The transformation was so absolute that it bordered on the divine.
Jonathan Sterling sat in the plush leather armchair of the hospital's private lounge, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. Just an hour ago, he had watched his son—his boy who had been broken, pinned, and sedated—practically dance out of the room to follow Dr. Pete for a final X-ray. The "God of Medicine" was currently in the radiology wing, likely questioning his own sanity as he stared at the most perfect skeletal structure he had ever seen in his forty-year career.
Jonathan was no longer a skeptic. He was a believer.
In his world of politics, he dealt with power every day—the power of the vote, the power of the press, the power of money. But what he had witnessed in that ward was a different category of power entirely. Sebastian Swann hadn't just manipulated the physical world; he had rewritten reality itself. To a man like Jonathan, a man who spent his life climbing the greasy pole of the British government, the realization was simple: he had just found a ladder that reached the stars.
If he didn't secure a deep, unbreakable connection with this man, he would be the biggest fool to ever walk the halls of Westminster. After all, who knew when tragedy would strike again? In a world where bones can be vanished and regrown in a night, a friendship with a wizard wasn't just a luxury—it was the ultimate insurance policy.
He looked across the low coffee table at Sebastian, who was leaning back with an air of relaxed boredom, and at Regulus, who sat with the composed grace of a man who had seen these miracles a hundred times.
"Mr. Swann," Jonathan began, his voice devoid of his usual parliamentary polish, replaced by a raw, earnest tone. "I'll be blunt. I owe you a debt that money cannot pay. But I also know that in your world, perhaps the things I have to offer seem trivial. Still, I want to know... what does it take to truly gain your friendship? Not just as a benefactor, but as a partner?"
Sebastian allowed a small, knowing smile to play across his lips. He looked at Regulus, then back to the MP. "It's a fair question, Jonathan. And since we're speaking plainly, I'll tell you how I choose my companions."
He gestured toward Regulus. "I met White because he was a man of vision. He didn't just fear the unknown; he sought to understand it. He founded Wizard Pictures to bridge the gap between our worlds, to show that magic isn't a threat—it's a wonder. That curiosity, that willingness to be an ally before being a critic... that's what earned him my trust."
Jonathan nodded, his mind working at lightning speed. Common ground. Interest. Loyalty. He had always been fascinated by the occult, but now that he knew it was real, that fascination had turned into a desperate need to belong.
"Secondly," Sebastian continued, his voice becoming cool and pragmatic, "I am a man who values utility. I don't have time for hobbyists. I like people who have status, people who have their hands on the levers of the world. People who are capable."
"I can be that person," Jonathan said immediately. "My position in the Labour Party is secure, and my influence is growing."
"Perhaps," Sebastian said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But as a wizard, I've learned that the word of an 'ordinary person' is a very fragile thing. Humans have a habit of forgetting their debts once the pain fades. To truly be my friend, I need more than a handshake. I need a guarantee."
Sebastian reached into the air—literally pulling a roll of shimmering, heavy parchment from the empty space beside him. He unrolled it on the table. It wasn't paper; it looked like it was woven from silver thread and moonlight.
"This is a magical contract," Sebastian explained. "It's very simple. It's a pact of non-aggression and mutual interest. You promise to never knowingly act against the interests of the wizarding community, and in return, you receive the protection of my house. If a dark wizard ever targets you or your family, I will know. And I will intervene."
Jonathan looked at Regulus. "You signed one of these?"
"I did," Regulus said with a calm nod. "And honestly, Jonathan, it's the best sleep I've had in years. Knowing that the things that go bump in the night are on your side... it changes your perspective."
Sebastian leaned forward. "Take your time. I won't force you. If you choose not to sign, I'll simply walk out that door. But for the safety of my people, I will have to erase your memory of this night. You'll go home, you'll think Dr. Pete performed a medical miracle, and we will never speak again. You'll have your son back, but you'll lose the wizard."
The thought hit Jonathan like a physical blow. Lose the wizard? To go back to a world of mundane, slow-crawling reality after seeing the sun? Never.
"Give me the pen," Jonathan said, his voice cracking with excitement.
He didn't even read the fine print. He trusted the aura of the man in front of him. As he signed his name, the parchment flared with a brief, white light, and a strange, tingling sensation hummed through Jonathan's veins before settling into a warm glow in his chest. The deal was done.
"Excellent," Sebastian said, his entire demeanor shifting from aloof expert to a welcoming host. "Welcome to the inner circle, Jonathan. Or should I say... friend?"
He produced a bottle of dark, vintage wine and three crystal glasses. "A toast. To new alliances and a future where the shadows work for us."
They drank, the wine tasting of blackberries and ancient oak. As Jonathan set his glass down, his heart was still racing. "So, Sebastian... what now? How do I begin to repay this 'welcoming gift'?"
"Repay me?" Sebastian laughed. "No, Jonathan. In my circle, the gifts flow both ways. And since you're now 'one of us,' I've decided to give you a piece of information that will change the trajectory of your life."
Jonathan leaned in, his political instincts screaming. "I'm listening."
"You're a Member of Parliament for the Labour Party," Sebastian said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "But you're just a backbencher, really. A voice in the crowd. Don't you want more? Don't you want to sit in the Cabinet? Don't you want to be a Minister?"
Jonathan let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "The Prime Minister is a Conservative, Sebastian. The polls are a mess. Entering the Cabinet is a dream for another decade, maybe."
Sebastian's smile turned sharp and predatory. "That's where you're wrong. I have access to... prophecies. My sources tell me that the political winds are about to shift violently. The next Prime Minister will be a Labour man. A man named Tony."
Jonathan's eyes nearly popped out of his head. Tony? Tony Blair? The young, charismatic reformer everyone was talking about? "You're serious? You can see that?"
"Wizards see everything eventually," Sebastian said. "But that's a long-term play. You need a win now. Something that makes you look like a genius to the party leadership."
He leaned over the table, his gaze intense. "Listen carefully. Today is September 6, 1992. The British pound is currently pegged to the European Exchange Rate Mechanism. Everyone thinks it's stable. They're wrong."
Jonathan frowned. "The Chancellor says the pound is fine."
"The Chancellor is a fool," Sebastian stated flatly. "A storm is coming. Financial predators—men like George Soros—have caught the scent of blood. They are going to short the pound. My prophecy says that September 16th—ten days from now—will be known as 'Black Wednesday.' The pound will collapse. The UK will be forced out of the ERM. It will be the biggest financial disaster in modern British history."
The color drained from Jonathan's face. If this was true... if he could predict a national economic collapse...
"Go to your leaders," Sebastian instructed. "Don't tell them a wizard told you. Tell them you have 'economic intelligence' from high-level European contacts. Warn them. Tell them to distance the party from the government's stance. When the 16th comes and the world burns, you will be the only man in London who saw it coming. You'll be the party's new oracle. You'll be a shoe-in for the Shadow Cabinet, and eventually, the real one."
Jonathan's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears. This wasn't just a gift; it was a crown.
"September 16th," Jonathan whispered, memorizing the date as if it were a holy command. "Black Wednesday."
"Go now," Sebastian said, standing up and sweeping his coat around him. "You have ten days to save your career and build your empire. I expect great things from you, Minister Sterling."
As Sebastian and Regulus walked out of the hospital, the cool London air felt different. The pieces were moving.
"The pound, Sebastian?" Regulus asked as they reached the car. "Was that necessary?"
"Power needs a foundation, Regulus," Sebastian replied, looking up at the grey sky. "Magic gives us the 'how,' but politics gives us the 'where.' By the time the 1990s are over, we won't just be hidden in the shadows of the Wizarding World. We'll be the ones running the world above it, too."
He stepped into the car, his mind already returning to Hogwarts, to Luna, and to the alchemy of human ambition. The game had truly begun.