Halloween arrived faster than expected.
In Nathael and Celestia's office, the air smelled of old parchment, herbal tea, and the faint pine scent that always accompanied autumn afternoons. Outside, the sky was overcast, and leaves spiraled silently onto the lake.
Inside, the atmosphere was calm.
Only the soft clack of magical chess pieces moving, Celestia's occasional purr, and the rustle of pages Nathael turned broke the silence.
Draco Malfoy sat across from Celestia, frowning as his granite king let out a dramatic groan before being devoured by Celestia's obsidian griffin bishop—who now strutted proudly with a feather stuck in its head.
"Again!" Draco said, throwing himself back in his chair. "How do you always win?"
"Because I think one move ahead of you," Celestia said, licking a paw with satisfaction. "That's all."
Draco huffed—but not in anger. In resignation.
Since that conversation about Harry Potter and the Nimbus 2000, Draco had started coming every afternoon. At first, just to "practice spells." Then to play chess. Eventually, simply… to be there.
Nathael didn't question it.
Celestia didn't reject him.
And Draco, little by little, stopped arriving with Crabbe and Goyle as silent shadows. Now he walked alone. And in the office, he spoke—not with arrogance, but with curiosity.
"Is it true you once bargained with a spirit of the Nile?" he'd asked Celestia the previous week.
"Yes," she'd replied. "And we lost a hat. Never saw it again."
Draco had laughed.
It was the first time Nathael had heard him laugh without mockery.
Meanwhile, Nathael pursued his own quest.
On his desk, neatly stacked, were the Restricted Section books he'd requested: Echoes of the Soul, Magic and Spiritual Matter, Relics That See the Invisible. He searched for clues about the soul-tracking artifact Dumbledore had asked him to find. But so far, he'd uncovered only theories, myths… and warnings.
"Another victory," Nathael said without looking up. "Don't you ever tire of gloating?"
"Never," Celestia replied. "Especially when my opponent still thinks moving a pawn two squares is a strategy."
Draco smiled, though he feigned offense.
Nathael closed his book and glanced at the magical sun-clock on the wall.
"It's time for dinner."
He stood and fastened his black cloak—the same one he'd worn since arriving at Hogwarts.
"I heard the Halloween feast will be special," he said. "Spectacular decorations and pumpkin desserts."
Draco, already on his feet, nodded.
"I suppose I'll go."
Just then, the door burst open.
Hermione Granger entered.
But not as usual—with her back straight, books clutched tightly, and a determined gaze.
This time, her eyes were red, her cheeks wet, and her hair even more tangled than normal.
She was crying.
Seeing Draco in the office, she froze. Her face shifted from sorrow to panic in an instant.
"I… I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't know you…"
She turned to flee.
But before Nathael could speak, Draco did.
"Who made you cry, Granger?"
His voice wasn't mocking.
It wasn't cold.
It was firm.
Even… angry.
Hermione stopped. She looked at him, surprised.
Nathael and Celestia exchanged a glance.
In nearly two months of lessons, something had changed. They weren't friends. But they were companions—students of the same teacher. And in Nathael's office, hierarchies of blood, houses, and pride dissolved like morning mist.
"Some things… happened," Hermione finally said, looking down.
No one pressed her.
Nathael asked no more.
Draco demanded no answers.
Celestia simply approached and gently rubbed against her leg—a silent gesture of comfort.
"If you'd like," Nathael said softly, "you can join us for dinner."
Hermione nodded, wiping her tears with her sleeve.
"Yes. Thank you."
The four left the office, walking silently down the corridor.
But halfway there, Nathael and Celestia stopped at the same moment.
"Do you feel it?" Nathael asked quietly.
"Yes," Celestia said, ears low. "It's a smell… repulsive. Rot, sweat, and corrupted magic."
Draco and Hermione looked at them, confused.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.
Nathael looked at them both.
"You're about to have an exam."
"An exam?" Draco said. "Today? On Halloween?"
"The feast is postponed," Nathael said. "Follow me—to the dungeons."
They didn't argue. They followed.
With every step, the stench grew stronger—more suffocating—as if the very air had turned toxic.
When they reached the dungeon entrance, they saw it.
A mountain troll.
Nearly eleven feet tall. Gray, cracked skin. Bald head. Small, red eyes. And in one hand, a club the size of a tree trunk.
Draco and Hermione immediately stepped back, hiding behind Nathael.
"That… that's impossible," Draco said. "Trolls don't get into Hogwarts!"
"Apparently, something happened," Nathael said. "And this will be your exam."
"We can't defeat a troll!" Hermione cried.
"What creature is it?" Nathael asked Draco.
Draco swallowed, but studied the beast carefully.
"A… mountain troll."
"Good," Nathael said. "And you, Hermione—what are its strengths and weaknesses?"
Though trembling, Hermione answered clearly.
"It's… extremely strong. Resistant to pain. Nearly immune to most spells. But it's… clumsy. Very slow-thinking. And its feet—large and flat. If it loses balance, it can't recover."
"Excellent," Nathael said.
He turned to them both.
"Now that you know what it is and how it works—think. How do you defeat it?"
Before they could answer, the troll spotted them.
It growled.
Raised its club.
And began lumbering toward them.
But Nathael raised a hand.
From the floor, black chains erupted like living serpents, coiling around the troll's legs, arms, and throat. They immobilized it instantly, with a snap that echoed through the dungeon.
Draco and Hermione stood speechless.
"How…?" Draco whispered.
"The Ministry classifies it as a XXXXX creature!" Hermione said. "And he stopped it with a flick of his hand!"
Nathael didn't boast.
"Now, think. Spells like Tarantallegra, Stupefy, Incendio, or even Expelliarmus—the ones you learned with me last week—won't work. Its skin is too thick. Its magic, too crude."
Hermione scanned the floor, then the walls, then the troll.
"We shouldn't focus on it," she finally said.
Nathael smiled.
"No?"
"No," Hermione said. "We should focus on the environment."
She pointed to the damp floor.
"If we cast a spell that spills oil… it won't be able to walk. It'll slip. And because it's so clumsy, it won't understand what's happening. It'll get stuck in a loop—trying to stand… and falling again."
Draco nodded, eyes brightening.
"And then we use Aguamenti on its head! We drown it until it passes out. If it can't breathe…"
"We finish it," Celestia finished, with a feline smile.
Nathael looked at them both.
"Excellent answer."
He raised his hand again.
The black chains vanished.
The troll growled—free.
And it stared at them.
"Now," Nathael said, "put it to the test."