"We start tomorrow," Nathael said, pouring a second cup of tea. "Nine o'clock in the morning, by the lake. It's quiet there. No one will disturb us."
Hermione nodded, holding her cup with both hands. Steam curled upward in soft spirals, mingling with the scent of dried herbs and old parchment that defined the office.
"Thank you," she said. "I didn't know that… that someone like you…"
"Like me, what?" Nathael asked with a gentle smile.
"I heard rumors you're a treasure hunter. Someone who isn't a professor—who isn't… bound by the school's rules."
"Rules are useful," Celestia said from her cushion by the fireplace, "but they don't always teach you what you truly need to know."
Nathael nodded.
"And you, Hermione… are your parents magical?"
"No," she said naturally. "They're Muggles. Dentists."
Nathael frowned.
"Dentists?"
"Yes!" Hermione said enthusiastically. "They're doctors who specialize in teeth. They fix them, clean them, pull them out when they're sick."
Nathael blinked, impressed.
"There's an entire profession just for teeth?"
"Yes!" Hermione laughed. "And there are many others—podiatrists, ophthalmologists, dermatologists…"
"Fascinating," Nathael said, glancing at Celestia. "Should I take you to get your teeth checked?"
Celestia gave him a look of offense and exasperation.
"My teeth are perfect, thank you. Unlike yours, which look like they've bitten into a cursed grimoire."
Hermione burst out laughing.
"No, no!" she said, still giggling. "That's just for humans. Cats… well, you have your own methods."
"Exactly," Celestia said, regaining her dignity. "And they don't involve toothbrushes."
They parted ways shortly after. Hermione left with a lightness she hadn't carried in when she arrived. Nathael watched from the window until she disappeared among the trees along the path to the lake.
"Do you think she'll survive this place?" Celestia asked.
"She won't just survive," Nathael said. "She'll shine."
They fell silent for a moment.
Then Nathael turned, a spark in his eyes.
"Well. We've met one student. Now… is it time to truly explore the castle's depths?"
Celestia stood, shaking out her fur.
"Of course. Hogwarts isn't just stone and spells. It's a living organism. And organisms… keep secrets in their veins."
But before they could move, a knock came at the door.
Nathael raised an eyebrow.
"Come in."
The door opened with near-ceremonial precision.
A boy entered.
Platinum-blond hair, steel-gray eyes, immaculate clothing: a perfectly tailored black robe, a green tie, shoes so polished they seemed to have been enchanted that very morning. He walked with the posture of someone raised to be seen—not to go unnoticed.
"Mr. Grauheim," he said in a clear, precise voice. "My name is Draco Malfoy."
He gave a slight, formal bow—shallow, but respectful.
Nathael didn't rise. He simply observed him.
"Malfoy… The name is familiar."
"I hope so," Draco said, a hint of pride in his voice. "My father spoke of you—purebloods, treasure hunters, masters of ancestral magic. One of Europe's oldest families."
"I see your father talks a great deal," Nathael said calmly.
"Only about what matters," Draco replied, unoffended.
A pause. Draco seemed uneasy—not from shyness, but from anticipation.
Finally, he said:
"I've come to ask… the honor of being taught by you.
Especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Professor Quirrell is… incompetent."
Nathael didn't answer immediately.
Draco, sensing the silence, lowered his gaze slightly. For a moment, his arrogance cracked—not from fear, but from need.
"At home," he continued, "I was always told Malfoys don't need anyone. But… this is different. This is Hogwarts. And if I'm to be the best… I must learn from the best."
Nathael studied him.
He didn't just see arrogance.
He saw a child raised in a gilded cage, burdened by a name heavier than his body.
He saw insecurity disguised as pride.
He saw the echo of his own eleven-year-old self—the boy who believed power was the only thing that mattered.
"Why," Nathael finally asked, "do you want to learn magic?"
Draco blinked, surprised by the question.
"Because I'm a wizard, of course. It's my right. In my family, we've been wizards for generations. Learning magic is what I was always meant to do."
"Destiny," Nathael murmured. "A heavy word."
He stood.
"Very well. I'll teach you.
Tomorrow, at nine, by the lake.
But you won't be alone. There will be another student."
Draco paled slightly.
"Another?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"That," Nathael said with an enigmatic smile, "you'll find out tomorrow."
Draco nodded, though his jaw tightened.
"Understood. Thank you… Mr. Grauheim."
"Nathael," he corrected.
Draco bowed again and exited with the same elegance with which he'd entered.
When the door closed, Celestia let out a soft snort.
"Why did you agree? He's arrogant. Spoiled. He thinks the world should bow to his name."
Nathael walked to the window. Outside, the sun set behind the lake, gilding the water in gold.
"Because he speaks what every traditional pureblood family professes: pride, lineage, duty.
But that doesn't make him evil. Just… shaped."
He looked at Celestia.
"And beneath that pride, I saw something else—uncertainty. A child who wants to be respected not for his name, but for his own merit. He wants to reach the summit… but isn't sure his wings are strong enough."
He paused.
"I was like that at eleven. I believed being the most powerful was the only way to be worthy.
Anneliese made me see it.
So did you."
Celestia was quiet for a moment.
"It will be interesting," she said at last, "to have two opposites learning together.
A Muggle-born girl who values knowledge above all.
And a pureblood heir who still believes lineage is everything."
Nathael smiled.
"Indeed… interesting."