimgeour was his former superior at the Ministry, business was business. Sebastian had carefully gathered, vetted, and provided for these werewolves. He hadn't just given them a job; he had given them a sanctuary. To prevent exactly this kind of outside interference, Sebastian had already implemented a very specific kind of internal "culture building."
Under the leadership of Old Pete, the Wolf Grass Garden held bi-weekly gratitude seminars titled "Remembering the Painful Past and Appreciating the Sweet Present." These weren't just for show. They were a systematic way for the werewolf employees to engage in collective reflection, contrasting the years of hunger, fear, and being hunted by Ministry hit-wizards against the warm beds, steady wages, and social dignity they now enjoyed under the Swann banner.
If even a single one of my employees agrees to go with you, Rufus, I'll spell my name backward for a year, Sebastian thought with a smirk. The Ministry of Magic seemed to have a very short memory regarding how they had historically treated "beasts." They honestly believed a few shiny badges and a promise of "official status" could erase decades of systemic abuse. It was the classic case of: "You used to ignore me when I was starving, but now that I'm a tactical asset, you can't bear to miss me."
However, Sebastian didn't want to burn a bridge with the Head Auror. Instead, he decided to adopt a posture of extreme, almost suspicious, cooperation.
"No problem at all, Rufus," Sebastian said, his voice smooth and welcoming. "In the interest of the public good, the Auror Office is more than welcome to organize a recruitment fair at the Wolf Grass Garden."
Scrimgeour blinked, clearly caught off guard by the lack of resistance.
"However," Sebastian continued, raising a finger, "we must establish a few ground rules to ensure the peace of the Garden isn't disturbed. All recruitment must be strictly based on mutual consent. No coercion, no intimidation, and no back-room bribery. If your team fails to find a single willing candidate, you must promise not to let your disappointment turn into... administrative harassment."
Scrimgeour looked at Sebastian in utter astonishment. "Is it really that simple? No bargaining? No 'finder's fee'?"
He had come prepared for a battle of wits, expecting Sebastian to provide a list of a hundred excuses as to why the werewolves were "too busy" or "unfit for duty." To have the door opened so wide made him feel a sudden, rare surge of respect for the young tycoon.
Perhaps I misjudged him, Scrimgeour thought, relaxing his shoulders. Perhaps he truly does care about the security of the realm more than his bottom line.
"Then the deal is done!" Scrimgeour said, his voice losing its edge. "Tonight is the full moon, so I'll let your people recover tomorrow. The day after, I'll personally lead a recruitment team to the Garden. Don't be too upset if I walk away with a few of your best men, Sebastian."
"Not at all, not at all," Sebastian replied with a perfect, practiced smile. "I'll even introduce you to Old Pete later. He's the heart of the community. When you arrive, I'm sure he will treat you exactly as you deserve."
Sensing the tension had dissipated, Scrimgeour's mood brightened, and he decided to venture into a bit of professional banter.
"Since you're the Assistant Headmaster now, Sebastian, can't you do something about the abysmal educational standards at Hogwarts? I'm serious. The pool of candidates applying to the Auror Office this year is... well, it's thin. Their magic-casting is technically better than the lot from two years ago, but they lack the grit and the advanced tactical thinking for direct field placement. It's a headache for my trainers. Think of something, will you?"
He gave Sebastian a firm, almost painful tap on the shoulder and stood up to continue his patrol of the hall.
As Scrimgeour walked away, Sebastian felt the onset of a genuine headache. If you aren't funny, Rufus, please don't try to joke. It's physically taxing for everyone involved.
Improving student outcomes wasn't a matter of simply snapping one's fingers. The Hogwarts professors were world-class, but the students were, at the end of the day, teenagers. If the "output" wasn't meeting the "market demand" of the Auror Office, the problem lay in the bridge between school and career.
Sebastian glanced over at Snape, whose face was currently as black and scorched-looking as the bottom of a neglected cauldron. Snape had heard the "joke" about his students' lack of quality, and he looked ready to deduct points from Scrimgeour's very existence.
But he isn't entirely wrong, Sebastian mused. The suitability rate for Auror recruitment is low. It's a waste of potential.
As he sat there, silent and still as a statue amidst the roaring noise of the post-press-conference celebration, the gears of his mind began to turn. Suddenly, a spark of inspiration hit him. A brilliant, profitable, and strategically sound idea.
You want better graduates, Rufus? Then stop complaining and start investing.
The idea was simple: Pre-employment training. If the Ministry wanted elite Aurors, they should be providing career-specific vocational training to fifth, sixth, and seventh-year students at Hogwarts. The school already offered "career counseling," but it was mostly just talking. Why not have the Auror Office send a training officer once a week?
And it didn't have to stop there. St. Mungo's could send Healers to train prospective Mediwizards. The Ministry's Department of International Magical Cooperation could send linguists. It would turn Hogwarts from a general education center into a high-end professional pipeline—with Sebastian Swann at the center of the logistics.
But he couldn't just walk up to Dumbledore with this. The Headmaster was a romantic; he believed in the "joy of learning" and would likely balk at the idea of turning his school into a "job factory." He would feel sorry for the students, thinking they were being overworked.
I need data, Sebastian decided. Irrefutable, cold, hard facts.
He spent the rest of the evening patiently waiting for the festivities to wind down. Once the crowds thinned, he introduced Old Pete to Scrimgeour, watched them exchange a few polite, if wary, words, and then personally drove Old Pete back to the Wolf Grass Garden in his enchanted carriage.
Before dropping him off, Sebastian leaned in and gave the werewolf a piece of very specific advice. "Pete, when Scrimgeour shows up in two days with his recruiters, I want you to give them the 'Five-Star Treatment.' Be polite, be helpful, show them the excellent living conditions, and feed them a wonderful lunch. But make sure... absolutely sure... that none of your people feel even the slightest urge to leave. They shouldn't say 'no' immediately; they should simply be so content that the Aurors feel embarrassed for even asking."
Over the next three days, Sebastian worked with a feverish intensity that would have intimidated a Gringotts accountant. He used his authority as Assistant Headmaster to pull the records of every Hogwarts graduate from the last two years.
He didn't just look at names; he launched a massive "Alumni Employment Survey." He sent hundreds of owls and even made personal visits to various businesses in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. He wanted to know exactly who was working, who was unemployed, and who was "under-employed" in low-skill positions because their N.E.W.T. scores weren't high enough for their dream jobs.
By the end of the third day, he had compiled a detailed, devastating report on the current job placement status of Hogwarts alumni. It was a masterpiece of data visualization—clear, alarming, and undeniable.
Without pausing for rest, he grabbed the thick folder of parchment and used the Floo network to arrive at Hogwarts.
Following his standard operating procedure, he first located Professor McGonagall in the Transfiguration courtyard. "Minerva, I need you. We're going to see the Headmaster. It's a matter of the school's future standing in the community."
McGonagall, seeing the grim look of efficiency on Sebastian's face, didn't argue. They climbed the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office, the gargoyle leaping aside as they approached.
The moment the door swung open, Sebastian didn't wait for a greeting. He spotted Albus Dumbledore sitting by the window, peacefully basking in the afternoon sun, a half-eaten lemon drop on his desk.
"Boss! Stop basking in the sun and enjoying the quiet!" Sebastian shouted, dropping the heavy folder onto the desk with a loud thwack.
Dumbledore blinked, startled out of his reverie, and peered over his half-moon spectacles. "Sebastian? To what do I owe this... energetic visit?"
"The future of our students, Albus," Sebastian said, pointing at the folder. "I've just completed a study on the job prospects for our recent graduates. If you have any heart at all, you'll take a look at these numbers. It's time we stopped just teaching magic and started teaching them how to actually survive in the world after they leave these halls."
Sebastian leaned over the desk, his eyes burning with the fire of a reformer. "Come and take a look at the newly announced—and frankly depressing—job prospects for our graduates. We're failing them, Albus, and I have the solution."