The moment Cela stepped through the towering double doors of the Great Hall, her breath caught in her throat. It was just as Hermione had described to her during her visit to her house—and yet words hadn't done it justice. The ceiling stretched impossibly high above her, enchanted to mirror the night sky. Tonight, storm clouds rolled across the charmed heavens, occasionally illuminated by streaks of silver lightning. Hundreds of candles floated serenely in midair, casting a warm golden glow across the vast chamber. Four long house tables stretched out before her, packed with whispering students, their faces eager to catch sight of the new arrivals.
At the far end stood the raised dais where the staff table sat. Cela's eyes flickered over the teachers, all of them watching intently. Dumbledore himself sat in the center, his half-moon spectacles glinting as he offered her a smile that seemed to pierce straight through the anxious tightness in her chest. She lowered her gaze quickly.
The line of first-years shuffled forward, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor. Cela, tall and striking among them, drew a flurry of murmurs from the seated students.
"Is she really a first-year? She looks older."
"Maybe she's eleven—just… freakishly tall."
"Or maybe she's retarded, and her parents only sent her now since a fool can't learn magic."
"She could be a Squib who got magic late."
Each whispered theory pricked at Cela's nerves, but she kept her chin lifted. Still, their words clung to her skin like nettles.
Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat at the high table, his robes shimmering faintly in the candlelight, and spread his arms wide. "Welcome, welcome to a new year at Hogwarts!" he began, his voice warm and resonant. "I trust you've all had splendid summer holidays—though, judging by the fact that some of you seem to have grown taller than the Whomping Willow in just two months, I suspect you've been sneaking extra helpings of Pumpkin Pasties!" A ripple of laughter spread through the Great Hall, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he added, "Perhaps we'll need to ask the house-elves to make our feasts even heartier—though I daresay the puddings are already plotting a rebellion in the kitchens!"
The students chuckled, and Dumbledore's smile widened. "Now, to business. I'm delighted to introduce two new professors joining us this year. First, for Defense Against the Dark Arts, please welcome a most talented wizard—and a former Hogwarts student—Professor Remus Lupin!" Lupin stood from the staff table, his slightly shabby robes contrasting with his kind, weary smile. He gave a small, gracious bow as the hall erupted in polite applause, with a few enthusiastic cheers from the Gryffindor table.
Dumbledore continued, "Sadly, our beloved Professor Kettleburn, who taught Care of Magical Creatures, has decided to retire—presumably to spend more time with his remaining limbs and his beloved creatures." A few students snickered at the nod to Kettleburn's notorious injuries. "But fear not! His chosen successor is none other than our very own Rubeus Hagrid!" The hall exploded with cheers, especially from the Gryffindor table, where Harry, Ron, and Hermione clapped wildly. Hagrid, his face flushing pink, stood awkwardly, his massive frame towering over the staff table. He waved a hand the size of a dustbin lid, grinning sheepishly, and nodded to the students before sitting down.
Dumbledore raised a hand for silence. "Very good, very good. Now, Professor McGonagall, if you'd be so kind as to proceed with the Sorting Ceremony."
The Sorting Hat, perched on its stool, delivered its annual song—a slightly rambling but charming ode to Hogwarts' houses that had some students stifling yawns and others humming along. When it finished, Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a parchment in hand, her expression stern but kind, and began calling out the names of the first-years, one by one, to be sorted.
Beside Cela, the pale blond hair—Astoria Greengrass—was called first. She glided forward gracefully and, after only a brief deliberation, the Sorting Hat shouted Slytherin! Applause erupted from the Slytherin table, where her older sister, Daphne, scooted aside to make room for her. Cela noticed the proud tilt of Daphne's chin as Astoria slid in beside her.
One by one, names were called, and the Sorting Hat did its work. Some sortings were quick, others lingered as the Hat debated. Cela's palms grew clammy as the line shortened.
Then—
"Celestia Slughorn."
Professor McGonagall's clear, ringing voice carried across the hall.
The whispers grew louder. Heads turned. Cela felt the weight of the name hanging in the air. At the staff table, Professor Snape shifted slightly, his dark eyes locking onto her with an intensity that made her stomach twist. Recognition flickered there, as if the very syllables of her surname had struck a chord he didn't wish to recall. Dumbledore, meanwhile, gave a faint, approving nod, while a flicker of curiosity and familiarity passed over McGonagall's face.
Cela's knees trembled as she walked forward, every eye in the Great Hall fixed on her. She sat upon the stool, and McGonagall lowered the Sorting Hat onto her head.
'Ah… a Slughorn,` came a sly, knowing voice in her mind. 'I remember your mother. Clever, ambitious… a touch ruthless when it suited her. And your father—brave, reckless, a Gryffindor through and through. Quite the combination you carry within you, Celestia.'
Cela's lips pressed together tightly.
The Sorting Hat's voice slithered through Cela's mind, soft and knowing. "You've your mother's cunning, her thirst for knowledge. Slytherin would suit you. Oh, you'd thrive there—your sharpness, your patience would win you allies, friends who'd see your potential. Greatness is in your blood."
Cela's thoughts stirred, hesitant but firm. I want to know if I have traits for other houses. I want to understand my options.
The Hat paused, its tone amused yet probing. Other options, hmm? You wish to choose your own house? That's not how this works, my dear. For centuries, it's been my duty to sort, and sort I shall. But I sense ambition in you—why shy away from it?
"I'm not shying away," Cela whispered in her mind. "I just want to explore. You never know where I might find my place, where I could… have space to be myself."
The Hat hummed thoughtfully. Bravery, yes… your father's fire flickers in you, bold but tempered by shyness, a reluctance to stand in the light. Gryffindor would push you, force you to step out of the shadows. You could grow there, become more than you imagine. And yet, Hufflepuff—
"Not Hufflepuff," Cela cut in, her thought sharp.
A low chuckle echoed in her mind. Not Hufflepuff, you say. Well, then. Ravenclaw's wit and wisdom might appeal, but your mind, while keen, doesn't chase knowledge for its own sake. No, your heart seeks something else. Very well. I've decided. Better be…
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The shout echoed across the hall. The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, their voices bouncing against the stone walls. Cela pulled the hat off quickly, her heart pounding, and slipped off the stool.
At the staff table, Snape scowled, his lip curling faintly as he turned away, muttering something under his breath. Among the Slytherins, a low buzz of disbelief spread.
"A Slughorn—sorted into Gryffindor?"
"That's impossible."
"Didn't Professor Slughorn himself lead Slytherin for years?"
Cela ignored them. A small, proud smile touched her lips as she strode across the hall, her robes swishing around her ankles.
Hermione was already perched at the Gryffindor table, her face lighting up with relief as Cela sat down beside her.
"Oh, thank goodness," Hermione whispered, exhaling in a rush. "I was worried you'd end up in Slytherin."
Cela gave a soft laugh. "Apparently the Hat thought about it—but said I've more of my Father's in me who was a Gryffindor. So… Gryffindor it is."
Hermione squeezed her hand under the table, grinning.
Around them, the other Gryffindors leaned closer, introducing themselves. Ginny Weasley, red hair gleaming in the candlelight, offered a warm smile and shifted over to make room. "Welcome to Gryffindor," she said brightly.
Cela relaxed, the earlier sting of whispers fading as laughter and chatter rose around her. As she started to introduce herself to her peers in the table.