Since the Quidditch match, Hermione hadn't stopped insisting.
"It was Snape," she said, arms crossed, standing in the middle of Nathael's office. "I saw him. He was muttering, eyes fixed on Harry. There's no doubt."
Draco, seated across from Celestia at the magical chessboard, looked up with a mocking smile.
"Of course—because seeing Snape glare at Potter like he's an insect is the same as cursing him."
"I saw it!" Hermione repeated, frustrated. "He was doing magic against him!"
Nathael, seated at his desk with an ancient book in hand, turned a page without looking up—but he was listening.
"Draco's right," he finally said. "Snape is Slytherin's Head of House. He wouldn't do something so direct against a student, no matter how much he loathes Potter and Weasley. It would be… imprudent. And Snape isn't imprudent."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Nathael raised a hand.
"Besides—if it were him… why would he cast such a powerful counter-curse to save Harry?"
Hermione blinked.
"Counter-curse?"
"Yes," Nathael said, closing the book. "Someone was fighting the jinx. Someone skilled enough to counter dark magic in the middle of a match."
Hermione looked at him, confused.
"But… if Snape attacked him, why save him?"
"Exactly," Nathael said. "That's why it wasn't him."
But what Nathael didn't say aloud—what he kept to himself—was another theory.
Since the Welcoming Feast, something about Quirrell had seemed… off. Not just the garlic smell or his stutter. Something deeper—a shadow in his aura, a magic that didn't fit.
And Snape… for all his darkness, was a good teacher in his own way—controlled, disciplined. And if Dumbledore, the wisest and most powerful wizard of the age, trusted him as Head of House, then Nathael trusted that judgment too.
So the conclusion was clear:
Quirrell cast the curse.
Snape tried to stop it.
But he didn't say it.
Because Hermione wasn't ready to hear it.
And because Nathael didn't want to sow suspicion without proof.
At that moment, Celestia won another game.
Draco's king—a marble knight in crown and cape—let out a groan as Celestia's bishop, a small marble dragon, elegantly devoured him.
"Again!" Draco said, throwing himself back in his chair.
"Maybe if you stopped thinking about showing off and started thinking about the game…" Celestia said, licking a paw.
"Want to play, Hermione?" she asked, glancing at her.
"No, thanks," Hermione said with a tight smile. "It's not really my thing."
Celestia chuckled.
"Of course. Excuses."
Nathael, smiling, changed the subject.
"Do you have plans for the Christmas holidays?"
"I'm going home," Hermione said instantly. "To my parents. They're dentists, you know."
"I am too," Draco said. "And… my father asked me to extend an invitation—to dinner. It doesn't have to be Christmas Eve. Any day during the holidays."
Nathael nodded.
"Thank you. I accept."
Without hesitation, Celestia pulled a small notebook from who-knows-where and began writing.
List of Expected Dishes:
• Smoked salmon with Nordic herbs
• Chocolate walnut cake
• Aged elf wine
• And, of course, fresh fish—boneless
Draco looked at her, amused.
"Are you a cat or a food critic?"
"Both," Celestia said, unfazed.
Hermione, watching their easy rapport—professor, student, and companion—paused. Then, with rare shyness, she said:
"If you'd like… you could come to my house too. In London. You're all invited."
The silence was brief but heavy.
Draco blinked, surprised.
Nathael and Celestia exchanged a glance.
"To your house?" Nathael asked.
"Yes," Hermione said firmly. "My parents would be delighted."
"Thank you," Nathael said. "We accept."
After a moment's hesitation, Draco nodded.
"I'll think about it."
----------------------
Later, Draco left first.
Hermione lingered a moment longer, flipping through a book she wasn't really reading.
As she turned to leave, Nathael called her name.
"Hermione."
She stopped.
"I've noticed you've been spending a lot of time in the library. Which is normal for you. But now… you go with Harry and Ron. And the Weasleys… and Potters… aren't exactly known for their love of books."
He paused.
"If you're planning something… be careful."
Hermione paled.
"We're not… planning anything."
And she nearly ran out.
Celestia, from her cushion, purred softly.
"She still can't lie."
"No," Nathael said. "But she's learning to protect her friends. And that… shows she's an excellent friend—and student."
He stood and gazed out the window.
"It's time we begin our own adventure."
Celestia stretched with an exaggerated yawn.
"About time. My muscles are stiff. Hogwarts has been… quiet. Too quiet. Beyond the Room of Requirement and forbidden books, we haven't found anything worthy of our time."
"Then," Nathael said, "we'll go to the United States."
Celestia looked at him, eyes gleaming.
"The soul-tracking artifact?"
"The books point there," Nathael said. "Myths, legends, fragmented texts. Nothing confirmed. But it's the only concrete lead we have."
Celestia nodded.
"Then we'll prepare for the journey."
-------------------
Days later
Hogwarts was transformed.
Golden garlands hung in the corridors. Giant Christmas trees filled the halls, draped in magical candies that sang carols. House-elves scurried with trays of gingerbread cookies that changed flavor when bitten.
Nathael and Celestia walked by the lake, now dusted with a fine layer of snow.
"It's beautiful," Celestia said. "Though I prefer the desert in winter. At least there are no sticky songs."
Suddenly, two figures emerged from the path.
Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.
"Mr. Grauheim," Harry said with a smile. "Good morning."
"Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley," Nathael said, giving a slight nod. "What brings you here?"
Ron cleared his throat.
"We heard you're teaching Malfoy and Hermione."
"And that you've taught them spells even Fred and George don't know," Harry added. "And they're in third year!"
"Hermione said Malfoy has more control than she does," Ron said. "And we're not about to let a Slytherin get ahead of us."
Nathael looked at them.
Not with disdain.
But with sadness.
"You want me to teach you?"
"Yes," they said in unison.
"Give me a reason," Nathael said. "A real reason. Not 'because Hermione's doing it.' Not 'because we don't want Malfoy to beat us.' Tell me why you want to learn."
Harry and Ron exchanged confused glances.
"Because… we want to be better," Harry said.
"Because we don't want to be the weak ones," Ron added.
Nathael shook his head.
"Those aren't valid reasons. Learning out of envy, competition, or fear… will lead you down a dangerous path. You'll lose yourselves. And magic… will devour you from within."
Celestia, perched on Nathael's shoulder, intervened.
"Though… maybe I could teach you a spell or two. I like Potter. He's good at Quidditch. And best of all… he helped me win my bet."
Ron, without thinking, muttered:
"What could a cat possibly teach us?"
The air grew cold.
Celestia flattened her ears. Her eyes turned icy.
"I've changed my mind. Go away."
Nathael didn't laugh. But he didn't defend them either.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But if you ever have questions about your studies… you may come see me. After all, I'm an academic consultant. And it's my duty to clear students' doubts."
Harry and Ron nodded, downcast, and walked away.
Celestia sighed.
"Children."
"Yes," Nathael said. "But with potential."
He looked at the castle, glowing with Christmas lights.