November arrived with a biting wind that stung the skin and an excitement that warmed the heart of anyone who set foot in Hogwarts.
The Quidditch season had begun.
In the corridors, students proudly wore their house colors. Some painted their faces with magical paints that glowed in the dark—scarlet and gold for Gryffindor, green and silver for Slytherin, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, yellow and black for Hufflepuff.
In the Great Hall, clandestine bets bloomed like mushrooms after rain.
In the courtyards, boys mimicked their favorite players' maneuvers, leaping off imaginary brooms and shouting, "Catch it!"
Nathael, of course, paid no attention.
Quidditch had always struck him as organized chaos: seven people on brooms, multiple balls, distinct roles—all of which was hard for him to follow—while someone tried to catch a golden sphere the size of a walnut.
But Celestia… was another story.
For years now, she'd been collecting magical newspapers, player cards, and, of course, merchandise from the Heidelberg Harriers, Germany's premier team.
Her cushion in the office was embroidered with the Harriers' wings.
Her temporary collars changed color with every match.
And whenever the team played, she repeated her favorite phrase:
"Fiercer than a dragon and twice as clever!"
"Where did you even get that?" Nathael had asked the first time.
"From Darren O'Hare," she'd said proudly. "Former Keeper for the Kenmare Kestrels. A legend. And Harriers fans adopted it as their battle cry—and if the team wins, we shout it even louder!"
Now, with the season underway, Celestia was energized, analyzing the four house teams as if she were a Ministry expert.
"Diggory's good," she said one afternoon, licking a paw in the library. "He's got reflexes, strength, polished technique. But Potter… Potter is pure instinct. He doesn't think it. He feels it. He's a prodigy."
"Are you betting on him?" Nathael asked, not looking up from a grimoire on Norse runes.
"Of course," she said. "I sense Gryffindor has the best Seeker in a decade. And that… matters."
-------------------
That same day, the lake was frozen.
A gleaming sheet of ice covered its surface, and the wind swept dry leaves along the shore. Beneath a winter-bare oak tree, Nathael and Celestia waited.
Soon, Hermione and Draco arrived.
Hermione no longer came alone. In the distance, Harry and Ron's silhouettes were visible, tossing a rubber ball Ron had enchanted to shriek on contact. Since the troll incident, the trio had become inseparable. They laughed more. Talked more. Even defended Neville in class.
Draco glanced at them with an unreadable expression. Not envy. Not hatred. But… discomfort. As if he were witnessing something he didn't understand—yet it stirred an uneasy curiosity.
"How's your Expelliarmus coming along?" Nathael asked without preamble.
Draco straightened.
"I land it cleanly seven times out of ten."
"I only manage five," Hermione admitted honestly. "Sometimes it fails. Or comes out weak."
"That's normal," Nathael said. "Expelliarmus isn't a simple spell. In fact, it's the most used in real duels—not because it's the strongest, but because it's versatile, fast, and leaves no scars."
He stood.
"What you know is the basic version: you aim at your opponent's hand or wand, and disarm them. Simple. Clean."
But then his voice changed—deeper, more serious.
"But there are other ways."
He drew his wand.
"Watch."
He pointed at a nearby tree.
"Expelliarmus!"
A red beam—thick as an arm—shot from his wand and shattered the trunk. Wood exploded into splinters that flew meters away.
Hermione and Draco stood stunned.
"What… what was that?" Draco asked.
"Intensity," Nathael said. "If you aim not at the hand, but at the body—and infuse it with the intent to strike—Expelliarmus doesn't disarm. It knocks out. It can even render an unwary adult wizard unconscious if the spell is strong enough."
But he wasn't finished.
He raised his wand again.
This time, he said nothing.
Another red beam emerged.
But this one was different.
Within the light, tiny runes glowed like shooting stars—
spinning,
pulsing,
alive.
It struck another tree.
And didn't shatter it.
It disintegrated it.
No wood remained. No ash.
Only a hollow in the air, as if the tree had never existed.
Silence.
"What… was that?" Hermione whispered.
"Ancient magic," Nathael said, sheathing his wand. "The modern Expelliarmus is based on an old Celtic spell called Brise-Coude, which didn't just disarm—it broke your opponent's bones. Over time, it was softened. But the essence… remains."
Draco stared at the empty space where the tree had been, eyes wide.
"All these months… you've taught us spells from books. Some even third- or fourth-year level. But that… that's different."
"Because I'm a treasure hunter, not a professor," Nathael said. "Modern magic is useful, yes. But ancestral magic… is root. It's power without ornamentation. And you two… are still in the branches."
Hermione frowned.
"So… will you teach it to us someday?"
"Eventually," Nathael said. "But not now. Your understanding of magic is still basic. Ancestral magic isn't learned with a wand. It's learned with the soul. And for that… you need maturity."
They fell silent for a moment.
Then Nathael had them practice.
He corrected Draco's stance.
Refined Hermione's intent.
And after an hour of drills, they were exhausted… but satisfied.
--------------------
On the walk back to the castle, Draco couldn't contain his curiosity.
"Those chains you used on the troll… what were they?"
Hermione also looked at Nathael, her attention sharpened.
"Ancestral binding magic," Nathael said. "The Black Chains of Vindr. They don't just immobilize the body—they seal magic. If they trap you, you can't cast spells, can't Apparate, can't even think clearly. You can only wait for them to break… or for someone to free you."
"And you control them like it's nothing?" Draco asked.
"Not like it's nothing," Nathael said. "Every time I use them, it costs me. They require enormous magical reserves and intense focus to shape and direct."
He paused.
"By the way," he added with a smile, "if you come to the office this afternoon… bring some chocolate cake. The kitchens make an excellent one."
Draco nodded, half-smiling.
"I will."
When Nathael and Celestia walked off, Draco and Hermione stood alone for a moment.
"I'm going with Harry and Ron," Hermione said. "They have Potions homework. And if I don't help them, Snape will dock points again."
Draco looked at her.
"Be careful with them."
Hermione was surprised.
"With Harry and Ron?"
"Yes," Draco said. "They're not like us. They're… impulsive. They get into trouble without thinking."
Hermione didn't take offense.
Instead, she smiled.
"Thank you for worrying. But… they're not like that. They're loyal. And my… friends."
Draco didn't reply. He just nodded.
And as Hermione walked away—her bushy hair fluttering in the wind, a soft smile on her face—Draco watched her go.
Then he shook his head and muttered,
"Fool."
And headed toward the Slytherin tower, thinking that perhaps… not all Gryffindors were as terrible as his father claimed.