The first days at Hogwarts passed with the rhythm of an ancient clock: methodical, quiet, filled with secrets only trained eyes could see.
Nathael and Celestia quickly settled into their routine. While the castle buzzed with laughter, hurried footsteps, and the echoes of poorly cast spells, they immersed themselves in the only place they deemed worthy of their time: the Library.
More precisely, the Restricted Section.
Thanks to Dumbledore's special permission, they had full access to tomes even professors handled only with protective gloves. Grimoires written in phoenix blood. Maps of forgotten constellations. Treatises on the magic of the first druids. Some didn't even have titles—only symbols that burned when read aloud.
"This one…" Celestia said one day, licking a paw while holding a parchment aloft with magic, "isn't in the family archives."
"Then it's worth noting," Nathael said, writing in a notebook bound in hippogriff hide.
So four days passed.
And in those four days, she was there.
Always at the same table.
Always sitting straight-backed.
Always surrounded by stacks of books that seemed to breathe with her concentration.
Hermione Granger.
Nathael and Celestia noticed her from the first day—not because of her hair (though her bushy brown curls were impossible to ignore), but because of her silence. It wasn't the silence of loneliness. It was the silence of hunger—the hunger to know, to understand, to master.
But they kept their distance.
She in the common section.
They in the Restricted Section.
They exchanged only a slight nod when passing in the halls—a wordless greeting, a tacit acknowledgment.
Until the fourth day.
Nathael closed a grimoire on Celtic runes and looked at Celestia.
"It's time."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"That girl has the spark," Nathael said. "And if no one guides her… she might burn herself."
They approached Hermione's table.
She was absorbed in a book titled Basic Charms: Foundations for the Young Wizard. Her lips moved as she read, as if silently rehearsing the spells.
"Have you mastered the basics already?" Nathael asked softly.
Hermione jumped.
She looked up, and seeing Nathael and Celestia, her eyes widened.
"Mr. Grauheim! Celestia!"
"Just Nathael," he said with a smile. "And you're welcome to join us, if you'd like."
"Of course," she said, arranging her books with surgical precision. "Thank you."
Celestia leapt onto the chair across from her and sat with feline grace.
"How have your classes been these days?"
"Excellent!" Hermione said enthusiastically. "What I read before coming to Hogwarts has helped a lot. In History of Magic, Professor Binns didn't even ask anything… but in Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall let me demonstrate."
"Oh, really?"
"I was the only one in class who managed to turn the match into a needle," she said, a hint of restrained pride in her voice. "And I earned points for Gryffindor."
"Impressive," Celestia said.
Nathael studied her. Then, gently, he asked,
"And how are things with your… friends?"
Hermione stiffened.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
"I'm fine," she said, looking down. "The girls are… pleasant."
Nathael and Celestia exchanged a glance.
It was a lie.
Not because Hermione was dishonest.
But because she was too honest.
And her voice, when she said "I'm fine," trembled.
"You know," Nathael said, smoothly changing the subject, "our office is always open. If you need help with a subject… or just want to talk to someone who doesn't think memorizing is 'weird'… you're welcome."
Hermione looked at him, surprised.
"Really?"
"Really," Celestia said. "Though I can't promise the tea won't taste of mandrake."
Hermione laughed—a brief, genuine laugh.
Nathael and Celestia took their leave with a nod and returned to the Restricted Section.
But the seed had already been planted.
The next day, Friday, dawned under a gray sky and a wind that smelled of an approaching storm.
For Hermione, it had been a hard day.
Potions class had been a disaster.
Professor Snape, in his black robes and with a voice like a sharpened knife, had been crueler than usual.
When Harry failed to answer a question, Snape humiliated him in front of the entire class.
But when she raised her hand, he didn't even look at her.
Worse still:
When Neville spilled his potion, Snape deducted a point from Gryffindor—and blamed Hermione for "distracting him with her showy knowledge."
"Two points lost in total," she murmured, alone in the corridor, eyes glistening with frustration.
She heard voices.
"Let's go see Hagrid," Harry said. "He invited me this morning—let's go together."
"Now?" Ron asked.
"Yes! Before Snape gives us detention again!"
They walked off, laughing.
Hermione watched them go.
They hadn't invited her.
Hadn't even looked her way.
They weren't friends.
Just housemates.
And in that moment, she remembered Nathael's words:
"Our office is always open."
Without a second thought, she walked toward the east tower.
She reached the door.
Raised her hand to knock.
Before she could, a soft voice from inside said,
"Come in."
Hermione opened the door.
The office was neat, almost austere, yet warm. Books stacked with precision. Ancient maps on the walls. A fireplace with a gentle flame. And in the center, a low table with steaming cups.
Nathael, in a dark green robe, poured tea from a silver teapot.
Celestia, on the windowsill, licked a paw with elegant feline grace.
"Hermione," Nathael said with a smile. "Just in time for tea."
"Thank you," she said, sitting down shyly.
Nathael poured her a cup.
"How was your day?"
Hermione sighed.
"Horrible. Snape… isn't fair."
Celestia purred softly.
"Brilliant professors are often eccentric. But yes… he seems to have a special hatred for Gryffindor."
"Don't dwell on it," Nathael said. "At Hogwarts, points are gained and lost. What matters is what you learn."
Hermione nodded, but her expression darkened.
"And then there's Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"Quirrell?" Celestia asked.
"Yes," Hermione said. "He's… unbearable. He stutters, trembles, can't control the class. All theory, no practice."
"He's not the best professor," Nathael admitted.
"That's why…" Hermione looked at Nathael, determination in her eyes, "could you… teach me?"
Silence.
Nathael studied her for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"Yes. I can teach you."
"It's part of my job, after all."