Cold settled gently over London as the group stepped out of Heathrow Airport, wrapped in thick coats, scarves, and the quiet warmth of a journey that had changed their lives. The air smelled of woodsmoke and roasted chestnuts. Nathael walked ahead, Celestia perched on his shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket. Behind him, Draco and Hermione chatted about holiday assignments—walking luggage-free, knowing everything was safely compressed inside Celestia's storage ring—while Kate and Carrie walked side by side, speaking in low voices as if sharing a secret only they understood.
"First, Diagon Alley," Nathael said without turning, but with a smile in his voice. "We have unfinished business."
They entered the Leaky Cauldron as if they'd never left. The pub was busier than usual: witches in top hats, wizards in hand-knitted scarves, and goblins counting coins in shadowed corners. Tom, the innkeeper, recognized them instantly.
"Mr. Grauheim!" he exclaimed with a grin. "Welcome back! The cold hasn't been the same since you left."
"Thank you, Tom," Nathael replied, offering a slight nod. "We're just passing through to the Alley."
They exited through the back door, and with a sharp tap of Nathael's wand against the bricks, the wall parted into a flowering archway, revealing bustling Diagon Alley—lit by magical lanterns and adorned with Christmas garlands singing carols in perfect harmony.
The group walked in silence, admiring shop windows: racing brooms at Quality Quidditch Supplies, bubbling cauldrons at Caligari Cauldrons, and at the heart of it all, the oldest and most mysterious shop: Ollivanders. Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.
Nathael halted before its door.
"Carrie," he said softly, "it's time to buy your wand."
Carrie blinked, surprised.
"Me?"
"Yes," Celestia said, leaping from his shoulder to stand beside her. "Every witch deserves a wand. And you… are one of us now."
All five stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of dust and aged wood. Shelves stretched to the ceiling, lined with slender wand boxes waiting for their owners.
A few seconds later, the elderly Mr. Ollivander emerged from the shadows, his silvery eyes gleaming with curiosity.
"Nathael Grauheim," he said, his voice echoing like distant whispers. "It's been months since you last visited. And you've brought… interesting company."
His gaze settled on Carrie, and for an instant, his eyes widened slightly.
"Older than eleven," he murmured. "Rare. Very rare. But not impossible."
He asked no questions. He simply nodded, as though he already knew everything he needed to.
"Right arm or left?"
Carrie extended her right hand, trembling slightly. Ollivander measured it with a tape and pulled down one box after another from the shelves, testing wands with swift motions while murmuring wood types and core materials.
"Birch, unicorn hair… no."
"Oak, phoenix feather… not this one either."
"Pine, dragon scale… close, but no."
Finally, he opened a box of dark wood, its lid etched with barely visible runes.
"Dark ash," he said. "Dragon heartstring. Eleven inches. Flexible, yet willful."
As he placed it in Carrie's hand, a soft golden light radiated from the tip, bathing her face in warmth that seemed to come from within.
Ollivander smiled.
"Ah," he said. "That's the one. The wand has chosen… and it chose long ago. It was merely waiting for its owner."
Carrie stared at the wand, tears welling in her eyes.
"Thank you," she said—first to Ollivander, then to Nathael and Celestia. "Thank you… for everything."
"It was nothing," Nathael replied with a smile. "Just what was right."
They purchased the wand. Then Nathael handed Ollivander a small package wrapped in sealed parchment.
"I found this in a market in Istanbul last year," he said quietly. "I thought she'd like it… and I'd prefer if no one else knew about it."
Ollivander nodded, tucking the package away unopened. After decades of observing witches and wizards, he could sense the immense magic within Carrie—and understood Nathael's desire for discretion.
The group stepped back into the Alley, Carrie cradling her wand as if it were a newly discovered treasure.
Nathael turned to Draco and Hermione.
"I'll take you back to your families," he said. "It's Christmas. You should be with them."
Hermione looked down. Draco frowned.
"We don't have to leave right now," Hermione said softly.
"My parents… I suppose they'll be worried," Draco added, though without conviction.
Nathael looked at them, a rare tenderness in his eyes.
"That's exactly why you should go," he said. "Spend this important day with them. I'll come see you after Christmas."
They nodded—reluctant, yet grateful.
Nathael raised his wand.
"Hold on."
With a smooth motion, he wrapped them in magic and Apparated. The world dissolved.
At Malfoy Manor, Draco appeared before his mother, who pulled him into a tight embrace, her eyes glistening. But before he could speak, he doubled over and discreetly vomited into a nearby shrub.
"Draco!" Narcissa cried, alarmed.
"It's normal," said a voice from the shadows. Celestia stepped forward with feline grace and cast a gentle spell.
Draco's color returned instantly.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"Rest," Celestia said. "And don't tell your father you vomited. Ruins the image."
In London, Hermione appeared in front of her house. Her parents waited at the door, arms open—but she, too, immediately bent over and retched onto the lawn.
"Hermione!" her mother shouted.
From the roof of the neighboring house, Celestia cast the same spell.
Hermione took a deep breath.
"Thank you," she whispered, smiling.
"Merry Christmas," Celestia said—and vanished.
Back at the Leaky Cauldron, Nathael, Celestia, Kate, and Carrie gathered around a table by the fireplace.
"Now," Nathael said, "it's our turn."
"Where are we going?" Kate asked.
"To Hogsmeade," he replied. "A magical village near Hogwarts. That's where we'll live."
Carrie looked at him, eyes wide with hope.
"I'll live there? With you?"
"Yes," Nathael said. "Although… it's unlikely Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts' headmaster, will admit you as a student. You're sixteen. Magical schools rarely accept witches or wizards older than eleven."
Carrie's gaze dropped, but Nathael gently lifted her chin.
"But since you're my student," he continued, "you can live in Hogsmeade. And I'll come teach you often. You don't need a school. You have a master."
Carrie smiled, relieved.
"Thank you, Nathael. Truly."
Then Nathael turned to Kate.
"And you're welcome too. But since you're a Muggle, you can't stay in Hogsmeade permanently. Still… you could visit often. Or stay wherever you like."
Kate shook her head, a shy smile on her lips.
"No," she said. "I want to go to Hogsmeade. I want to be with Carrie." She paused, blushed faintly, and looked at Nathael. "And… see you often, right?"
Nathael chuckled softly.
"Of course."
They paid for their drinks and left the pub. The sun was setting, painting the sky gold and violet. Nathael took Carrie's and Kate's hands.
"Ready?"
They both nodded.
Apparition.
The world dissolved.
In Hogsmeade, snow fell gently over cobbled streets, slate-roofed cottages, and magical lanterns strung beneath eaves. The air smelled of butterbeer and freshly baked bread.
Kate, the moment her feet touched the ground, doubled over and vomited into the snow.
"Ugh!" she groaned. "Never again."
But Carrie… didn't move. She simply looked around, eyes wide with wonder.
"You don't feel sick?" Nathael asked, surprised.
"No," she said, smiling. "It's… like my body already knew what was coming."
Celestia let out a satisfied purr, her feline grin knowing.
"Interesting. Your magic is already attuned to the world's magical fabric. You're stronger than you realize."
Nathael smiled and wrapped both girls in an embrace beneath Hogsmeade's falling snow.
"Welcome home," he said.