The Hogwarts library was silent, as always. But this time, the silence wasn't comfortable. It was tense. Frustrated.
Hermione Granger shut a book with a sharp snap and looked at Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who slumped over the table, surrounded by dusty, teetering stacks of volumes.
"You have to keep looking after I'm gone," Hermione said firmly.
"You're leaving already?" Harry asked.
"Tomorrow," she said. "But you two… are staying."
Harry nodded, relieved.
"I'd rather spend a thousand Christmases at Hogwarts than go back to the Dursleys."
"I'm staying too," Ron said. "My parents are visiting Charlie in Romania. And Fred, George, and Percy are staying. So… I won't be alone."
"Good," Hermione said. "Because this is important. Nicolas Flamel. He must be mentioned somewhere."
They'd been searching for days—scouring encyclopedias, indexes, magical history texts, even alchemist biographies. Nothing. From Hagrid, they'd learned that the three-headed dog's name was Fluffy, and that he guarded something belonging to Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.
"Do you think Nathael suspects anything?" Ron asked.
"He already did," Hermione said. "He asked me why we were spending so much time in the library. And he nearly figured it out."
"Did you tell him anything?" Harry asked urgently.
"No!" Hermione said. "I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. And I won't."
Harry nodded, relieved.
"Thanks, Hermione."
She smiled, though worry lingered in her eyes.
"Just find out who Flamel is. Because if he's connected to what Fluffy is guarding… then something very big is in danger."
They still believed Snape had tried to kill Harry during the Quidditch match. Worse, Harry was convinced Snape was trying to steal whatever Fluffy protected. He'd noticed Snape had a leg wound—from what looked like fangs—ever since the troll incident, and theorized that Snape had let the troll in, used the chaos to sneak past Fluffy, and was now plotting to steal the unknown object. Whatever it was… it had to be important.
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Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common room, Draco Malfoy sat by the fire, a thick book in his lap: Ancient Magic: Foundations and Applications.
He'd taken it from the library days ago, after seeing Nathael use the Black Chains and that rune-infused Expelliarmus.
He wanted to understand.
He wanted to know.
But the book was… impossible.
The runes were ancient.
The concepts, abstract.
The explanations written in a mix of Latin, Celtic, and symbols even professors couldn't decipher.
"What are you reading?" a soft voice asked.
It was Pansy Parkinson.
She sat beside him, admiration in her eyes—a look Draco had grown accustomed to.
"Nothing important," he said, not looking up.
"But it's advanced," Pansy said. "No first-year reads this."
Draco didn't reply.
"Will you come to my house over the holidays?" Pansy asked hopefully. "My parents want to meet you."
Then Draco remembered.
Hermione had also invited him.
To her house.
In London.
With her Muggle parents.
The idea no longer seemed as ridiculous as it once had.
"I'll be busy those days," Draco said. "But… I'll write you letters."
Pansy's expression shifted instantly from disappointment to radiant joy—unusual for her, who was usually smug, mocking, and cruel to students from other houses.
Draco watched her leave and thought:
I've changed.
And it was true. Ever since he'd begun learning from Nathael, his perspective had shifted. He still believed in pureblood supremacy—but no longer as an inherited right. Now he saw it as something you had to earn. Nathael himself was proof: he was respected at Hogwarts not just because he was a Grauheim (though Slytherins certainly admired his name), but because he was a powerful wizard who commanded respect across houses.
That's what Draco wanted. Not for people to say, "He's a Malfoy," but "He's Draco."
Before, he would've laughed at Hermione for inviting him to her Muggle home.
Now… he was seriously considering it.
He closed the book and headed to his room.
Unlike Gryffindor, where boys shared a dormitory, Slytherin students each had their own private chamber—small, yes, but private.
He glanced at the magical clock on the wall.
He'd written to his father, Lucius Malfoy, days ago.
Nathael and Celestia had accepted the dinner invitation.
And Celestia had sent a detailed list of what she expected to eat.
Draco opened his trunk and began packing:
Elegant clothes.
Gifts for his parents.
And the book—just in case he had time to study.
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In the Headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, a letter in hand.
It was from Nathael:
I'll depart for the United States over the holidays.
All clues about the soul-tracking artifact point there.
It's not certain—but it's the only direction I have.
And if I find anything… I'll inform you.
Dumbledore smiled.
"Always moving forward," he murmured. "Like a true hunter."
He looked out the window, where snow fell softly over the lake.
"The world needs more like you, Nathael Grauheim.
More curious.
More brave.
More discreet."
Fawkes, from his perch, sang softly.
"Yes, friend," Dumbledore said. "Soon, we'll have answers.
But also… new mysteries."
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In the east tower, Nathael and Celestia were packing their own luggage.
"Have you thought of a Christmas gift yet?" Nathael asked, folding a tunic.
Celestia, lounging on the windowsill, licked a paw.
"Anything's fine. But no clothing. Your taste is dreadful."
Nathael laughed.
"What if I buy you a cape with the Harriers' crest?"
"Only if it has magical silk lining."
"Deal."
He fell silent for a moment.
"We'll leave for the United States after the dinner at Malfoy Manor."
Celestia nodded.
"Good. Hogwarts has been… quiet."
"We'll fly by plane," Nathael said.
Celestia sat up abruptly.
"Plane? That Muggle transport?"
"Yes," Nathael said. "I already paid extra so we can travel together—not in the pet section, like last time."
"Last time," Celestia said with disgust, "they stuffed me in a crate with a dog the size of a person. And a child threw me a tuna sandwich."
"This time will be different," Nathael promised.
"It better be," Celestia said. "Because if it's not… next time, I'm going alone. With a Portkey. Or a dragon. Anything but an plane."
Nathael stroked her head.
"Deal."
He looked out the window.
"The United States… We don't know what we'll find there. But if the artifact is there… it'll be worth it."
Celestia curled up in his lap.
"As long as we don't come back by plane…"
"We won't," Nathael said, smiling.