The Egyptian desert sun bled across the horizon, staining the dunes a deep red that resembled dried blood. The ruins of Neferkare's temple—buried beneath centuries of sand and oblivion—rose like stone skeletons beneath the twilight. The air hung still and heavy, thick with the echoes of ancient incantations and the scent of scorched dust.
Nathael Grauheim wasn't sweating. Not from lack of heat—the desert scorched him like a magical furnace—but because his body, trained since childhood in the secrets of ancestral magic, had learned to suppress even its most instinctive reactions. His blue eyes, cold as Nordic ice, scanned the gloom of the underground corridor. Five figures stood before him, cloaked in black robes edged with silver thread that shimmered with forbidden runes. Dark wizards—not the common sort who lurked in London's grimy alleyways, but those who still practiced the rituals of cursed pharaohs.
"You have no escape, Grauheim," rasped the tallest, his voice like wind scraping over tombs. "The relic isn't yours."
Nathael smiled—not with arrogance, but with the calm of someone who'd faced far worse.
"Escape?" he replied, voice low. "I didn't come to run. I came to collect."
No more words were exchanged. The first wizard hurled a Confringo that exploded against the wall to Nathael's left, sending debris and dust flying. Nathael was already gone. With a near-imperceptible flick of his ebony wand—its core dragon heart—he vanished into a cloud of blue smoke: combat Apparition, a technique banned in most modern magical circles, but perfected by his family over generations.
He reappeared behind the second wizard, who barely had time to turn before Nathael, without uttering a word, cast a silent spell that turned him into a salt statue for three seconds—long enough for the third to attempt a Crucio. Nathael sidestepped it with a hip twist, rolled, and with a circular motion of his wand, transformed the ground beneath the fourth wizard's feet into magical quicksand. The man screamed as he sank to his waist.
"Fool!" the leader snarled. "Don't use elemental magic here! You'll awaken the guardians!"
Nathael didn't answer. Instead, he closed his eyes briefly. His mind, trained in the old ways, sought the essence of the place. The temple wasn't just stone—it was memory. And within that memory lay power.
He opened his eyes and, with a snap of his fingers, transformed—not into an animal, but into an elongated shadow, a formless silhouette that slid across the floor like liquid smoke. One of the wizards cast a Stupefy, but the spell passed harmlessly through the shadow. When Nathael returned to human form, he was already behind the leader, his wand pressed against the man's neck.
"Finite Incantatem," he whispered, and the runes on the wizard's robe flickered out like wet embers.
The leader collapsed to his knees, gasping. The other four were already neutralized: one petrified, another trapped in magical quicksand, the third unconscious from a silent Petrificus Totalus, and the fourth… well, the fourth had tried to flee, but Nathael had used an ancient binding spell—Vinculum Aeternum—that pinned him to the floor with golden chains of light inscribed with glowing hieroglyphs.
Nathael walked to the temple's center, where a small obsidian box rested on a dust-covered pedestal. The relic. It wasn't a wand, a stone, or an ordinary amulet. It was an Eye of Thoth—a sphere of black crystal containing a fragment of the lost knowledge of Egypt's ancient sorcerers.
He picked it up carefully. A surge of ancient energy coursed through his arm at the touch, but Nathael remained unmoved. He'd been trained for this.
"Well," he murmured, smiling, "this should fetch me at least five thousand Galleons on Cairo's black market. Maybe more if I find a collector desperate enough."
Just then—a sound. A faint creak, like a paw brushing against stone.
"I've already dealt with them," Nathael said without turning. "You can come out, Celestia."
From the shadows beneath a broken arch, a white cat emerged with the grace of a queen. A ragdoll, with sapphire-blue eyes and immaculate fur, as if the desert itself dared not soil her. She stepped forward, observing the defeated wizards with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
"Next time," the cat said in a soft but clear voice, "I'll wait in the other room. This place smells of mildew, sweat, and poor decisions."
Nathael chuckled quietly.
"I needed you. Cats were sacred in ancient Egypt. They say they can see the spirit guardians of relics. If you enter without being attacked, it means the path is clear."
Celestia gave him a look—one eyebrow arched, yes, a cat could indeed arch an eyebrow—then leapt gracefully onto his head, settling like a living hat.
"I'm tired," she announced, licking a front paw. "And hungry. And I've got sand in my pads. Let's go."
Nathael nodded. With one last glance at the bound wizards, he spun on his heel and vanished in a cloud of blue smoke, taking with him the talking cat and the Nile's most coveted relic.
Hours later, in a hidden magical inn on the outskirts of Cairo—a place where goblins, wizards, and lesser magical creatures mingled without questions—Nathael sat at a worn wooden table, now dressed in a clean, dark-green robe and magically reinforced leather boots. Celestia dozed on his lap, purring softly.
The innkeeper, a goblin named Kragthar, approached with a floating tray bearing a steaming plate of spiced griffin stew—a recipe so ancient it was reserved only for those who could prove their magical lineage to the cook—and a mug of butterbeer flavored with dates.
"Here you are, young hunter," Kragthar said, setting the tray down with a metallic clink. "And… someone was looking for you this morning."
Nathael raised an eyebrow.
"Someone?"
"A fellow named Bill Weasley. Curse-breaker for Gringotts. Left this."
The goblin pulled a thick envelope from beneath the counter, sealed with red wax. On the seal: a familiar crest—four intertwined animals beneath a tower. Hogwarts.
Nathael took the envelope carefully. He didn't open it right away. Instead, he spooned a bit of stew onto a small dish and placed it before Celestia, who opened one eye, sniffed it suspiciously, then licked it up eagerly.
"Bill Weasley…" Nathael murmured. "Interesting. I don't usually deal with Gringotts."
"He said it was urgent," Kragthar added, polishing a glass with a rag that looked like it had survived three magical wars. "And that if you weren't here within a week, he'd return."
Nathael nodded, but his mind was already elsewhere. Hogwarts. The world's most famous school of magic. A place brimming with legends, secret passages, hidden chambers… and, undoubtedly, forgotten treasures.
He finished his meal in silence, absently stroking Celestia, who now purred with her mouth full of magical stew.
Later, in his room—a small but comfortable space with walls covered in ancient maps and shelves lined with books bound in hippogriff leather—Nathael sat on the edge of the bed and broke the seal on the envelope.
The letter was brief but elegant. The handwriting was firm and precise, each stroke carrying a hint of antiquity.
Dear Mr. Grauheim,
I have heard of your family and your remarkable collection of ancient magical artifacts. I would be honored to invite you to a private meeting at Hogwarts on July 20th at 6:00 p.m. I am particularly interested in discussing a possible exchange of knowledge… and objects.
It would be a privilege to welcome you to the castle.
Sincerely yours,Albus Percival Wulfric Brian DumbledoreHeadmaster of Hogwarts
Nathael read the letter twice. Then he folded it carefully and set it on the table.
"Hogwarts?" Celestia said from the pillow, where she'd settled as if it were her personal throne. "In the middle of summer? And with Dumbledore?"
"Seems so," Nathael replied, rubbing his chin. "Though I don't understand why he'd want to speak with me. My family has never dealt with the Ministry or any schools."
"Perhaps it's not about the Ministry," Celestia said, yawning. "Perhaps it's about something… older."
Nathael nodded slowly. His family, the Grauheims, descended from a line of treasure-hunting wizards tracing back to the Ages. They'd never attended formal schools; their education was strictly familial, passed down from generation to generation. They'd learned modern magic, yes—but also forgotten secrets: druidic spells, Celtic rituals, Egyptian enchantments, Norse runic chants. Everything the modern magical world had dismissed as "mythical" or "impractical."
"Maybe he has something he wants," Nathael said. "Or something he thinks we have."
"Or something he knows you can find," Celestia corrected.
Nathael smiled.
"You're right. And if Hogwarts is involved… there are certainly hidden treasures there. Secret chambers, restricted libraries, passageways even official maps don't know about."
"The official maps," Celestia repeated with a chuckle. "As if anyone in their right mind would trust those."
Nathael laughed.
"Exactly. But even so… going to Hogwarts isn't just visiting a school. It's stepping into the living history of British magic. And if Dumbledore is interested in exchanging… it might be worth it."
"Only if you buy me a coat," Celestia said seriously. "I've heard Scotland's so cold it freezes thoughts solid. And my fur is delicate."
Nathael stood and walked to the window, where moonlight bathed the streets of the magical quarter.
"Deal. A coat of enchanted wool, lined with augurey feathers. But I haven't said I'll accept."
"You'll go," Celestia said, closing her eyes. "Because you're a Grauheim. And Grauheims never pass up a chance to uncover a secret."
Nathael didn't reply. He simply looked at the letter once more, then tucked it into a drawer warded with a concealment charm.