The ancestral forest was calm.
The wind blew gently through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and magical resin. In the center of the clearing, the ancestral oak stood like an eternal guardian, its bark shimmering with a faint golden glow only Grauheim family members could see.
The manor—carved from stone and living roots—seemed to breathe with the forest. From within came laughter, whispered spells, and the crackle of wand-cast magic: the young main-branch members were training.
Nathael and Celestia had just arrived.
They'd walked from the River Threshold—the same portal they'd used to enter from Diagon Alley—and now crossed the stone path leading to the manor's porch.
"Nathael!" a twelve-year-old boy shouted, running toward him. "Is it true you're a Hogwarts professor now? Everyone's talking about it!"
"Academic consultant," Nathael corrected with a smile. "I only assist occasionally."
Meanwhile, Celestia paused to greet a group of white kittens with sapphire-blue eyes, all wearing simple collars that didn't yet bear the family crest.
"Can you already weave runes in the air?" she asked, her voice maternal.
"Yes!" they chorused, and began tracing glowing symbols with their paws.
Celestia purred, satisfied.
"Good. But don't get careless. Ancestral magic forgives no arrogance."
They entered the manor.
The walls were covered in ancient maps, sealed scrolls, and portraits of ancestors who nodded as they passed. Everything smelled of black moon incense and magical beeswax.
They climbed the stairs.
Knocked on Sabine's door.
"Come in," a firm voice said.
They stepped inside.
Sabine sat at her desk, reviewing a rune-covered book annotated in Hebrew. Beside her, Selene—Sabine's companion and Celestia's mother—was curled on a cushion, eyes closed, basking in the fireplace's warmth.
"Mother," Nathael said, bowing his head. "Selene."
"Matriarch," Celestia said with a feline bow. "Mother."
"Nathael," Selene murmured without opening her eyes. "Daughter."
"Son," Sabine said, not looking up. "Celestia."
She turned.
"To what do we owe the honor?"
"I came to see how you are," Nathael said. "In a few days, I'll depart for the United States on business. I won't be here for Christmas."
Sabine nodded.
"That's fine. But… guard the bracer."
Nathael touched his right wrist, where the silver bracer rested.
"I will. I won't let it be lost."
Sabine studied him a long moment.
"That object isn't just power. It's responsibility. And if it falls into the wrong hands… it could open doors even Anneliese and Lysander couldn't close."
Nathael fell silent.
Sabine knew her eldest daughter and her companion were in another world, searching for Williams and Guillermo with the third bracer—the only one not partially sealed by the ancestral oak. It was a risk. But necessary.
"There's something else," Nathael said.
Sabine raised an eyebrow.
"Continue."
"I have two students at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger."
Sabine showed no surprise.
"Go on."
"I've been teaching them modern magic. But soon, they'll be ready for more. And while there are books on ancestral magic… they don't compare to the Grauheim methods."
He paused.
"And there's something more important.
"The ancestral oak… here… makes ancestral magic feel deeper. Clearer. That's why our young spend their first years training here."
He looked at his mother.
"I'd like… to ask your permission for them to come here. To learn. To feel the root."
Silence.
Selene opened her eyes.
Sabine stood and walked to the window.
"Do you trust them?"
Nathael didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"Draco Malfoy…" Sabine said. "The name is familiar. Ancient sealers. Proud. But talented."
"Hermione Granger…" she continued. "I don't know the name. Muggle family?"
"Yes," Nathael said.
Sabine nodded.
"I don't care about her blood. I care about her intent. And if you chose her… she must be worthy and gifted."
She paused.
"But remember: the oak's magic is so potent that an outsider—without Grauheim blood—would go mad within seconds if exposed unprepared."
"I know," Nathael said. "That's why I won't bring them yet. Only when they're ready."
Sabine looked at him.
"Then… it's allowed."
Nathael bowed his head.
"Thank you, Mother. Selene."
"Matriarch," Celestia said. "Mother."
They left the room.
---------------------
They walked the path circling the ancestral lake.
The water lay still as glass. Leaves spiraled down in silent arcs.
Suddenly, Nathael stopped.
"Do you hear that?"
Celestia pricked her ears.
From across the lake, a feminine voice whispered:
"Gravitas! Amplifico. Centrum firmum esto…"
The air tensed.
An invisible pressure began expanding from a point in the clearing. Grass flattened. Leaves pressed to the ground. Even the lake's water grew denser.
"It's forbidden magic," Celestia said. "The same spell Elisabeth and Nyra used against Clara and Solène. They're practicing, apparently."
"Yes," Nathael said with a smile. "But they can improve it."
They walked silently to the clearing.
There stood Elisabeth and her companion, Nyra—
concentrated, hands and paws joined, weaving runes in the air. Their spell created a field of amplified gravity, where any spell cast inside became slow, heavy, nearly impossible to conjure. Their improvement over the months was clear.
Nathael approached.
"If you use the 'Gravía' runes—from Proto-Iberian," he said clearly, "you can increase the pressure enough to crush an opponent's bones."
Elisabeth and Nyra turned sharply.
Seeing Nathael and Celestia, they quickly composed themselves.
"Nathael!" Elisabeth said with respect. "Son of the Matriarch."
"Nyra," Celestia said.
"Just Nathael," he smiled. "I don't like formalities."
Elisabeth relaxed her shoulders.
"Sorry. It's just… I haven't seen you since the Tournament. You nearly won every trial."
"Nearly," Nathael said. "But you weren't bad yourself."
He looked at her.
"Why are you here? With your skill, you should be hunting your first treasure. Grauheims go out into the world alone at fifteen. And you… you're one of the best."
Elisabeth lowered her gaze.
"Since Anneliese defeated me in the semifinals… I understood something."
"What?"
"That I still have much to learn," she said. "I beat Clara, yes. But Anneliese… she didn't just defeat me. She taught me."
She paused.
"And not long after the Tournament… Elder Eldrin offered to guide me."
Nathael blinked.
"Eldrin? The Tournament judge?"
"Yes," Nyra said. "Though retired, he was one of the greatest Grauheims of his generation. He mastered ancient Celtic and early Druidic magic."
"We accepted without hesitation," Elisabeth said. "These months… I've learned more from him than in my whole life."
Nathael nodded, impressed.
"Then… seize the opportunity. Eldrin doesn't teach just anyone."
"I know," Elisabeth said. "That's why we train every day."
"Good luck," Nathael said.
"Thank you," she replied.
They parted ways.
Nathael and Celestia returned to their room.
----------------
Inside, Nathael collapsed onto the bed.
"I need to rest."
But Celestia was already moving.
"Elves!" she called. "Smoked salmon bites and Brazil nuts!"
Two house-elves appeared instantly with floating trays.
Celestia shed her travel cloak and put on a Heidelberg Harriers T-shirt, its wings embroidered in silver thread. Then she pulled out her portable magical screen—an antique mirror that showed live matches—and set it on the desk.
"What time do they play?" Nathael asked without opening his eyes.
"In an hour," Celestia said, adjusting the magical antenna. "And if they lose this time… I swear I'll never bet again."
"You will," Nathael said. "Because you already did."
"Shh!" Celestia hissed. "The broadcast is starting!"
Nathael smiled and closed his eyes.
Somewhere far away, Anneliese and Lysander crossed worlds, searching for Williams and Guillermo.
But here, in the ancestral manor, there was only calm.
And a Quidditch-obsessed cat, ready to shout:
"Fiercer than a dragon and twice as clever!"