It was Sunday.
Nine-thirty in the morning.
By the Hogwarts lake, under a cloudy but warm sky, Draco Malfoy paced back and forth with his hands in his pockets, eyeing the water with impatience.
"Do you think he'll come today?" he asked, not looking at Hermione Granger, who sat beneath an oak tree with a copy of Basic Magical Theory open on her lap.
"Of course he will," Hermione said, not lifting her eyes. "Nathael isn't the kind to break his word."
"Maybe he overslept," Draco said with a mocking smile. "Or maybe he realized teaching a Muggle-born and a Malfoy is too much for him."
Hermione closed her book with a soft snap.
"Or maybe," she said, finally looking at him, "he realized teaching a spoiled brat who thinks the world revolves around him is harder than he thought."
Draco opened his mouth to retort—but stopped himself. He didn't want to waste energy arguing. After all, he still needed to remain Nathael's student.
-----------------
Meanwhile, in the east tower, Nathael slept soundly.
His room was dim. The curtains were drawn. Scattered across the floor—like they'd been flung during a magical outburst—were maps, parchments, and an empty cup of cold tea.
Celestia, curled on the windowsill, stretched with feline grace.
She opened one eye.
Glanced at the magical sun-clock on the wall.
Wrinkled her nose.
"Nathael!"
She leapt onto his chest and planted both front paws firmly on him.
Nathael jolted awake, eyes wide, wand in hand before realizing it was only Celestia.
"Merlin's beard!" he gasped. "What's wrong?"
"It's nine thirty-five," Celestia said dryly. "Your students have been waiting for thirty-five minutes."
Nathael blinked. Then remembered.
"The lake!"
He sprang up, tripped over a stack of books, and nearly fell.
"That strange Room of Requirement!" he muttered. "We stayed too late testing theories about how it works."
"And now you smell like sleep and chaos," Celestia said. "Though at least you don't have deep eye bags."
He dressed in minutes: white linen shirt, dark trousers, boots. No cloak. No formalities. Just the essentials.
"Let's go," he said. "I don't want them thinking I'm irresponsible."
"Too late," Celestia said, leaping onto his shoulder. "But at least you can be irresponsible with style."
-----------------
When they reached the lake, Nathael saw them.
Draco stood with arms crossed, glaring at the water as if it were personally to blame.
Hermione sat reading—but her eyes were restless, as if she'd been tracking every one of Draco's steps for the past half hour.
Nathael whispered,
"At least they're not fighting."
He approached.
"My apologies," he said with a slight bow. "I had… an unforeseen delay."
"You overslept?" Hermione asked—curious, not judgmental.
"Something like that," Nathael smiled.
He knew better than to nap by the lake. It was too peaceful. Too… relaxing.
"Let's walk," he said. "Along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It's quiet. And safe."
They walked in silence for a few minutes. The wind rustled the leaves. Birds sang. And the Forest, though dark, seemed to watch them with quiet respect.
"Before I teach you how to defend yourselves," Nathael said, "I want to know what you already know. Do you know any offensive spells?"
Draco straightened instantly, pride in his voice.
"Yes. Tarantallegra. The dancing feet jinx."
Nathael nodded.
"Ah, that one. Not bad. To a point, it can be considered offensive—it immobilizes the opponent, though more humiliatingly than dangerously."
He turned to Hermione.
"And you?"
Hermione hesitated. Glanced at Draco, who was already watching her with one eyebrow raised.
"Incendio," she finally said.
Draco snorted.
"Incendio? Seriously?"
But Nathael and Celestia didn't laugh.
Because it was only the first week of term.
Most students hadn't cast a single real spell yet. Many hadn't even unpacked their books. Hogwarts students typically didn't practice real magic until age eleven.
But in the Grauheim family…
Children began practicing runes at five.
By seven, they cast minor shields.
By nine, they handled basic ancestral magic.
"Incendio," Celestia said, "isn't just 'fire.' It's control. Precision. Mastery over a primal element."
"Show me," Nathael said.
Hermione, uncertain, raised her wand.
"Incendio."
A clean, red flame sprang from the tip and settled gently on the ground, burning calmly.
"Impressive," Nathael said. "It's not too large or wild—it's controlled."
Draco frowned.
"Anyone can do that."
"No," Nathael said. "Only those who understand the fundamentals of magic can."
He paused.
"Now, imagine one of those spells—yours or Draco's—hits you.
What would you do?"
Hermione answered instantly.
"I'd wait for help."
Draco, however, stood tall.
"I'd cast a stronger spell back. Or one to stop the first."
"Interesting," Nathael said. "And what spell would you use to stop it?"
"Finite," Hermione said at once, as Draco remained silent.
"Excellent," Nathael said. "Draco, you know what to do. Hermione, you know how to do it."
He looked at both of them.
"Together… you gave the right answer."
Hermione and Draco exchanged a glance.
"The spell you need," Nathael said, "is Finite, as Hermione said."
He pointed his wand at Hermione's flame.
"Finite."
The flame vanished instantly.
"It's one of the most used spells in duels—and in daily life. It cancels a single minor active magical effect: a fire, a binding, a dancing jinx."
He paused.
"And there's an advanced version: Finite Incantatem. It neutralizes multiple spells—even powerful ones—on a target or in an area. But it requires absolute emotional control."
He crouched and, with a flick of his fingers, summoned two new flames on the ground.
"Now, you try."
He stepped behind them.
"Focus. Close your eyes. Visualize the flame going out. Don't use anger. Don't use fear. Just… certainty that you can do it."
Hermione raised her wand.
"Finite."
Nothing.
Draco tried.
"Finite!"
The flame didn't flinch.
"Again," Nathael said.
They tried again and again.
Until, on the fifth attempt, Hermione succeeded.
The flame extinguished with a soft puff.
"I did it!" she exclaimed, eyes shining.
"Good work," Nathael said.
Draco clenched his jaw.
"Why won't it work for me?"
"Because you're forcing it," Nathael said. "Magic isn't won through strength. It's won through peace."
He raised a hand and cast a soft, nearly imperceptible spell—an aura of calm enveloped Draco.
"Breathe. Feel the silence. Now… try."
Draco closed his eyes.
"Finite."
The flame went out.
"Good work, Draco," Nathael said. "Remember that feeling. It's the key."
-----------------
They walked back toward the lake.
The sun had grown stronger. The water shimmered. Nathael, Draco, and Hermione walked in comfortable silence, savoring the morning.
"Hey," Draco said suddenly. "If Finite Incantatem is that powerful… could it break a curse like the Imperius?"
Nathael looked at him.
"Theoretically… no. Books say the Unforgivable Curses are sealed with magic that can't be broken by ordinary spells."
He paused.
"But magic is unpredictable. A wizard strong enough… with knowledge of ancestral magic… might attempt it. But that… is very advanced."
He looked at them both.
"For now, practice Finite. Once you master it… we'll move on to Finite Incantatem."
He stopped.
"And remember: you're not competing. You're learning."
Hermione nodded.
After a moment, Draco did too.
"See you next Saturday," Nathael said.
"Yes," Hermione said.
"Sure," Draco said.
They parted ways.
And as Nathael and Celestia headed back to the castle, she purred:
"Today was good."
"Yes," Nathael said. "Though I'm dying for a bit more sleep."