The weeks passed with a calm that almost felt strange.
Nathael and Celestia had found their rhythm at Hogwarts. In the mornings, they explored the library. In the afternoons, they walked the corridors, searching for ancient runes, secret rooms, hidden passageways. At night, they returned to the Room of Requirement—that magical chamber that appeared only when one truly needed it.
Sometimes they found books that existed nowhere else in the castle. Other times, they found only comfortable armchairs and hot tea. But it was always a refuge.
Occasionally, a student would approach with a question:
"Mr. Grauheim, do you know how the preservation charm works in potions?"
"Is it true the ancient Egyptians used phoenix-bone wands?"
"Can you help me with my essay on runes?"
But nothing was truly compelling—just ordinary curiosity.
The real significance happened on weekends.
Saturdays and Sundays.
At dawn, by the lake, Nathael taught.
Draco and Hermione arrived punctually. Sometimes they greeted each other. Sometimes they didn't. But they no longer insulted or challenged one another. An unspoken pact existed: as long as they were Nathael's students, they wouldn't attack each other.
And that, in itself, was a miracle.
Draco remained arrogant with everyone else. He mocked Neville for his clumsiness, Ron for his shabby clothes, Harry for his scar. And Crabbe and Goyle always trailed him like silent shadows.
But with Hermione… it was different.
One Thursday morning in the Great Hall, Neville received a package from his grandmother—his Remembrall, a small sphere that reminded him of things he always forgot.
Draco, passing by, spotted it.
"What's this?" he said, snatching it from Neville's hands. "A crystal ball to predict when you'll fall off your broom?"
Neville paled.
"Please give it back…"
Hermione, a few meters away and already tense about that afternoon's flying lesson, stepped forward.
"Give it back, Malfoy."
Draco looked at her.
For a second, it seemed he would laugh.
But he didn't.
"Here," he said, tossing it back. "I don't want your weird magic contaminating me."
He walked off with Crabbe and Goyle.
Harry and Ron, who had watched everything, stood speechless.
"Since when does Malfoy listen to Hermione?" Ron asked.
"I don't know," Harry said. "But it's weird."
-----------------
That same afternoon, flying class spiraled out of control.
Madam Hooch was teaching them to mount brooms.
"Until I say otherwise, do not get on," she instructed. "Just place your hand over the broom and say: 'Up!'"
One by one, students got their brooms into their hands, ready to lift off at her command.
But Neville, nervous, said it too forcefully.
His broom shot up—and didn't stop.
"Neville, get down now!" Madam Hooch shouted.
But it was too late.
Neville shot into the sky, clinging tightly to the broom as it bucked wildly, as if alive.
"Get off!" someone yelled.
But Neville couldn't. He was terrified.
And then… he fell like a stone.
Hermione reacted instantly.
She drew her wand.
"Arresto Momentum!"
It was one of the spells Nathael had taught them—a containment charm to soften falls.
But she lacked precision.
And control.
The spell worked… but not completely.
Neville fell more slowly, yes—but still hard enough to break his wrist.
"Damn it!" Hermione muttered, eyes filled with frustration.
If only Draco and I had cast the spell together… we could have saved him.
But Draco didn't look at her. He only watched with a mix of disdain and mockery.
Madam Hooch took Neville to the hospital wing.
"Nobody move from this spot!" she shouted. "If any of you mounts your broom before I return, you'll be expelled before I can say 'Quidditch!'"
But Draco didn't listen.
"Look at this, Potter," he said, picking up Neville's Remembrall from the ground.
He threw it into the air.
"Go fetch it!"
Harry, without thinking, mounted his broom.
"Harry, no!" Hermione cried.
But Harry was already airborne.
He flew as if born for it—leaning, turning, accelerating—and caught the Remembrall inches from the ground.
The courtyard fell silent.
Until Draco said:
"Who do you think you are? A Quidditch player?"
Harry landed, Remembrall in hand.
"At least I'm not a coward who bullies others to feel big."
Draco turned pale.
"You'll pay for that, Potter."
"Enough!" a voice boomed.
It was Professor McGonagall.
"Mr. Potter. With me. Now."
Harry followed her, confused.
Ron looked at Hermione.
"Do you think he'll be expelled?"
"I don't think so," Hermione said. "But he'll be punished."
---------------------
At dinner, the rumor was already spreading among a small group of Gryffindors.
"Harry Potter's going to be Gryffindor's new Seeker!"
"But he's only a first year!"
"It's never happened before!"
Harry entered the Great Hall with his head down—but when his Gryffindor classmates cheered, a shy smile appeared on his face.
Draco, from the Slytherin table, watched him with hatred.
He stood, followed by Crabbe and Goyle, and walked toward Harry.
"Tonight," he said, voice low but clear. "If you want. A wizard's duel. Wands only—no physical contact."
Harry looked at him, confused.
"What? You've never heard of wizard duels, have you?"
Ron jumped up.
"I'll be your second."
"Your what?" Harry asked.
"Your second. In duels, seconds take over if you're killed."
"Killed?" Harry paled.
"Oh, relax," Ron said. "People only die in real duels. You and Malfoy don't know enough magic to cause real harm. At most, you'll just shoot sparks."
"Besides," he added, "he probably expected you to back down."
But before Harry could reply, Hermione stepped in.
"You're wrong."
They all turned to her.
"Draco knows many offensive spells," she said firmly. "I know because he and I take private lessons together with the academic consultant, Nathael Grauheim."
Harry and Ron stared at her, suspicious.
"You… take lessons with Malfoy?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Hermione said.
"So," Harry said, "you're on the enemy's side."
"I'm not on anyone's side," Hermione said. "I'm just telling the truth."
"Well, don't interfere," Ron snapped. "This isn't your business."
Hermione lowered her gaze.
And in that moment, she knew—even if she tried to help, she would never truly be one of them.