The next morning arrived with soft light filtering through the dark green silk curtains of the Malfoy Manor guest room. Nathael lay on his bed and felt a small lump against his left side—he paid it no mind as he gazed out the window, watching dew glitter on the perfectly manicured trees.
Beside him, that small lump was Celestia, sleeping deeply, curled against his side.
He didn't remember seeing her move, but sometime during the night, she'd abandoned her cushion and decided her place was next to him.
"Was the cushion not comfortable?" he asked softly as she opened one eye.
Celestia yawned with elegant drowsiness.
"Too hard for my standards. Your bed, however… has the perfect balance of firmness and warmth. Approved."
Nathael chuckled softly and rose.
"Get dressed. We have an appointment today."
Shortly after, Nathael and Celestia descended to the dining room for breakfast.
Lucius and Narcissa were already seated, sipping steaming tea and eating toast with homemade jam. Draco, meanwhile, had three large, heavy suitcases beside him—perfectly packed with silver ribbons and the Malfoy crest embroidered in golden thread.
"My mother insisted I bring everything I might need," Draco said, noticing Nathael's glance.
Celestia approached, sniffed one suitcase, then meowed.
"Too much."
She raised a paw and touched the storage ring on her collar.
The three suitcases vanished in a flash of blue light.
"Now they fit in a pocket," Celestia said. "And if your robes wrinkle… that's your problem."
Draco nodded, relieved.
"Thank you."
After breakfast, they took their leave with courtesy. Lucius firmly shook Nathael's hand.
"Look after my son."
"As if he were my own," Nathael replied.
Narcissa, meanwhile, bent and kissed Draco's forehead.
"Write. Even just one letter."
"I will, Mother."
They left the manor.
The air was fresh, filled with the scent of wet grass, rich earth, and a light dusting of snow. The Wiltshire fields stretched in silence, and not a soul could be seen for miles.
"Where are we going?" Draco asked, curious.
Nathael smiled.
"To see Hermione."
Draco stopped short.
"Hermione?"
"Yes," Celestia said with a sly smile. "Remember that invitation on the train? When she said you could visit her house in London."
Draco paled slightly.
"I said I'd think about it."
"And now," Nathael said, "you don't have to think anymore. You're coming with us."
Draco frowned, trying to appear resigned.
"I suppose I have no choice."
But Celestia saw it—
a small smile.
Quick.
Fleeting.
But real.
"Exactly," she said, saying nothing more. "No choice."
Nathael added:
"We'll Apparate. Diagon Alley is the nearest point that won't draw attention. Here, in the countryside, there are no witnesses. But in London… there are. We could frighten Muggles if we Apparate right into the city—and worse, fill out Ministry paperwork for performing magic in front of them."
Celestia looked at Draco.
"Have you Apparated before?"
Draco shook his head.
"My family prefers magical carriages. My father Apparates, yes… but he's never taken me with him."
"Then," Celestia said, a spark in her eyes, "prepare yourself. And for your sake… don't stain your clothes."
Draco opened his mouth to ask why—
But before he could speak, Nathael placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
And pulled.
The world tore apart.
Draco felt as if his body were stretched, compressed, disassembled atom by atom, then violently reassembled in a new place. It was as if his soul had been left behind for an instant, and his body had to run to catch up.
He landed on the cobbled ground of Diagon Alley, knees trembling and stomach churning.
"Ugh!" he cried, dashing to a corner, where he discreetly threw up.
Nathael looked at him, eyebrow raised.
"You could've used magic to soften the sensation," he said to Celestia.
"You could've warned him instead of Apparating suddenly," she shot back, smiling.
"Touché."
Celestia flicked her tail, and a wave of healing magic enveloped Draco, calming his nausea and restoring color to his face.
"Thank you," Draco said, regaining his composure.
"You're welcome," Celestia said. "But next time… breathe before Apparating. It helps."
Nathael was already walking toward the Leaky Cauldron as if nothing had happened.
"Let's go."
As they stepped out of the magical pub, the three found themselves on the streets of London.
The contrast was immediate.
In Wiltshire, the world had been silent, elegant, orderly.
In London, it was controlled chaos.
People everywhere.
Red buses roaring.
Music pouring from shops.
Laughter.
Shouts.
The smell of coffee, smoke, fresh-baked bread.
And the clothes.
Nathael and Draco, in their fine robes and quality cloaks, looked like they'd stepped out of an 18th-century play. People stared—some with curiosity, others with amusement.
"Are they filming something?" a young man asked his friend, pointing at them.
Draco frowned.
"Filming?"
"Never mind," Nathael said. "It's Muggle. Ignore it."
Celestia, however, was the center of attention.
A white cat in a blue cloak and a small tilted hat.
Muggles didn't see the magic.
They only saw adorability.
"What a lovely kitty!" a woman said, crouching down.
Celestia meowed elegantly and kept walking.
They hailed a black cab—a classic London taxi—and gave the driver the address: Hampstead.
"Hampstead?" the driver said. "Nice neighborhood. Educated folk. Lots of dentists."
Draco looked at Nathael.
"Dentists?"
"Yes," Nathael said. "Hermione's parents are dentists."
Draco nodded, as if that explained everything.
The cab dropped them off on a quiet residential street in Hampstead, one of London's most affluent areas.
The houses were red brick, with immaculate front gardens, tall trees, and wrought-iron gates. Everything exuded stability, calm, and success—not ostentation, but… correctness.
They walked to the given number.
Nathael rang the doorbell.
They waited.
Nothing.
He rang again.
Suddenly, the door opened.
It was Hermione.
But not the Hermione of Hogwarts.
Not the serious, neat student.
This Hermione wore cotton pajamas, her hair wilder than usual, eyes half-shut, holding a teacup.
When she saw them, her eyes widened like saucers.
"You—!"
And without another word, she slammed the door.
They heard hurried footsteps.
"Mum! Mum, open the door! It's them! I need to change!"
Nathael looked at Celestia.
"Seems we forgot a small detail."
"Which one?"
"We never told her when we'd visit.
She probably expected a letter. A confirmation."
Draco sighed.
"Maybe we should come back tomorrow."
But before they could move, the door opened again.
This time, it was Hermione's mother.
A brown-haired woman with round glasses and an expression caught between surprise and confusion.
"Can I help you?"
Nathael bowed slightly.
"Good morning. I'm Nathael Grauheim. Hermione's teacher at Hogwarts."
He gestured to Celestia.
"This is Celestia, my companion."
And then to Draco.
"And this is Draco Malfoy, my other student."
Mrs. Granger stared, mouth agape.
"Teacher?"
"Academic consultant," Nathael corrected. "But yes, I teach Hermione."
Mrs. Granger blinked.
"Oh! Of course! Come in! Come in! Hermione hasn't stopped talking about you!"
She ushered them inside.
The house was warm, welcoming, filled with books, family photos, and the smell of freshly baked cookies.
"Would you like something to eat? Tea? Cookies?"
"Tea would be lovely," Nathael said.
"Cookies!" Celestia said enthusiastically.
Draco, still uneasy, sat on the sofa with perfect posture.
"Thank you, Mrs. Granger."
"Call me Jean," she said, smiling.
At that moment, Hermione came downstairs.
Now dressed in Muggle clothes—a skirt, red sweater, and shoes—her hair still damp but a radiant smile on her face.
"You're here!"
She ran and hugged Celestia.
"I missed you!"
Celestia purred.
"It's only been a few days."
"Days without class!"
Hermione then looked at Draco.
"You… too?"
Draco stood, with uncharacteristic awkwardness.
"Nathael invited me to join them on their journey."
Hermione stared, surprised.
"Journey? Seriously?"
"Yes," Draco said, then added with a half-smile, "I suppose I had no choice."
Hermione laughed.
"Welcome."
Jean returned, serving tea and cookies.
"So… you're going on a trip?"
"Yes," Nathael said. "To the United States."
"The three of you?"
"The four of us," Celestia corrected, pointing with her paw at Hermione.
Hermione looked at them.
"Me… too?"
Nathael smiled.
"Would you like to come?"
Hermione opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"Yes! Of course!"
Jean, however, frowned.
"The United States? Alone?"
"They won't be alone," Nathael said. "I'll be with them. And Celestia."
"And I'm pureblood," Draco added, as if that guaranteed safety.
Hermione looked at him.
"That doesn't help."
But then she smiled.
"Mum… please. It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
Jean looked at Nathael.
"You'll take responsibility?"
"Absolutely," he said. "Besides… it's part of her education."
Jean sighed.
"Well… if you say so. But I'll have to call your father and wait for his approval."
She stepped away and picked up the phone. After what felt like an eternity to Hermione, Jean hung up and nodded toward her daughter.
Hermione leapt with joy.
"I'll pack!"
She raced upstairs.
Draco sat back down, more relaxed now.
"It's not so bad, really."
Celestia looked at him.
"The tea?"
"No," Draco said. "All of this."
Nathael smiled.
"Welcome to the real world, Draco."