The backyard of the house-inn in Forks was small but intimate: a wooden deck overlooking the river, hanging lights flickering in the cold wind, and a smoking grill at its center. The meat—fine beef for Celestia, marinated veal for the rest—browned slowly, rotating by itself thanks to a gentle spinning charm and a seasoning enchantment that released herbs and spices with every turn.
Nathael sat in a wooden chair, legs stretched out, a glass of red wine in hand. Around him, Draco, Hermione, Kate, and Carrie listened intently as Celestia, curled up in his lap, licked a paw with an air of smug satisfaction.
"And as I was saying," Nathael said with a smile, "Celestia secretly took an old broom from the attic of the manor when she was five and just started flying around the whole estate—down the halls, through the library, even over the roof."
Celestia opened one eye, offended but amused.
"I was five," she clarified, her voice soft but firm. "And I'd just seen the wonderful world of Quidditch. How could I not want to fly?"
"Of course," Nathael laughed. "But I was below, looking up, thinking you'd fall any second. You were doing loops, spins, even standing on your head on the broom."
"Because I'm a prodigy," Celestia said proudly. "Did you think I'd fall?"
"I didn't know," Nathael admitted. "I only knew that if you fell, my mother would make me clean the knarl stables for a month."
Draco let out an unexpected laugh. Hermione chuckled too, and Kate smiled, wrapped in a thick scarf. Even Carrie—always shy and quiet—looked up and let out a small smile.
"In the end," Nathael continued, "I had to fetch Selene. Because you wouldn't come down. You kept saying, 'The sky is my kingdom, and no one has the right to banish me.'"
Celestia huffed.
"It was poetic. And she—with her 'magical discipline' and 'safety rules'—ruined everything."
"She brought you down in one move," Nathael said, "and then gave you a three-hour lecture about the dangers of unsupervised flying."
"And she took my broom away for two whole weeks," Celestia added dramatically. "Two weeks without feeling the wind between my ears. It was torture."
Everyone laughed. The tension that always hovered in the air around Carrie eased—if only for a moment. There was warmth. There was belonging.
"And you, Draco?" Hermione asked curiously. "Did you ever do something like that?"
Draco settled back in his chair, a subtle smile on his lips.
"Once, at the manor, I mounted my broom and flew so high I nearly collided with a Muggle airplane."
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"An airplane? Really?"
"Yes," Draco said firmly. "It was big, noisy, and flew in a straight line. If I hadn't turned in time, I would've hit it."
"Hard to believe," Nathael said with a smile.
"But it could be true!" Celestia interjected. "When it comes to flying and Quidditch, anything is possible—even a child dodging a 747."
Hermione shook her head, laughing.
"In my case," she said, changing the subject, "when I was little, things moved on their own. Books fell off shelves. Cups slid across tables. Once, my favorite stuffed bear disappeared… and reappeared in the kitchen."
"What did your parents think?" Kate asked.
"At first, they thought it was my imagination. Then they blamed drafts. Later… they started suspecting ghosts. But when my Hogwarts letter came—and Professor McGonagall arrived to explain everything—it all made sense."
"It must've been… liberating," Carrie said softly.
Hermione looked at her, surprised by the interjection. Then she nodded.
"Yes. It was like someone finally told me, 'You're not crazy. You're magical.'"
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was understanding. Carrie lowered her gaze—but this time without shame. Only with something that, for the first time in a long while, resembled hope.
Nathael stood and, with a wave of his wand, removed the meat from the grill. Plates floated from the kitchen and settled before each of them.
"Let's eat," he said. "Because after this… comes the real lesson."
They ate in silence for a few minutes. The meat was perfect—juicy, with a hint of rosemary and garlic that Celestia had insisted on using. Red wine for the adults, and a local drink Kate had found for the younger ones, created a warm balance at the table.
After dessert—apple pie and vanilla ice cream with caramel sauce—Nathael leaned back in his chair and looked at Draco and Hermione.
"Now it's time for your next lesson."
Both straightened instantly, as if they'd been waiting for those words since they arrived.
But Nathael didn't stop there. He looked at Carrie.
"And you can listen too. Because now you're my third student."
Draco and Hermione exchanged surprised glances. Then, with a sincere smile, Hermione said:
"Welcome, Carrie."
"Yes," Draco added, giving a slight nod. "Welcome."
Carrie looked at them, eyes shining. She didn't say anything. But she nodded.
Nathael stood and began walking through the garden.
"Most modern wizards think magic is just that: spells. Wands. Magic words. But they forget something fundamental—the body."
He stopped and turned to them.
"A wizard's body isn't like a Muggle's. It's stronger. More resilient. More agile. And not because we train more—in fact, hardly anyone trains their body. It's because magic, even when we're not using it, nourishes our muscles, bones, and senses—unconsciously. Constantly."
He paused.
"That's why if a wizard breaks an arm, it hurts—of course it does. But not as badly as it would a Muggle. Because magic accelerates healing, cushions impact, even the pain has a kind of… magical dampening."
Draco frowned.
"I've never thought of it that way."
"Because no one teaches it," Nathael said. "Modern schools are all theory—spells, points. But in ancient times… it was different."
He walked to the grill and, with a gesture, extinguished the fire.
"Today, duels have become long-range spell exchanges. But before… it was hand-to-hand combat. Swords. Daggers. Fists. Because if your enemy is close enough, you don't need to cast a spell. You only need to cut off the hand holding the wand."
He looked at Hermione.
"Gryffindor wasn't just a powerful wizard. He was a fearsome swordsman. It's said he could disarm three opponents before they finished saying 'Expelliarmus' with his blade."
Then he looked at Draco.
"And Slytherin… preferred poison and cunning. But he knew how to move in silence. He could be behind you before you knew he'd entered the room."
Finally, he looked at Carrie.
"And you… have very strong magical reserves. If you train your body, you'll move faster than your eyes can follow."
He paused.
"That's why, starting tomorrow, you'll train your bodies. You'll run. Jump. Dodge. Because in a fight, dodging is the same as surviving. An Avada Kedavra won't kill you if it doesn't hit you. And if you're fast enough… it won't."
The three nodded. Determination shone in their eyes.
"Tomorrow at dawn," Nathael said. "We run through the forest. Then agility drills. Then hand-to-hand combat—not with wands. With reflexes."
"And you?" Hermione asked. "Will you train with us?"
Nathael smiled.
"No. Celestia and I have… other business to attend to."
Celestia leapt to her feet.
"That's right. We have to go to La Push."
"La Push?" Kate asked, surprised. "Why?"
"It's… a business matter," Nathael said evasively. "But don't worry. We'll be back by noon."
Kate looked at him, an expression on her face that said she knew there was more—but she didn't press.
"Understood."
Nathael looked at his students.
"Rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."
They stood and began clearing the plates.