"Have you packed everything?" Nathael asked, glancing around their room in the Grauheim manor.
Celestia, curled inside an open trunk, was finishing her final adjustments. These weren't ordinary clothes. They were weather-resistant cloaks, reinforced gloves, spare wands, vials of protective essences, and a small book bound in hippogriff leather filled with personal notes—all compressed into a storage ring that shimmered with faintly glowing runes.
"Everything," she said. "Even the Egyptian Grimoire you found in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts. Just in case."
Nathael nodded.
"Good. Then we'll leave for Malfoy Manor. After that, London—to see Hermione. And then… the United States."
Celestia sprang to her feet, adjusting her collar.
"By the way…" she said, thoughtful. "We still haven't given Hermione her birthday gift."
Nathael frowned.
"Birthday?"
"Yes," Celestia said. "It was September 19th. It's already December."
Nathael sighed.
"I didn't know. She rarely speaks of her personal life."
"Exactly," Celestia said. "I imagine she didn't want to cause a fuss. Or seem… demanding."
"Then," Nathael said, "we'll find something special in the United States. Something that blends birthday and Christmas. We'll give her both gifts on the same day."
Celestia nodded, her eyes softening.
"I like how you think."
"Besides…" Nathael added, "she's become more than just a student to me."
"To me too," Celestia said, smiling.
With everything ready, they left the manor.
They Apparated—and arrived on a quiet path in Wiltshire, England.
The place was beautiful.
Green fields stretched to the horizon, gentle hills, immaculate meadows, and manor houses with slate roofs and perfectly trimmed gardens. Everything carried the air of old English elegance—a nobility that didn't need to flaunt its wealth because it was already etched into its blood.
There, Draco Malfoy awaited them.
He was dressed with a refinement Nathael couldn't deny: a dark silk tunic, a wool cloak with silver trim, fine leather gloves, and black boots. No imitations this time.
"Nathael," Draco greeted them. "Celestia."
"Draco," Nathael said, smiling. "You look… elegant."
Celestia, with a feline smile, raised a paw.
"Thumbs up," she purred. "This time, you didn't copy Nathael's terrible fashion sense."
Nathael coughed.
"Let's go, then."
They walked down the path. The few passing Muggles regarded them with admiration, as if they'd stepped out of a 19th-century painting. Some pointed at Celestia, who walked confidently in her blue cloak, ancestral collar, and a small, tilted hat that matched her regal bearing.
"Look at that cat!" a woman said. "She dresses like a queen!"
Draco smiled.
But then, the landscape changed.
A thick mist descended. The temperature dropped. The grass turned gray. And a pressure settled over them—so dense that even Nathael and Celestia, accustomed to ancestral magic, felt its weight.
"It's here," Draco said.
He stopped and touched his wrist with the tip of his wand.
A rune glowed on his skin.
His blood began to shimmer with a faint silver light.
Slowly, the mist parted.
And before them, iron gates as tall as towers rose from the earth—each bar engraved with the Malfoy crest.
The gates opened on their own, and they passed through.
And there stood Malfoy Manor.
Enormous. Imposing. Built of pale stone with tall windows and towers that seemed to gaze proudly at the sky. It wasn't just a house. It was a symbol of power.
They reached the main door—and it opened before they could knock.
A house-elf awaited them.
Small, with bulging eyes and clothes that looked like a poorly stitched pillowcase. He trembled slightly, head bowed.
"Welcome…" he said in a shaky voice. "I'm… Dobby."
"Let's go in," Draco said.
Dobby led them inside.
They entered a marble-floored foyer with golden columns—a space as cold as it was majestic. At the foot of a spiral staircase forged from iron, entwined with serpent motifs, stood Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.
Lucius was dressed with lethal elegance: a burnished black silk tunic, a cloak trimmed in antique silver, and a cane whose handle depicted a serpent coiled around a willow branch. His posture radiated authority—something already inscribed in his blood. His gray eyes, cold as steel, studied Nathael with aristocratic respect and appraisal.
Beside him, Narcissa embodied silent nobility: a dark blue dress with silver details, platinum-blonde hair pulled into a flawless bun, and a gaze that, though distant, betrayed fierce devotion to her son.
Nathael gave a slight bow.
"Mr. Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy."
Celestia, tail held high and ancestral collar glinting under the chandelier light, performed a feline bow worthy of a royal ambassador.
"Lucius Malfoy," she said. "Narcissa Black. A pleasure."
Lucius didn't seem surprised to hear her speak. He offered a thin, nearly imperceptible smile.
"The honor is mine, Nathael Grauheim—and yours, Celestia. I am not an ignorant man. I know that the most powerful of your line do not keep mere pets. You have companions—beings whose magic rivals that of wizards themselves."
Narcissa then spoke, her voice soft but firm.
"Thank you for looking after Draco. These past months… he has changed. For the better."
"He's an exceptional student," Nathael said sincerely.
"And you…" Lucius added, "are no ordinary teachers."
They were led to the drawing room—an expansive space dominated by a marble fireplace and bookshelves lined with dragon-hide tomes. The armchairs were dark green velvet, and floating lamps cast a warm glow that never quite dispelled the room's chill.
Dobby, the house-elf, entered silently—head bowed, hands trembling—and began setting the dinner table.
They sat.
Draco remained quiet, observing.
Lucius crossed his legs and rested his cane between them.
"I must confess," he said, "I was… surprised when Dumbledore announced to the Hogwarts Board of Governors that a member of the Grauhems would serve as academic consultant. Your family is not exactly… public. You prefer shadows to headlines."
He paused, a shadow of disdain crossing his face at the mention of the headmaster's name.
"And though my relationship with Professor Dumbledore is, shall we say… cordially hostile, I must admit his decision struck me as wise."
Nathael smiled—but not with irony.
"I accepted your invitation because I needed a respite," he said, skillfully concealing his true motive.
Celestia, with grace, added:
"Besides, we wanted to see how magic is taught in a school. We… never attended one."
Narcissa raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised.
"Never? But… I assumed the Grauheims sent their children to Durmstrang. Lucius wanted Draco to study there."
"And I refused," Narcissa continued with unusual firmness. "Hogwarts is closer. And every Malfoy has come from Slytherin. It's tradition."
Nathael nodded, then spoke with calm intensity:
"The Grauheims do not attend magical schools.
We learn at home—from our parents, from family masters. Because true magic… isn't taught in classrooms."
He looked at Draco, and for a moment, his eyes softened.
"Look at Draco. He has discipline. Control. A talent that shines even in shadow. And yet… at Hogwarts, he must sit beside wizards who can't even light a candle without dropping their wands. He must listen to the same lessons, repeat the same spells, obey the same rules… as if all were equal."
His voice deepened, grew more resonant.
"Magical schools don't cultivate talent. They mold it.
They trap it in formulas.
They measure it by rules that reward obedience—not creativity.
They teach repetition, not creation.
They reward those who fit the mold… and punish those who dare to break it."
He glanced toward the fireplace.
"At Hogwarts, a boy like Draco isn't a prodigy. He's just… another Slytherin student.
But in our home…
In our home, magic isn't a subject. It's an art.
A discipline cultivated with patience, rigor, and masters who don't just teach spells—but how to feel magic itself."
He paused. The fire in the hearth seemed to hold its breath.
"There, favor isn't granted by name.
There is no mediocrity disguised as humility.
No power games masquerading as friendship.
There, worth is measured by the respect you earn—not by points you accumulate.
And if a child has the gift… they are given the sky to explore it.
Not a book to recite."
He looked at them again.
"That's why… we never went to Hogwarts.
Not to Durmstrang.
Not to Beauxbatons.
Because in those schools, magic is limited.
In our home… magic is set free."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Lucius looked at Nathael as if seeing him for the first time.
Narcissa's eyes were slightly widened—as if she'd just understood something that had always been in front of her.
Draco… smiled. For the first time, he felt seen.
"We've never seen it that way," Lucius finally said, his voice no longer cold—but deeply intrigued.