How did the idea for this investigation truly materialize? It was simple, really.
After being hit with a blunt, close-range verbal assault from Scrimgeour during the press conference, Sebastian's professional pride had been stung. He wanted to see if the "industry feedback" matched the reality on the ground.
And as it turned out, the embarrassment wasn't a one-time occurrence; the more he dug, the more he realized that the gap between Hogwarts and the professional magical world had become a yawning chasm.
Faced with Dumbledore's probing question, Sebastian didn't rush into his pitch. Instead, he reached into the air, summoning a bottle of muggle iced cola and three condensation-beaded glasses. He poured one for himself, one for the Headmaster, and one for Professor McGonagall.
He hesitated for a heartbeat. He wasn't sure if he should repeat Scrimgeour's exact, biting words.
Dumbledore and McGonagall had invested their entire lives—their very souls—into the stones of this castle. Minerva McGonagall, in particular, was the heartbeat of Hogwarts. As Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, she had sacrificed countless nights to the education of these children. She was the most dedicated, responsible educator Sebastian had ever known.
Her philosophy was simple: every child possessed infinite potential if given the right support. Her office was a permanent monument to that dedication, overflowing with towering stacks of parchment and student files that she navigated without a single word of complaint. She was the woman who would—and often did—stand between her students and certain death. For her, Hogwarts wasn't a workplace; it was her family. She grew with the children, sharing their laughter and crying for their failures.
That was why the truth felt so heavy. How could he tell her that the professional world—the very offices she prepared them for—looked down on her "children" as incompetent and ill-equipped? Truth isn't just a light; it can be a jagged blade.
Sebastian took a long, deep draw of the iced cola. The carbonation bit at his throat, grounding him. He decided that lying to these two would be the ultimate form of disrespect. They deserved the raw, unvarnished facts.
"Headmaster, Minerva," Sebastian began, his voice echoing softly against the circular walls of the office. "I need to be honest about why I started this. It began at the press conference, just as Fudge was posing for photos with the werewolf. Rufus Scrimgeour approached me."
"Scrimgeour?" Dumbledore murmured, his brow furrowing as he recalled the Head Auror's stern, lion-like visage.
"He didn't mingle. He came directly to me and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to find a way to raise the level of our students," Sebastian said. "According to him, the Auror Office can barely find a handful of qualified candidates among our graduates each year. Most of them don't even meet the basic requirements for direct hire. And apparently, this has been the standard for several years."
Sebastian's voice grew quieter. "I wanted to argue. I wanted to defend the school. But then I remembered conversations I've had with the board at St. Mungo's. They have similar reservations. They feel our graduates lack the clinical precision required for modern healing. That's why I launched the survey. I wanted to see if they were just being elitist, or if our students were truly falling through the cracks."
He gestured to the red numbers on the blackboard. "The investigation made me sick to my stomach. We have a massive population of 'middle-ground' students who are neither geniuses nor heirs. They aren't good enough for the elite jobs, but they've spent seven years being told they are special, so they can't bring themselves to take entry-level service jobs."
Sebastian sighed, looking at the silent professors. "They want to be happy. They want careers. But their skills are just... insufficient. They're stuck."
"As educators, it is our duty to fix this," Professor McGonagall said, her voice strained but resolute. She looked at the data and felt a weight in her chest. "Sebastian, you never present a problem without a solution. Tell us what you suggest."
"I want to implement a fundamental reform of the homework system," Sebastian said firmly.
"Reorganized homework?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward.
"Exactly. Currently, we treat every assignment like a miniature thesis—long, winding essays that favor research and critical thinking. For the top 10 percent of students, this is great. It builds leaders. But for the average student? It's a nightmare they just try to survive."
Sebastian changed his tone to one of pragmatism. "For the majority, we need to focus on the basics: spell accuracy, potion stability, herb identification. The practical stuff. But students are naturally inclined to be lazy; we need a way to assess them that doesn't feel like a chore but forces the knowledge into their heads. In this regard, I think we should learn from the Muggles."
Sebastian pulled out several sheets of paper—Muggle-style examination papers—and handed them over.
"Instead of endless essays, I want to introduce 'Worksheet Assignments.' Homework in the form of structured exam papers. Multiple-choice, true/false, fill-in-the-blank, and short-answer questions. It's efficient. It tests a wider range of the curriculum in half the time it takes to write a six-foot scroll on the history of Goblin rebellions."
He paced in front of the board. "This applies to practical subjects too. For Transfiguration and Charms, the 'homework' should be a log. They go to the dueling hall or a practice room, perform the movement fifty times, and check off their progress. Then, the next lesson begins with a five-minute practical quiz."
Sebastian looked at them seriously. "We don't throw away the essays entirely—they are vital for advanced OWL and NEWT levels. But the ratio should change. Lower years should focus almost entirely on these 'exam-style' worksheets to build a rock-solid foundation. As they progress, we reintroduce the essays."
Professor McGonagall was nodding before he even finished. She could see the brilliance in it. It balanced the geniuses with the average earners. The only drawback was the immense workload on the professors to design these new materials. But for her, that wasn't a drawback; it was an opportunity to serve.
"Sebastian, it's feasible. It's more than feasible," she said, her eyes sparking with a new kind of fire. "But you said this was just a preliminary suggestion."
She leaned in, her gaze intense. "Don't keep me in suspense any longer, Sebastian. Give us the rest of it. Give us everything you've got."