"I must leave for China," Nathael said, his voice clear and firm. "I have a mission to fulfill."
Hermione and Draco—still slightly drained from their duel—exchanged startled glances. They had only returned that morning from their homes after the Christmas holidays, and their return to Hogsmeade had been warm, filled with laughter and training. They hadn't expected everything to change so quickly.
"China?" Draco asked, frowning. "But classes start in a few days."
Hermione nodded, concern etched on her face.
"Do we need to ask Professor Dumbledore for permission to be absent?" she asked, looking at Nathael with worried eyes.
Nathael shook his head.
"No. This is a mission only Celestia and I will undertake. We leave tomorrow."
Carrie, who had been silent until now, pulled her coat tighter around herself and lowered her head. She'd known—long before Nathael spoke it aloud—that he would have to leave. She lived with him, Celestia, and Kate in the Hogsmeade cottage, and she'd seen how he pored over ancient maps late at night, how his eyes grew distant whenever they spoke of faraway lands. Though she didn't know the details, she sensed her mentor had a destiny beyond Hogwarts—and beyond them. She just hadn't imagined it would come so soon.
Nathael approached her and, with a gentleness few would believe possible in a treasure hunter, ruffled her blond hair affectionately.
"We'll return as soon as we can," he said, offering a reassuring smile. "Perhaps a few weeks. Or a few months, if it proves complicated."
Draco, who had been quiet for a moment, took a breath and spoke with more confidence than usual.
"Why don't we go with you?" he asked, meeting Nathael's gaze with determination. "We're strong—not just me. Hermione too. And Carrie."
Celestia, who had been watching from the side, her sapphire-blue eyes glinting in the winter light, sighed softly.
"They're the best witches and wizards their age," she said, her voice firm but not harsh. "Perhaps better than many several years older. But they're not ready yet. In a few years, they will be. But not now."
Nathael nodded, confirming her words.
"Celestia is right," he said, looking at Hermione, whose face had already fallen. "But that doesn't mean you stop training. You have the notebook with my notes," he added, referring to the birthday gift he'd given her. "Study it. Every page. Every word. Every correction."
Then he turned to Draco.
"And you—study with Hermione. Together. You'll learn more than you think."
He paused and looked at them both—first one, then the other—then made them look at each other.
"You won't be alone," he said. "The two of you are a team. You're my students. If one is in trouble, the other must help. If one stumbles, the other must hold them up. That's how you grow."
He then turned to Carrie, who still kept her eyes down.
"You won't be alone either," he said. "You'll have Kate. And besides"—he glanced back at Draco and Hermione with a mischievous smile—"I know a secret passage that leads directly from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. You can visit Carrie and Kate on weekends. I'll tell you where it is later."
He looked back at Carrie.
"For now, just practice the spells you already know. Perfect them—like you did with Wingardium Leviosa. That's more than enough."
Carrie nodded, her eyes glistening. She said nothing, but Nathael understood. He understood the fear of abandonment, the terror of being alone again after finally finding a home. He remembered what her life had been like before she came to the cottage—before she was seen, before she was heard. And so, his promise wasn't empty.
Nathael looked at the three of them, noticing their downcast faces, and smiled.
"When I return," he said, "I'll take you to my ancestral Grauheim manor. There, I'll teach you ancestral magic—not just runes, not just theory. Real magic. The kind that flows from the earth, from the sky, from the ancestors."
All three heads lifted instantly.
Draco—who already mastered the fire rune but hadn't yet felt ancestral magic—felt a spark of excitement. Hermione—who had read about ancestral magic in ancient texts and knew it was rare, powerful, and nearly forbidden—widened her eyes in awe. And Carrie, though unfamiliar with the concept, felt a deep curiosity, as if her very magic recognized the name.
Celestia, sensing the shift in mood, purred softly.
"Let's head back to Hogsmeade," she said. "I'm a bit hungry. And Kate and Flipsy are making my favorite dessert."
They began walking back along the snow-covered path. The sun was already setting, and the cold had grown sharper—but none of them seemed to notice.
As they walked, Celestia glanced at Hermione and noticed she was wearing the storage ring she'd received for Christmas. Celestia gave an approving nod.
"It's always good to have it on," she said, winking. "You never know when we might find something… and need to 'borrow' it."
Hermione smiled and touched the ring.
"I didn't know you were skilled in alchemy," she said curiously.
Celestia purred with pride.
"It's an unorthodox branch, even among the ancestral cats of the Grauheim family," she said. "But I was lucky enough to learn a few things from Nicolas Flamel a few years ago, during a visit to France. That old man paid well for the materials Nathael and I found on our travels."
Hermione stopped in her tracks.
Nicolas Flamel.
The name rang in her mind like a bell. Before the holidays, she, Harry, and Ron had desperately searched for information about him. They'd scoured every book in the library but found nothing. All they knew—from Hagrid—was that whatever was hidden beneath the trapdoor guarded by the three-headed dog at Hogwarts belonged to Nicolas Flamel and Professor Dumbledore. And they believed Snape was trying to steal it.
Hermione had promised Harry and Ron she wouldn't tell anyone about it. That's why she'd never asked Nathael or Celestia—though she knew they, with their connections and knowledge, surely knew who Flamel was. But now, the topic had come up by chance, without her directly asking. That meant she could inquire without breaking her word.
She quickly composed herself and caught up to Celestia.
"He sounds like a wise old man," she said, trying to sound casual.
Celestia nodded, stepping gracefully over the snow.
"He's an old man with a good sense of humor," she said. "And his wife made delicious pastries."
She stuck out her tongue and lifted a paw, as if still tasting them.
Then she looked at Nathael.
"Why don't we visit old Flamel once we return? I miss his cakes."
Nathael smiled.
"No problem. After all, I still have business with him."
Hermione seized the moment.
"Who is he?" she asked, as if merely curious. "He sounds like a good friend."
Nathael smiled.
"Something like that. He's an old alchemist. And he's hundreds of years old."
Draco, who had been silent until then, was stunned.
"Hundreds of years?"
Celestia answered.
"He's the only one to have successfully created the Philosopher's Stone in the last several centuries. Thanks to the Stone, he brews the Elixir of Life, which grants him prolonged life. He can also transmute metal into gold. He's the richest man in all of France—though he doesn't like to show it. And the Grauheim family has done business with him for generations."
Hermione couldn't contain herself.
Bingo! echoed in her mind, and a triumphant smile spread across her face.
Now she knew. What was hidden at Hogwarts was the Philosopher's Stone. She had to tell Harry and Ron as soon as she returned.
They spent the rest of the day in the Hogsmeade cottage. Though spirits were low because of Nathael and Celestia's impending departure, they tried to enjoy it as much as possible. Flipsy prepared a special dinner, and Kate told stories from her childhood in Kingstons Falls. Carrie practiced spells in the backyard, and Draco and Hermione reviewed Nathael's notebook together.
That night, Nathael stayed up a while longer, sitting by the fireplace. Kate approached and sat beside him. They didn't speak. They simply sat together in silence as the fire crackled and snow fell softly outside the window.
Later, they went upstairs. And Nathael—on his last night before leaving—slept beside Kate. There were no unnecessary words. Only warmth, closeness, and the silent promise that he would return.