Cela woke to the faint sound of cawing crows and the dull weight of rain clouds pressing against the windows. For a moment, she forgot where she was. The ceiling above her wasn't the painted beams of her grandfather's study, nor the warm stone of her family's house. Instead, it was a canopy of deep crimson fabric embroidered with golden threads—Gryffindor colors glowing faintly in the weak morning light.
She blinked, turned her head, and there it was—the narrow window beside her bed, its panes fogged with dampness. Beyond it lay the Black Lake, and her heart jolted when she saw shadows drifting across the misty waters. Dark, tall, tattered shapes gliding soundlessly. Dementors.
Her breath caught.
The rain-blurred silhouettes drifted along the distant shore, their forms indistinct, but Cela knew that hollow cold anywhere. The creatures' presence seeped through the glass like a thin trickle of ice. She shivered and pulled the heavy blanket up over her shoulders, the chill making her stomach twist.
"Crookshanks," a sleepy voice murmured nearby.
Cela turned and saw Hermione stirring in the next bed. Her bushy hair was everywhere, a wild brown halo spilling over the pillow and into her face. Crookshanks was perched on her chest, calmly washing his paws with deliberate licks. Hermione wrinkled her nose as the ginger cat pressed too close, pawing at her chin.
Cela couldn't help it—she giggled softly.
Hermione cracked an eye open. "What are you laughing at?" she mumbled, still half-asleep.
"Your hair," Cela said, smiling warmly. "It's—well, it's like a storm cloud today."
Hermione sat up, pushing Crookshanks aside with a little grunt, and tried to flatten her hair with her hands. Of course, that only made it worse. Cela pressed her lips together, stifling another laugh, but her eyes gave her away.
"You're awful," Hermione said, though her cheeks flushed with a touch of amusement. "I've told you—it has a mind of its own in the mornings."
"It's charming," Cela replied, swinging her legs out of bed. The wooden floor was cool beneath her bare feet. "But if you'd like, I could help tame it again later. I did promise, didn't I?"
Hermione's expression softened. "Yes. You did."
The dormitory was slowly stirring awake. Parvati let out a loud yawn from the far side, rolling over and burying her head under her pillow. Lavender stretched luxuriously in her bed, humming a little tune, before pulling the curtains closed around her four-poster. The smell of the rain outside mixed with the faint perfume of Lavender's soaps and Parvati's incense sachets.
Cela pulled her enchanted bag onto her lap and rummaged through it. She extracted a neatly wrapped bundle of fresh clothes and her small collection of glass vials—her shampoos, potions, and fragrant oils.
"I'm heading to the showers," she said softly to Hermione. "Care to join me?"
Hermione rubbed her eyes and nodded, reaching for her own plain bottle of Muggle shampoo. Crookshanks hopped down with a thump and padded toward the door as if he, too, had business to attend to.
***********
The Gryffindor girls' bathhouse was quiet at this hour, steam curling gently in the air. Rows of polished brass taps lined the stone basins, enchanted to spill steaming or cold water as needed. Large claw-footed tubs gleamed beneath the lantern light, their rims carved with lions. The red-and-gold motif was everywhere—even the fluffy towels stacked in neat piles carried the Gryffindor crest.
Cela slipped into the nearest tub, sighing in relief as the warm water embraced her skin. The night's dampness melted away, replaced with a comfortable heat. She uncorked a small vial of shimmering green liquid—her own herbal shampoo, infused with mint and thyme. The fragrance filled the air as she worked it into her golden hair.
Beside her, Hermione sat in another tub, pouring Muggle shampoo into her hands. The scent of lavender and chamomile drifted across, simpler but comforting.
Hermione leaned closer, sniffing subtly. "What kind of shampoo do you use? It smells really nice… I haven't seen anything like it in Diagon Alley, especially with that color."
Cela smiled. "Ah, that's because I made it myself. That's probably why it seems unfamiliar to you."
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "You made it yourself? That's… actually really impressive! I'd never have thought of mixing my own shampoo." She sniffed the air again, grinning. "I might have to get the recipe from you sometime."
"Of course," Cela said, massaging her scalp. "My grandfather taught me. Some herbs strengthen the roots, others bring shine—it's all about balance. After I learned the basics, I experimented with different herbs and spices to enhance its effects. I even created shampoos with various colors and scents—lemon, orange, mint, and delicate floral notes—so they smell natural and last up to two days. But you have to be careful; if you're careless, it can make your hair brittle."
Hermione snorted softly. "That explains why mine's always such a disaster. I don't really bother. Just… wash and let it be."
Cela smiled, dipping her head under the water before resurfacing, rivulets dripping down her face. "Then I'll give you some of my shampoo. I'm sure after a while your hair will get smoother—though, let's be honest, some things are just how hair grows naturally." She grinned, teasing lightly. "But really, I think you look lovely with your wild, bushy hair. It suits you far better than perfect smoothness ever could."
Hermione's cheeks colored faintly. "You don't have to—"
"Oh, don't worry about the shampoo," Cela said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I have plenty, so I can share some with you. And honestly, whenever I get bored, I like making extra batches. I'm just… very sensitive to smells. I don't like it when I can smell myself, so I make sure to wash regularly with these shampoos. Even though I rarely do, seeing adults with that sour smell on them… well, it just makes me a little uncomfortable."
Hermione blinked, a small laugh escaping her. "You… actually pay attention to that? Wow, I've never thought about it that way. That's… kind of impressive, actually. I might have to take notes."
Cela chuckled softly. "See? That's why I made extra for you—you'll have a head start."
Hermione shot her a playful glare. "So… are you saying I smell bad?"
Cela leaned closer, pretending to examine her, then inhaled dramatically. "Oh no," she said with a mischievous smile, "quite the opposite. You smell… really good."
Hermione felt her cheeks warm instantly and tried to hide a smile. "Well… thank you, I suppose," she murmured, her eyes darting away for a moment before meeting Cela's again, a hint of amusement—and something more—flickering in her gaze.
There was a quiet beat between them, filled only with the splashing of water. Hermione looked down, pretending to focus on rinsing her hair, but Cela could see the faint smile tugging at her lips.