The morning light filtered through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, bathing the long rows of house tables in a golden warmth. Cela walked in beside Hermione, still slightly groggy from the late night before, though the promise of hot tea and toast gave her steps some brightness. Around them, the hall buzzed with chatter, owls swooping in and out of the high windows to deliver letters, and the clinking of cutlery as students already dug into plates of eggs, bacon, and porridge.
But the usual cheer was interrupted by a raised voice near the center aisle.
Harry and Ron had just stepped inside, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, when Draco Malfoy appeared ahead of them. His pale blond hair caught the light like polished silver, and a sly grin tugged at his lips. Draped over his shoulders was his cloak, which he pulled up dramatically like a vampire about to strike.
"Oh look, Potter," Malfoy drawled, his voice carrying enough for half the hall to hear, "a Dementor's coming for you—boo!" He swooped his cloak menacingly, making a mock shudder. "Better faint before breakfast, wouldn't want to collapse onto your eggs."
Ron instantly bristled, stepping forward so quickly he nearly bumped Harry. "Shut it, Malfoy!" he snapped, his ears going red. "At least Harry isn't terrified of his own shadow!"
The Slytherin's smirk widened. "Shadow? No, no. But maybe of cloaks, apparently." He lowered his voice mockingly, eyes glittering. "So brave, The Boy Who Faints."
Ron's fists clenched at his sides. "Say that again."
"Oh, with pleasure," Malfoy leaned in, his face inches from Ron's, words dripping with scorn. "Your family can't afford proper robes, Weasley, and you think you're going to scare me? Face it—you're nothing but hand-me-down rags pretending to be a wizard."
Ron's face burned crimson. His jaw tightened as if he was ready to punch Malfoy right there.
Hermione was already striding forward, her hair bouncing with each firm step. Cela followed close behind, feeling the tension knotting the air. Hermione came to Harry's side, gently taking his sleeve and tugging.
"Come on, Harry," she said quickly, ignoring Malfoy entirely. "Sit down. Don't give him the attention he's begging for."
Harry, looking pale and angry, hesitated. Malfoy's taunts clearly stung, but Hermione's sharp tone cut through the haze. Harry finally nodded and turned away.
Malfoy's sneer faltered, his eyes narrowing. He did not like being dismissed. "Running off again, Potter? How very brave." He started to turn to Cela, probably preparing another insult, when his gaze landed fully on her.
And froze.
Cela blinked, puzzled at the sudden change in his face. His smirk slipped, his usual cold mask flickering. To her surprise, a faint flush crept into his pale cheeks. For the briefest moment, Malfoy simply stared at her, almost forgetting himself.
What on earth? Cela tilted her head, confused. Was he… blushing?
Malfoy quickly turned, snapping his cloak around his shoulders. "Come on," he barked to Crabbe and Goyle, who lumbered after him. Without another word, he stalked back toward the Slytherin table, his ears still suspiciously pink.
Cela stood there blinking. That was… strange. Why would Malfoy blush just from looking at her? Shaking her head, she let it go. Childish nonsense, probably.
As she turned, her eyes met a familiar face at the Slytherin table. Astoria Greengrass sat primly with a small teacup in her hands, her golden hair glinting like silk in the morning light. The younger girl had been watching the argument between the boys, her expression soft and curious. When she noticed Cela's glance, Astoria smiled sweetly and lifted her hand in a delicate little wave.
Cela's lips curved into a genuine smile, and she raised her own hand in return. A warm flicker of affection passed between them before she turned back to her own group.
Ron was still muttering angrily under his breath. "Slimy git. Thinks he's better than everyone. I'd love to wipe that smirk off his—"
"Ron," Hermione interrupted firmly, "just ignore him. He thrives on this sort of thing." She tugged Harry again. "Come on, let's eat. Don't let him spoil breakfast."
Harry gave a quiet nod, and the four of them made their way to the Gryffindor table.
They sat down together, and Hermione immediately flagged down a platter of eggs and sausages, while Cela requested toast, beans, and juice. She cracked open a boiled egg and started spooning it delicately onto her plate. Beside her, Ron piled his plate so high with sausages and bacon that it wobbled dangerously.
Cela noticed immediately—and regretted it. Ron tore into his food with enthusiasm, chewing noisily with his mouth half open, words tumbling out in between bites. Bits of egg and sausage flew from his lips as he laughed loudly at his own jokes.
Cela fought the urge to gag. She had tolerated Ron's rough manners before, but this—this was revolting. The sound, the sight, even the smell—how could anyone eat like that? She pressed her lips together, determined not to let her disgust show too strongly. Apparently, everyone else was used to it. Harry ate quietly, ignoring the chaos. Hermione only rolled her eyes as if this was nothing new. Cela forced herself to look back at her own toast. She was not about to vomit over breakfast because of Ron Weasley's lack of table manners.
"Today's going to be brilliant," Ron said loudly, around a mouthful of sausage. "You know who's teaching us first? Hagrid! Our first proper Care of Magical Creatures lesson!"
Hermione perked up slightly. "So it's true, then. Hagrid's the one who assigned those Monster Books?"
Cela snorted into her juice. "Oh, Hermione. Remember in Diagon Alley—you said, 'Which idiot professor would assign a book that tries to bite your fingers off?'" She broke into giggles. "Turns out the idiot was Hagrid."
Hermione nearly choked on her drink . She turned sharply and pinched Cela's side under the table. "Shut up!" she hissed, cheeks pink. "Don't call Hagrid that. He's our friend."
Cela grinned mischievously. "I could always say it to his face, you know."
"You wouldn't dare!" Hermione whispered furiously, glaring. "If you do, I swear I won't talk to you for a week."
Cela laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork. "Alright, alright! I'm joking. I promise I won't."
Hermione huffed, muttering under her breath, though the corner of her lips curved despite herself.
Across the table, the twins were already causing their usual stir. Percy, sitting stiffly with his prefect badge gleaming on his chest, was trying desperately to rein them in.
"Sit down properly, both of you," Percy snapped, wagging his finger at Fred and George. "This year I will not tolerate any of your nonsense. No pranks, no fireworks, no sneaking about after hours—"
"Oh, but Percy," Fred interrupted, looking mock-wounded, "you wound us. Do we look like the sort to break rules?"
"Yes," George chimed in immediately.
"Constantly," Fred added with a grin.
The Gryffindor table erupted in laughter. Even Cela found herself giggling into her hand.
Percy's face went scarlet as he jabbed his finger at them. "This is not funny! I am a prefect, and I will not allow—"
"Prefect Percy," George declared dramatically, standing up and bowing. "Our shining beacon of discipline."
Fred stood beside him, clasping his hands solemnly. "Without him, who knows how we'd ever survive Hogwarts?"
The laughter doubled, spreading down the table. Percy spluttered, trying to regain control. "Sit—down—this instant!"
But Fred and George only sat back smugly, sharing a high five under the table while Percy fumed.
Cela leaned toward Hermione, chuckling. "Are they always like this?"
Hermione sighed, though there was fondness in her tone. "Always."
The morning rolled on with laughter, chatter, and the comforting clatter of breakfast. Despite the tense shadow of Dementors and fugitives, for a while at least, the Great Hall felt warm and alive, filled with the kind of mischief and friendship that made Hogwarts feel like home to everyone.