The Great Hall shimmered with candlelight, the thousands of floating tapers gliding lazily beneath the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the dark and cloud-ridden September sky. A chill lingered in the vast chamber, a reminder that autumn had already begun to bite. Cela sat amongst the Gryffindors, her new housemates' chatter swirling around her as introductions flew back and forth. Hermione, seated beside her, leaned in with a bright, earnest expression, launching into a detailed explanation of the Great Hall's history—its enchanted ceiling, the ancient enchantments woven into its stones, and tales of legendary feasts and ceremonies that had unfolded beneath its towering arches.
She shifted on the long bench, feeling eyes on her. Whispers buzzed along the Gryffindor table, not all subtle. A Slughorn in Gryffindor was a novelty, a break from expectation. Across the hall she caught the disbelieving scowls of several Slytherins, their heads bent together in muttered conversation.
Hermione leaned closer, her face still flushed with the relief she hadn't bothered to hide.
"I'm glad," she whispered. "Truly glad. I was certain you'd be sorted into Slytherin. With your grandfather and mother both there—and being a Slughorn—I thought it was inevitable."
Cela's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Well, then you're in luck," she teased. "You'll be learning plenty of potions from me—and now and then, you might even get a few for free. Perks of being my housemate."
Before Hermione could reply, a sudden hush fell over the hall. At the staff table, Dumbledore had risen to his full height, his robes a deep midnight blue embroidered with silver stars. His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles, yet there was a heaviness in the room that pressed down on all chatter.
"Welcome once more," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying with ease across the hall. "Welcome, one and all, to our new first-years at Hogwarts."
His gaze drifted over the rows of students, pausing briefly on the wide-eyed newcomers. When his eyes found Cela, the look he gave her was measured, kind—quietly probing, as though he were already tracing the outline of her character. Then, just as swiftly, he moved on.
"But before we tuck into our traditional start-of-term feast," Dumbledore continued, "I must address certain matters of utmost seriousness."
The faint smile faded from his lips. The Great Hall stilled.
"As many of you will already know," he said, "our school grounds this year are patrolled by Dementors, stationed here by the Ministry of Magic. They are here to guard Hogwarts, to protect you all from the fugitive Sirius Black."
A ripple swept through the hall—gasps, hurried whispers, even a few sharp cries of alarm. At the word Dementors, a chill lanced through Cela's chest. Though none stood present, their very mention seemed to conjure a shadow in the air, a heavy unease that pressed against her bones.
Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing the students. "I must warn you most earnestly," he said, his voice deepening, "the Dementors are not creatures to be trifled with. They do not understand kindness or excuses. Should any student attempt to trick them, or even to wander near their patrols, they will not hesitate to act."
He paused, letting the weight of his warning settle.
"You will be in no danger if you remain within the castle grounds and keep to the rules. But mark this: do not—under any circumstance—approach the Dementors."
Hermione shivered, and all around her the students broke into frantic whispers. Cela caught Ron muttering something to Harry, who looked more grim than frightened, while Ginny sat bolt upright, her face drained of color as her wide eyes darted nervously about the hall.
Dumbledore's expression softened, though the gravity never left his tone. "Now, let us not allow shadows to claim the joy of the evening. For here at Hogwarts, we face fear with courage, with unity, and with a hearty appetite."
Then, with his trademark mischievous sparkle, he spread his arms wide.
"Let the feast… begin!"
He clapped his hands.
At once, the tables groaned under the sudden weight of golden platters brimming with roasted meats, steaming vegetables, and shining bowls of mashed potatoes and gravies. The scent of pumpkin pasties, roasted chicken, and treacle tart wafted across the hall. The hush gave way to the clatter of forks, the scraping of spoons, and the hum of conversation that rose like the tide.
Cela stared, wide-eyed, at the abundance of food. It was more than she had ever seen on a single table. Students reached eagerly across each other, serving themselves heaping portions.
Ron, seated across from her, dove in with all the subtlety of a starving wolf. He piled chicken legs, sausages, and potatoes on his plate until it looked ready to collapse, then began shoving food into his mouth at a speed Cela found horrifying. He chewed with his mouth open, speaking mid-bite, flecks of half-chewed food flying dangerously close to Ginny's sleeve.
Cela froze, her fork halfway to her lips. The sight of Ron's messy eating made her stomach turn. She glanced away quickly, taking a small sip of pumpkin juice to steady herself, but the wet smacking sounds still reached her ears. She had to force herself not to grimace.
"Don't mind him," Ginny said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Ron eats like that all the time."
Cela forced a weak laugh. "Doesn't anyone… mind?"
Hermione sighed. "I've been trying to civilize him for years," she muttered.
Ron, oblivious, kept right on chewing noisily and talking through mouthfuls. Cela looked down at her plate, appetite waning, but decided to endure it silently. It seemed the Gryffindors were used to it, though for her, it was almost unbearable.
Thankfully, Ginny nudged her with a grin. "So, Cela, what do you think of Hogwarts so far?"
"It's… overwhelming," Cela admitted, a genuine smile breaking through. "The castle, the Great Hall… everything feels larger than life."
Hermione leaned forward eagerly. "Wait until you see the library. You'll never want to leave."
Cela chuckled, glancing at Hermione with a softness that made Ginny smirk knowingly.
"Don't let her drag you in there too often," Ginny teased. "You'll end up buried under books—she's spent nearly the last two years living in that library."
Hermione scoffed, though a smile tugged at her lips. "Honestly, there's nothing wrong with spending time in the library. At least it's quiet there—unlike the Gryffindor common room, which is practically a circus half the time. And besides," she added with a sly glance, "books don't blow up in your face. Not like some of Fred and George's little 'experiments.'"
Ginny laughed. "True—but at least Fred and George make life interesting. Books won't sneak into your bed at night and turn your hair green." She leaned closer with a grin. "Though knowing you, Hermione, you'd probably prefer they did, if it meant learning a new spell from it."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but her cheeks pinked faintly. "Honestly, Ginny."
Cela, who had been listening with amusement, finally spoke up. "I don't know… books can be dangerous. My grandfather once warned me about cursed grimoires. Some of them bite harder than Fred and George's tricks ever could."
Ginny raised her brows, intrigued. "Really?"
Cela nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "One tried to take a chunk out of me when I was little. It didn't succeed, of course—but I learned to wear gloves after that."
Hermione's expression brightened instantly with interest. "A cursed grimoire? What kind was it?"
Ginny groaned dramatically. "Oh no. You've done it now, Cela. You've just guaranteed Hermione will spend the rest of the evening interrogating you about dangerous books."
Cela laughed softly, and Hermione gave Ginny a mock glare. "Well, some of us prefer knowledge to pranks."
Ginny grinned. "And some of us prefer not to get eaten by our homework."
The three of them laughed, the sound blending with the wider cheer of the feast. The Girls felt warmth settle into their chests, pushing back the earlier chill from Dumbledore's warning.
Plates were refilled, then vanished, replaced by desserts—glittering puddings, golden treacle tarts, mountains of ice cream in every flavor imaginable. Laughter bubbled across the tables, though beneath it lay the lingering unease of the Dementors' presence outside.
At last, the food vanished, leaving only empty goblets and satisfied groans. Dumbledore dismissed the students with a clap of his hands. Prefects began to gather their houses, shepherding first-years toward their dormitories.
As Cela stood to follow, a sharp voice cut through the chatter.
"Miss Slughorn."
Professor McGonagall stood beside the Gryffindor table, her expression unreadable like usual, though her eyes glittered with something Cela couldn't place. She adjusted her square spectacles and continued, "The Headmaster has requested your presence in his office. You will accompany me to his office."
Cela blinked in confusion. Hermione shot her a worried glance—though Cela couldn't quite tell why. Still, she gave a quick nod. "Yes, Professor."
"Good," McGonagall said, curtly. "This way, please."
The Gryffindors began filing out, chattering happily about the feast, the castle, and the year to come. Ron was still licking crumbs from his fingers; Hermione was already trying to explain something to Harry. Ginny waved briefly at Cela, mouthing good luck.
Cela followed Professor McGonagall up the stone steps, away from the noise of the Great Hall, into the dim and echoing corridors of Hogwarts. The torches flickered as they passed, and each step brought her closer to the Headmaster's office—and whatever it was Dumbledore wished to speak with her about.