The summer afternoon was soft and golden, sunlight pouring through the lace curtains of the Slughorn residence. Cela had been reading quietly in her grandfather's study when the sound of wings beat against the window. She looked up, startled, just as a barn owl tapped insistently at the glass.
"Oh?" Cela whispered, setting her book aside. She opened the window and untied the envelope from its leg. The owl gave her a dignified hoot before taking off into the sky again.
The wax seal caught her attention first: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Her heart skipped.
Hands trembling, she broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. The words were official, crisp, almost ceremonial:
{Dear Miss Celestia Slughorn,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins September 1. Enclosed is a list of required books and equipment.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
Cela's lips parted in surprise, then curved into the faintest smile. "Hogwarts…" she murmured. The name alone carried weight. For so long, she had assumed she would remain homeschooled under her grandfather's careful tutelage. Yet here was the school itself reaching out to her, as though it had not forgotten the Slughorn name.
"So, you didn't forget your promise professor Dumbledore," Cela murmured with a gentle smile.
Her shoes clicked softly against the wood as she crossed the study to where her grandfather sat, reading the Practical Potioneer.
"Grandfather," she said gently, holding the letter. "I—I've received my Hogwarts admission."
Horace Slughorn's thick brows rose as he looked up from his paper. "Oh?" He leaned forward, peering at the seal with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. "It seems Dumbledore is as stubborn as ever."
He set the journal down, plucked the parchment from her hand, and scanned it once. A long sigh escaped him. "Well, well, what a waste of owl feathers. I'll just put this letter away."
He tossed it atop a stack of unopened correspondence, as though it were no more significant than a bill for Floo Network taxes.
Cela's smile faltered. "You don't think… it's important?"
Slughorn waved a hand dismissively. "Not in the slightest. Don't trouble yourself over such things, my dear. Hogwarts isn't fit for you. Not anymore. Not with the state it's in."
She hesitated, then lowered her eyes. "Yes, Grandfather…"
**************
The next morning, Cela woke to the flutter of wings again. Another owl had delivered a second letter, identical in parchment and seal. She carried it to the breakfast table where Horace was devouring kippers and toast.
"Grandfather," she said cautiously. "Another letter has arrived."
Horace didn't even look up. "Ignore it, Cela."
"But—"
"Just ignore it," he repeated firmly, buttering his bread with unnecessary vigor.
Cela's shoulders slumped. She folded the parchment closed, silently slipping it into her pocket.
**************
By the third day, the pattern was undeniable. Every morning, like clockwork, a new owl arrived bearing a new Hogwarts admission letter. Sometimes the wording varied slightly, but the message was always the same: an invitation to join the school.
Cela brought the stack to her grandfather's study. The pile in her arms was absurdly thick now—at least five or six letters.
"Grandfather," she said, exasperated, "they won't stop."
Horace finally snapped his journal closed. His cheeks flushed crimson as he rose from his chair. "Enough! Enough of this nonsense!"
He stomped to his desk, seized parchment, and began writing furiously. Cela peered over his shoulder as the words poured out:
{To Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore,
You insufferable old meddler! Stop sending me admission letters for my granddaughter! I refuse—absolutely REFUSE—to let her set foot in your blasted castle! If you think a shower of owls will wear me down, you are sorely mistaken. Take your letters, your Hogwarts, and your endless stubbornness and stuff them up a cauldron.}
The quill scratched with increasing ferocity.
{Do you think I don't know what you're doing? Do you think I've forgotten the wars, the attacks, the chaos? Sirius Black is out there, ready to stroll through your gates at any moment. And you dare presume I'll toss my granddaughter into that pit of danger? Ha! I'd sooner throw her into a Hungarian Horntail's nest.}
Slughorn signed it with an emphatic flourish: Horace E. F. Slughorn.
Then, as though parchment itself could not contain his rage, he tapped his wand. The ink leapt to life, bellowing out his words in a booming voice. The walls of the house shook with his magical echo. Cela flinched as the desk quivered under the spell's resonance.
The Shouting Letter rolled itself into a scroll and flew straight into the fireplace, vanishing in a burst of green flames toward Dumbledore's office.
Cela raised both eyebrows, seeing her grandfather's fury. "Well, Merlin help you, Professor Dumbledore," she said. "It seems our plan didn't work."
****************
At Hogwarts, the fire in the Headmaster's office roared. Out of the flames burst Slughorn's voice, magnified to the point that dust fell from the ceiling.
"ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE, YOU BLOODY OLD GOAT! CEASE YOUR INFERNAL LETTERS THIS INSTANT!"
Dumbledore, seated serenely at his desk, folded his hands. He listened with mild amusement as Slughorn's tirade shook the portraits along the walls.
"IF YOU SEND SO MUCH AS ONE MORE OWL, I SWEAR ON MERLIN'S BEARD, I'LL HEX EVERY FEATHER OFF YOUR BEARD!"
The portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black snorted in laughter. "Oh, this is marvelous. I always said that Slughorn had a wild temper behind that innocent face of his. And about time someone shouted at you properly, Dumbledore."
The Headmaster merely smiled, his eyes twinkling.
The Shouting Letter continued, Horace's voice rising to fever pitch:
"AND DON'T YOU DARE THINK I HAVEN'T NOTICED YOUR LITTLE GUILT-RIDDEN GAMES, ALBUS! IF YOU WANT TO MAKE AMENDS FOR THE PAST, THEN FIX YOUR BLOODY CASTLE! GUARD IT AGAINST SIRIUS BLACK! I WON'T SEND MY GRANDDAUGHTER TO A SCHOOL THAT COULD BE ATTACKED AT ANY MOMENT!"
At last, the letter ended with a fiery rip, the embers scattering across the hearth. Silence returned.
Phineas's portrait leaned forward with a smirk. "Well? Why are you so stubborn, Albus? If the man doesn't want his granddaughter at Hogwarts, let it be."
Dumbledore exhaled softly, his gaze distant. "Because, my dear Phineas, I am partially to blame."
The portrait blinked. "Blame? For what?"
"For why Horace will not send Celestia here," Dumbledore replied. His voice grew quiet, heavy with memory. "He lost one of his own. He lost colleagues and friends. He saw too much blood. He buried too many students. And… he saw me fail, time and again, to keep them safe."
Phineas frowned but said nothing.
Dumbledore's hands tightened on his desk. "I will not see Cela—innocent, bright, full of promise—robbed of the years of wonder and learning that Hogwarts can offer. She deserves laughter in the Great Hall, nights in the dormitories, the thrill of classes and friendship. I cannot let his bitterness take that from her."
His blue eyes glimmered as he stared into the flames. "So I will send another letter tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that, until Horace's stubbornness breaks."
***********
Back at the Slughorn household, Cela watched her grandfather stomp around the study like a storm contained in velvet slippers.
"Old fool," Horace muttered. "Thinks he knows what's best for my family. Not this time. Not with Cela."
She sat silently in the armchair, clutching the stack of Hogwarts letters. Part of her longed to answer one, to imagine herself walking through those ancient halls. Yet she swallowed her words, for the weight of her grandfather's anger was too great.
Still, the letters kept coming. And Dumbledore kept smiling.