It was Saturday.
The sun rose gently over Hogwarts Lake, gilding the water with pale gold and making dewdrops sparkle on the leaves. The air was fresh and clean, scented with wild herbs and the distant murmur of waves.
Nathael looked at himself in the mirror of his room.
White linen shirt.
Dark trousers.
Silent boots.
No cloak. No adornments.
"Again with the same outfit?" Celestia said from the windowsill, licking a paw with exaggerated patience. "You've worn this combination since you arrived at Hogwarts. It's repetitive. It gives a poor impression."
"Image isn't about clothes," Nathael said, adjusting his gloves. "It's about confidence. And I feel comfortable."
"Comfortable isn't the same as elegant," she retorted. "I don't want your students thinking you don't care."
"If they think that," Nathael said with a smile, "then they don't know me."
They left the tower and walked in silence along the castle paths. The staircases shifted as they passed. Portraits greeted them with curiosity. Celestia sat on his shoulder, her ancestral collar gleaming in the sunlight.
"Do you think they'll get along?" she asked.
"No," Nathael said. "But they don't need to get along. They need to learn."
When they reached the lake, they saw them.
Hermione sat beneath a willow tree, a book open in her lap, eyes fixed on the horizon—as if waiting for something that never quite arrived.
Draco stood with arms crossed, watching her with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.
"Granger," Draco said mockingly. "Reading again? Do you think if you memorize the whole book, McGonagall will make you a professor?"
Hermione didn't look up.
"At least I can read without stuttering."
Draco frowned.
"You know, for someone who's… well—for who you are, you've got far too much attitude."
"And you," Hermione said coolly, "for being so rich, have very little substance."
Nathael smiled as he approached.
"It seems you've already introduced yourselves."
Both turned.
"She's the other student?" Draco asked in disbelief.
"Him?" Hermione said, surprised.
Nathael sat on the grass, Celestia at his side.
"Now, you're both my students. And I'll teach you both."
"But—!" Draco began.
"It's not negotiable," Nathael said gently but firmly.
Hermione looked down, uncomfortable.
"If you don't want to," Nathael added, "you may leave. But if you stay… you'll respect your classmate. Understood?"
Neither answered. But neither moved.
"Good," Nathael said. "Make yourselves comfortable."
They walked to an ancient oak whose roots dipped into the lake. They sat in a circle. The water shimmered. The wind whispered. And silence stretched between them.
For several minutes, no one spoke.
Draco stared at the lake, arms crossed.
Hermione flipped pages of her book—though she wasn't reading.
Celestia watched them both, eyes narrowed.
Finally, Nathael spoke.
"You want me to teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts.
But… do you even know what the Dark Arts are?"
Hermione raised her hand instantly.
Nathael chuckled softly.
"You're not in class, Hermione. You don't need to raise your hand. Just answer."
She lowered her hand, slightly flushed.
"The Dark Arts," she said clearly, "are a branch of magic deemed illegal by the Ministry of Magic due to their harmful nature. They include the Unforgivable Curses—the Avada Kedavra, the Crucio, and the Imperio. Official texts state that their use corrupts the soul and is reserved for those with malicious intent."
Nathael nodded.
"Precise. Straight from the books."
He turned to Draco.
"And you, Draco?"
Draco, who'd avoided looking at Hermione, sighed.
"They're… powerful magic. Illegal, yes.
The Ministry bans them because they fear those who master them.
In my family… we were always taught that power isn't moral. It's a tool."
Nathael nodded again.
"Two valid perspectives.
One, of the law.
The other, of lineage."
He fell silent for a moment.
Then he looked out over the lake.
"But dark magic… isn't good or evil.
It's a reflection of the shadows within the human soul.
All magic flows from the same vital force that moves through the world—the same river. Some drink from its calm shores. Others, from its dark currents."
He paused.
"'Dark' doesn't mean wicked. It means deep. Dangerous. Close to pain, to death, to what the world tries to hide.
The problem isn't the magic. It's the heart of the wizard."
He looked at them both.
"To reject darkness entirely can lead to ignorance… or fear.
But to understand it without being ruled by it—that is the mark of true wisdom."
Draco frowned.
"So… it's not evil?"
"A knife," Nathael said,
"can be used to cut bread for the hungry.
Or to kill.
Is the knife evil?
Or is it the one who wields it?"
Silence returned.
This time, heavier.
Hermione stared at her hands, thoughtful.
Draco watched the water, as if seeking answers in the ripples.
Nathael let the moment breathe.
"With me," he said at last, "you will learn not only to defend yourselves against magic deemed 'dark.'
You will learn to understand it.
And, if you prove ready… to use it without being consumed by it."
Hermione lifted her head, concerned.
"Use it?"
"Only if you're ready," Nathael said. "I don't teach power. I teach control."
Draco, however, smiled.
"So… will I learn the Unforgivable Curses?"
"No," Nathael said. "You'll learn something far more valuable: how to feel them before they touch you. How to break them from within. How to see darkness in an enemy's eyes… and not flinch."
Draco nodded, a new spark in his eyes.
Hermione, however, seemed torn. She wanted to learn—but feared crossing a line she wasn't sure existed.
Celestia, from her place, purred softly.
"Knowledge doesn't corrupt," she said. "Fear does."
Nathael stood.
"That's all for today.
Go and think on this.
Tomorrow… we truly begin."
Hermione and Draco rose.
They looked at each other—
not with hatred, nor friendship,
but with curiosity.
And in that silence, Nathael knew his work had begun.