One afternoon Cela sat slouched on the sofa, staring at the empty room before her. Her eyes were unfocused, lost somewhere far away in her thoughts. The quiet tick of the old clock filled the silence, broken only when Horace Slughorn shuffled in and noticed her unusual stillness.
"Well, well," he said with a smile as he lowered himself into the chair opposite her. "What's this, my girl? I don't think I've ever caught you sitting idle before. No cauldrons bubbling, no pots stirring, no broom in hand. What weighs so heavily on that mind of yours? Tell your grandpa—perhaps I can help find the solution."
Cela rolled her eyes, though there was fondness in it. "Come on, grandpa, you make it sound like I'm not allowed to have a lazy moment. Is that such a crime?"
Horace chuckled, his round belly shaking with it. "Not a crime, no. But it's… strange. You're not the type to be lazy, Cela. That's why it struck me. So then, tell me—what troubles you?"
With a small sigh, Cela shifted upright. "Two things, actually. First… I can't decide what potion to work on next. There are too many, and I don't want to waste my time on something trivial. I want a challenge—something meaningful. The second is Hogwarts. As far as I know, there isn't a proper space for independent brewing. What am I supposed to do—sneak into abandoned classrooms and hope no one interrupts me? I want a real solution before term begins."
Horace leaned back with a knowing smile. "Ah, so that's what gnaws at you. You should have asked me sooner! I taught in that school for decades, Cela. I know its every corner. If you need a private lab, I'll simply write to Albus. He'll give you a room to brew whenever you wish. No interruptions."
Cela frowned. "Wouldn't that be… a little much? You pulling strings, using your past connections just so I can have special privileges?"
"Nonsense!" Horace waved the thought away. "I devoted half my life to that school. The least they can do is grant my granddaughter a quiet room for study. Albus won't bat an eye. Consider it done."
Her lips curved in reluctant amusement. "Fine, if you insist. But what about the first problem? What potion should I focus on?"
"That," Horace said gravely, "you must discover it yourself. There are endless brews worth exploring, but it isn't about which one is impressive on parchment. Look around you—what does the wizarding world need? A cure? A remedy? An invention to improve daily life? Even something entertaining? The demand of the times will guide you. A clever potion-maker looks not only to their shelves, but to society."
Cela nodded slowly. "You're right. I'll need to do some research." She rose to her feet, but then paused mid-step, eyes lighting up. "Wait. Why stop with our world? I could study Muggle medicine. Their methods of treatment, their chemistry—there must be so much inspiration there!"
Horace's smile faltered into a frown. "Careful, Cela. That path is… unwise. The wizarding world doesn't appreciate dabbling in Muggle sciences. Best not to invite trouble."
Cela folded her arms. "But it's foolish, isn't it? Half of our lives brush against theirs, yet we pretend superiority blinds us from learning. I wouldn't copy them, grandpa—just take inspiration."
Horace exhaled, defeated. "If you must, then read. But do not discuss it openly. Even those sympathetic to Muggles cling to the idea that we are above them. The so-called 'kind' wizards simply believe Muggles should be protected, while the cruel ones think they should be used as slaves. That's the only difference. Speak too freely, Cela, and people will call you dangerous. At Hogwarts especially, you must keep such thoughts close to your chest. Understand?"
Cela bit her lip. "But what about when I published my mouthwash potion? I wrote that it was inspired by Muggle toothpaste, and no one complained."
Horace gave a sheepish cough. "Ah, yes. I may have… edited that part out before your paper was submitted. It avoided unnecessary fuss."
Her shoulders sagged. "So even that was censored… What a shame. There's so much we could learn from Muggles. They advance in technology daily while we hide behind pride."
Horace's eyes softened. He reached across, patting her hand. "One day, perhaps, you'll have the power to speak as you wish. But until then, Cela, keep those convictions to yourself. Focus on your studies, your craft. Prove your brilliance, and the world will listen in time."
Cela nodded, though reluctantly. "Alright, grandpa. I'll be careful."
"Good girl," he said warmly.
A sudden knock at the door startled them both. Horace frowned, glancing at the clock. "At this hour? Who could that be?"
Cela stood, smoothing her robes. "I'll see." She padded to the door, her mind still buzzing with her grandfather's words. She pulled it open—and her lips curved into a small, surprised smile.