The Headmaster's office was calm.
Its walls, lined with magical instruments that spun and whispered, glowed with a soft light. Ancient mirrors reflected fragments of distant skies, and books floated lazily, as if dreaming of forgotten stories.
The portraits of former headmasters—Phineas Nigellus Black, Dilys Derwent, Armando Dippet, and Everard—appeared asleep, their heads tilted, mouths slightly open. But Nathael knew they were listening. They always listened.
Celestia paused briefly as she passed Phineas's frame.
"You," she whispered. "Even more insufferable than in my memory."
Phineas frowned in his sleep but offered no reply.
Further along, on an ancient wooden shelf, the Sorting Hat rested with quiet dignity.
Nathael approached and smiled.
"Good song at the Welcoming Feast."
The Hat straightened slightly.
"Ah! You heard it?" it said in its raspy but cheerful voice. "I thought no one would notice amidst all that noise."
"It was… memorable," Nathael said with a genuine smile.
"I'm already working on next year's!" the Hat declared excitedly. "It'll be longer. Deeper. Perhaps in iambic pentameter."
Celestia snorted.
"I don't remember it being this dramatic. Maybe it needs singing lessons."
The Hat ignored her with princely disdain.
At the far end of the office, Albus Dumbledore rose from his desk. He wore a purple robe speckled with golden stars, and his blue eyes twinkled behind half-moon spectacles with a blend of warmth, humor, and mystery.
"Nathael. Celestia. Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for receiving us, Professor," Nathael said, inclining his head slightly.
"And thank you," Dumbledore added, "for handling the troll situation so… didactically."
"It wasn't my doing," Nathael said, sitting with ease. "My students—Hermione and Draco. They did it together."
Dumbledore poured three cups of tea and placed a small slice of pumpkin tart on a special dish for Celestia.
"I didn't know you enjoyed teaching," he said softly. "I assumed treasure hunters like you preferred solitary paths."
"We can change," Nathael replied, accepting the tart. "Even solitary paths sometimes need guides."
"And what do you think of your students?"
"Draco has discipline and control. Hermione, instinct and knowledge. Together… they're stronger than apart."
"A wise observation," Dumbledore said. "Though rarely applied at Hogwarts. Here, houses often divide more than they unite."
They spoke a while longer—of Scotland's weather, new books in the library, how Fawkes had begun singing a strange melody in his sleep.
But just as Nathael and Celestia rose to leave, Nathael paused.
"Professor… I haven't found any trace of the soul-tracking artifact yet."
Dumbledore studied him closely—but without impatience.
"Only theories?"
"Only myths, fragmented texts, incomplete legends. But all of them… point to the same place."
He paused.
"The United States."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, as if he'd already known.
"A young continent… but with very ancient roots."
He said no more.
Asked no more.
Only nodded, with that gaze that seemed to see beyond the present.
Nathael and Celestia bowed slightly in farewell.
As they stepped outside, the castle's cold night air greeted them.
Hogwarts slept.
Walking back to their quarters, the corridors were silent. Magical torches lit their path with a gentle glow, and the portraits slumbered deeply, their inhabitants softly snoring in their frames.
"How did Dumbledore already know we'd dealt with the troll?" Celestia asked quietly, leaping gracefully over a loose floor tile.
"He's the Headmaster for a reason," Nathael said, never breaking stride. "And this is his home. Hogwarts isn't just stone and spells. It's a living being. And everything that happens here… he can sense, at least partially."
He paused.
"Besides, the troll's arrival wasn't chance. Trolls don't travel alone. They can't open magical doors. Someone let it in. And if someone brings a troll into the heart of Hogwarts… Dumbledore likely already suspects who did it."
Celestia nodded.
"Then… if he knows about the troll, he probably knows about our nightly excursions. The Room of Requirement. We've been there often…"
Nathael smiled.
"Most likely, he already knows. But since he didn't mention it just now… he either doesn't care—or he's giving us permission."
"Better for us," Celestia said. "That way, we take more liberties."
They reached their room. Nathael opened the door with a simple gesture, and they stepped inside.
The chamber was warm, lit only by moonlight streaming through the window. Nathael walked to the windowsill and sat, gazing at the starry sky, where constellations seemed to tell ancient tales.
Celestia leapt into his lap.
"Do you feel the pull too?" she asked softly.
Nathael looked down at his right wrist, where the silver bracer Sabine had sent him rested with deceptive stillness.
"Yes," he said. "It was the first thing I wanted to do when I read the letter: go after them. Use the bracer, break its partial seal, and cross over."
"Guillermo is there," Celestia said. "And Williams. Our parents."
"I know," Nathael said. "But we also understand what this bracer truly is. It's not just a relic. It's a doorway. And if we use it… we don't know what world we'd enter."
He fell silent for a moment.
"We're hunters, yes. But now we're also guardians. We have responsibilities—to Dumbledore, to Hogwarts… and to what this object represents."
Celestia rested her head on his hand.
"Then… we wait."
"Yes," Nathael said. "Until the moment is right."