A suitable candidate? Sebastian's mind immediately began running through a mental Rolodex of every high-profile wizard in Dumbledore's inner circle.
Could it be…? "Alastor Moody?" Sebastian asked, leaning forward.
In his head, the choice made perfect sense. Firstly, as a long-time member of the Order of the Phoenix and a personal friend of Dumbledore, Moody enjoyed a level of trust that was rare in the wizarding world. Secondly, as a recently retired Auror, a visiting professorship would be the perfect way to transition him back into society. Most importantly, Moody was a legend. He was the man whose name was synonymous with "Constant Vigilance!"
Sebastian was genuinely curious to see what the real Mad-Eye Moody could achieve as a teacher—unlike the impostor Barty Crouch Jr. who had hijacked his identity in the original timeline. The man was a walking encyclopedia of combat experience and paranoia.
Old Deng's question seemed like a layup. Sebastian took a confident swig of his cola and gestured with his glass. "That's a no-brainer for me, Albus. You're talking about Alastor Moody. He's the most qualified man alive to teach people how to stay alive in the field."
Professor McGonagall nodded slowly. It was a logical choice. If the students were taught by a man who had filled half the cells in Azkaban, they would certainly learn how to handle themselves. She did have reservations about Moody's mental state—the man clearly suffered from what the Muggles called PTSD, constantly checking for poisons and watching the shadows—but she hoped the vibrant energy and innocent friendships of the children might help heal some of the jagged wounds in his soul.
She turned to Dumbledore to confirm the appointment, but her breath hitched when she saw the Headmaster's expression.
Dumbledore wasn't nodding in agreement. He was smiling, yes, but it was the kind of smile a cat gives to a mouse it has already cornered. He shook his head slowly.
You guessed wrong!
Professor McGonagall's brow furrowed. If not Alastor, then who? Sebastian was even more stunned. If it wasn't Moody, who else was there? Kingsley Shacklebolt was currently deep undercover as a secretary for the Muggle Prime Minister; he barely had time to sleep, let alone teach. Tonks was too junior.
Then, Sebastian noticed Dumbledore's eyes. They were locked onto him.
It was a kind look, a gentle look—the look of a benevolent grandfather. But there was a subtext in that gaze that sent a sudden, icy shiver down Sebastian's spine. It was the exact same look Sebastian himself gave to the alchemists in his workshops when he was about to announce mandatory overtime for a "crucial project."
Oh, no. Broken! Sebastian thought, his heart skipping a beat. Old Deng isn't an honest man at all. He doesn't just catch the sheep; he shears it, milks it, and then asks it to pull a plow.
Sebastian tried to deceive himself for a second, hoping he was misreading the room. But Dumbledore just sat there, waiting, his silence shouting the answer.
Sebastian hesitated, slowly pointing a finger at his own chest. "So... you're telling me that you want me to take on this visiting lecturer position? On top of everything else?"
Dumbledore's smile widened into a beam of pure, unadulterated pleasure. "Sebastian, truly, there is no one more suitable. We have absolute faith in your abilities."
"But Albus—"
"Think of the efficiency!" Dumbledore continued, waving away the protest. "The students already know you. They respect you. We save the weeks it would take to integrate a new professor into the castle's routine. You can switch into 'training mode' immediately."
Professor McGonagall's eyes lit up. The more she thought about it, the more perfect it seemed. Sebastian was hardworking, conscientious, and had a proven track record of getting things done. He had designed the reform, so he obviously had the most complete vision for the training plan. Plus, his personal rapport with Scrimgeour meant the Ministry would accept the results without question.
She looked at Sebastian with eyes full of maternal expectation. "Sebastian, I really think you should consider this. It's for the best. In fact, if we can agree on this now, I'll go and draft the official letter immediately. We can send it to Scrimgeour by owl tonight and finalize the joint project by the end of the week."
Wait a minute! Sebastian rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the world descending on his shoulders. Things are moving way too fast. I haven't even said yes, and we're already at the 'drafting the official letter' stage?
If it were just Dumbledore, Sebastian would have fought back. He would have listed a hundred reasons why he was too busy. He was already teaching Muggle Studies, running the Dueling Club, and planning to launch an Alchemy Club for the next term to scout talent. He wasn't a workaholic like Snape, who seemingly derived sexual satisfaction from grading papers and brewing poison simultaneously.
But Professor McGonagall had spoken. In the hierarchy of Hogwarts, Dumbledore might be the Headmaster, but Professor "Catman" McGonagall was the one with the real administrative influence. When she looked at you with that "do it for the children" gaze, resistance was futile.
Sebastian sighed deeply, the sound of a man accepting his fate. He had brought Minerva here to help him pressure Dumbledore into reform, and somehow, he had ended up being the one pressured into a three-job workload.
It turns out I wasn't the master... I was just the ox and the horse pulling the wagon.
Since he couldn't refuse, he might as well do it with style. Sebastian struck his chest and gave them a sharp nod. "Fine. Don't worry. Leave it to me. I'll make sure the Auror training is flawless. I'll turn those kids into something Scrimgeour won't even recognize."
Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged a satisfied glance.
"Ah, right, Sebastian," Dumbledore added, his voice dropping into a slightly bewildered tone. "There is one more thing. A small favor."
Sebastian's eye twitched. "Another one?"
"It's about the Defense Against the Dark Arts post," Dumbledore sighed. "The holiday is halfway over, and we haven't had a single credible applicant. The curse, I suppose. I originally wanted to invite Remus Lupin, but he's signed a massive contract to consult on a new television series. He's booked solid until next year."
Dumbledore looked hopeful. "At the press conference, I was quite impressed by Damocles Belby. He seemed very... composed. Do you think you could use your influence to invite him to teach for a year?"
Damocles? Sebastian pondered the name.
It was a brilliant suggestion. Damocles was a Slytherin graduate of high standing—skilled, ethical, and currently a bit of a recluse. The "curse" on the position usually only struck if the person stayed more than a year or was particularly ill-suited. For a single year, Damocles would be safe.
However, the man was currently obsessed with his research into making Wolfsbane potion more affordable. He wouldn't want to leave his lab.
But... Sebastian's brain began to click into gear. I have bait. Damocles and Snape were practically drooling over each other's theories at the conference. If I tell Damocles he gets unlimited access to the Hogwarts labs and a partnership with Severus, he'll be here by tomorrow morning.
Two Potions Masters working together would be ten times more efficient than one, and it would finally give the "homebody" Damocles some much-needed social interaction.
"No problem, Albus," Sebastian said, nodding. "I'll handle Damocles. I know exactly what kind of 'carrot' to dangle in front of him."
He turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, please prepare the official letters for both positions. Give me two days. I'll get the Ministry's signature and Damocles's commitment. I guarantee everything will be handled perfectly."