The summer night air was warm and gentle, carrying with it the faint scent of the rose bushes Cela's grandfather had planted last year . The yard lights cast a golden glow over the neatly trimmed grass, while the soft hum of conversation and bursts of laughter drifted from the open windows of the dining room. Inside, the neighbors were still lingering over desserts, trading stories, teasing one another, and complimenting the spread Cela had prepared.
Cela stood near the back door, her hands loosely folded in front of her, when she noticed Hermione Granger sitting quietly beside her mother, politely smiling as the adults spoke over one another. Mrs. Granger's voice rose just enough for Cela to hear.
"Hermione, dear, why don't you go and talk with someone your age? Perhaps Cela? I'm sure you two will have things in common."
Hermione looked slightly hesitant, but after a moment she rose, offered her mother a small nod, and stepped toward Cela.
"Would you like to see the yard?" Cela asked, her voice warm but not overly eager.
"Yes, please," Hermione replied, her tone polite, almost formal.
Cela led the way out onto the grass, the wooden door clicking softly behind them. They walked in silence for a few steps, the sound of their shoes muffled by the lawn. The quiet was companionable, if a little tentative, like neither was sure where to begin.
"So…" Cela glanced sideways at the other girl. "Hermione, can I call you that?"
Hermione nodded with a smile. "Yes, of course! We're the same age, you know. By the way, your cooking was amazing."
Cela smiled humbly. "Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I wanted the food to be perfect tonight since you're new to the neighborhood. My grandpa loves hosting, so whenever he's in the mood, he invites the neighbors over for dinner and a chat, like you saw tonight."
They paused near the rose bushes, and Cela leaned lightly against the low wooden fence. Hermione stood with her hands clasped in front of her, eyes wandering over the tidy garden.
"Do you… go to school nearby?" Cela asked casually, as if it were a normal question for two teenagers.
Hermione hesitated, her gaze flickering back toward the house. "Er… not exactly nearby. My school's… a bit different."
Cela tilted her head, suppressing a small smile. "Different? As in… Hogwarts different?"
Hermione's head whipped around so quickly that her curls bounced. Her brown eyes widened. "How do you…? Wait—are you—?"
"Yes," Cela said simply, her voice calm but unmistakably certain. "I'm a witch."
Hermione's eyes narrowed, processing Cela's words. "If you're a witch, why haven't I seen you at Hogwarts? Do you go to another school? Ilvermorny? Beauxbatons? And how did you know I'm a witch?"
Cela shook her head. "No, I'm not at any school right now. And a couple of days ago, I was passing by your house in the morning and saw an owl delivering a letter. I figured there was a wizard in your family. Then, when I met you, I just knew you were a witch."
Hermione blinked. "Not… attending? But—how? You're about my age, aren't you? Twelve? Thirteen?"
"Thirteen," Cela confirmed. "And… my grandfather prefers to teach me himself. At home."
Hermione's brows furrowed. "So… you're homeschooled? That's… unusual."
Cela gave a soft laugh. "Unusual, yes. But it has its advantages. I get to learn at my own pace. And from the best."
Hermione tilted her head. "The best?"
Cela straightened a little, a spark of pride lighting her eyes. "You've heard of Professor Horace Slughorn, haven't you?"
Hermione's jaw dropped. "Horace Slughorn? The former Potions Master at Hogwarts? He taught at Hogwarts and was the head of the Slytherin house! I knew the name sounded familiar—I saw it in the Practical Potioneer journal while working on my Potions assignment. So, he's that Professor Slughorn?"
"Exactly," Cela said, almost mischievously. "And he's my grandfather."
Hermione was silent for a long second, still looking half-disbelieving. "You mean… you live with him? You're learning Potions from him?"
Cela nodded. "Every day. Brewing, theory, history of ingredients—you name it. He says I'll be better than every student he taught by the time I'm eighteen."
Hermione let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. "That's… incredible. I've read about him—he's supposed to be one of the most talented potion-makers in the last century!"
Cela grinned faintly. "He'd like hearing you say that."
"So, why aren't you at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued. "There are so many students and amazing professors, like Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. I've learned so much from them in just two years."
Cela sighed, her expression thoughtful. "I don't know why Grandpa won't let me go, but I'm definitely going to convince him to let me attend this year."
Hermione frowned, puzzled. "Do they even accept late admissions? I mean, I haven't seen older students join the school like that."
Cela grinned. "Actually, Professor Dumbledore was here a few days ago. He said I could attend and that he'd send me a letter this year."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "Professor Dumbledore was here? Just to invite you?"
Cela shook her head. "No, he came to ask Grandpa to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class next year."
Hermione's face lit up. "So, Mr. Slughorn will be our professor?"
Cela shook her head again. "No, he turned it down."
Hermione's expression fell, disappointed. "Really? That's such a shame. I wish he hadn't."
"Why do you say that?" Cela asked, curious. "You sounds like it's a big loss. Don't worry Professor Dumbledore said he'd find someone else for the position."
Hermione sighed. "Unfortunately, we've had terrible luck with Defense Against the Dark Arts professors the last two years. One was a Dark wizard, and the other was a complete liar."
Cela burst out laughing. "Really?"
"Really," Hermione said, her tone serious. "Last year's professor was Gilderoy Lockhart. He was such a disappointment."
Cela's eyes widened. "Wait, that Gilderoy Lockhart? I read in the Daily Prophet that he took a position at Hogwarts and then ended up in St. Mungo's because of some problem. I used to love his books! I was such a fan."
Hermione made a disgusted face. "That idiot plagiarized all his stories. He'd steal them from the real heroes, wipe their memories, and then write the stories as his own to sell and make money."
Cela's shoulders slumped. "What a waste. So he was a fraud?"
Hermione nodded firmly. "Completely."
Before she could say more, Mrs. Granger's voice called out, "Mione, let's go! It's time to head home, dear."
Cela grinned. "Mione? That's such a cute nickname."
Hermione blushed, turning to her mother. "Mum, how many times have I told you not to call me that in front of people?" Her mother just laughed, unfazed.
As they walked to the front door, the other guests had already left, leaving only the Grangers. Horace was saying goodbye to Mr.Granger , and Mrs. Granger turned to Cela with a warm smile. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner, dear."
Cela smiled back. "You're very welcome. I hope you enjoyed it."
"Oh, we did," Mrs. Granger said kindly. "You're always welcome at our house. I'm sure Hermione would love to have you over."
Cela nodded, glancing at Hermione. "Sure, and you can send Hermione here too. I'm sure she'd learn a lot." She winked at Hermione. "We haven't talked much, but you should come over sometime. We can hang out."
Hermione smiled. "Sure, why not?" Then she turned to Cela and said, "Goodbye, Cela."
"Goodbye, Mione," Cela replied with a teasing grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes, shooting a playful glare at her still-laughing mother. The Grangers waved and walked down the street toward their house, while Cela and Horace stood at the door, watching them go.