Cela lingered for a moment at the doors of the Great Hall, watching the chatter ripple down the long tables. Hermione had already excused herself for her Artimancy class, and Ginny was happily surrounded by her fellow Gryffindors. Cela, however, felt the itch of her own work calling her, and her mind had already settled on the quiet sanctuary she had discovered last night with the help of Professor Dumbledore.
The moving staircases carried her up through the castle's labyrinthine heights, groaning and shifting beneath her feet until at last she reached the familiar corridor on the seventh floor. There, opposite the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls ballet, she paused, drew a steadying breath, and began the ritual. Three deliberate passes, her mind focused firmly on what she desired: my potion laboratory, safe and undisturbed.
As if conjured from her thoughts, the smooth outline of a door slid into existence along the blank stone wall. Cela's lips curled in a small smile; it still felt like a miracle, even the second time. She pushed the door open, and as it closed softly behind her, she was embraced by the familiar sight of shelves lined with glass vials and jars, cauldrons gleaming in the flickering light, and the faint herbal tang of powdered roots and dried flowers that hung perpetually in the air.
She moved across the chamber with measured steps, running her fingers along the shelves, checking each jar and phial. Nothing was missing, nothing disturbed. The reassurance of it grounded her—it was her space, untouched by anyone else, her own corner of Hogwarts for exploring the wonders of potion making.
Cela set her cauldron upon the iron stand and coaxed a gentle blue flame beneath it with a flick of her wand. As the metal began to warm, she leaned on the workbench and let her thoughts wander.
Earlier that day, she had teased Hermione about a potion that might keep a student awake through hours of study. An energized draught, she had called it, laughing at the idea of bottling what every sleepless student craved and how she might need it since Hermione had to attend many classes. But the notion had lingered with Cela. She knew of stimulating brews already recorded in potioncraft, but their drawbacks were infamous. The effects crashed with brutal force; the body demanded repayment for every stolen hour of energy, leaving the drinker twice as weary and drained once the brew wore off.
There had to be a better way.
Cela fetched one of her heavy tomes—Principles of Balancing Elixirs—and spread it open upon the desk, flipping through pages stained with age and splatters of ink. She trailed her finger down lists of reagents, murmuring softly as she read. "Peppermint oil for clarity, powdered dittany root for fortification… but the backlash comes from overtaxing the nervous system…"
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Perhaps the secret lay not in adding more stimulants, but in weaving in a regulator, something that steadied the body's natural rhythm rather than forcing it beyond its limit.
She began selecting jars, arranging them on the table in a neat row: ground valerian root, dried hibiscus petals, salamander blood in a sealed vial, and powdered billywig stings. The first three she considered stabilizers in varying potions; the billywig stings, of course, carried mild energizing properties. The combination intrigued her.
One by one, she began her experiments. Into the heating cauldron, she poured water laced with a sprig of peppermint, letting the sharp scent rise with the steam. She crushed valerian root with her mortar and pestle, grinding until it became a fine dust. "Calming base first," she muttered, sprinkling it in, watching as the brew shifted into a muted green.
Next, she measured in the hibiscus petals, crimson flakes that bled their color quickly into the liquid. The potion deepened to a dark wine red, giving off an almost sweet aroma. She stirred slowly, clockwise, counting each turn, recalling a passage from her book about stabilizing reagents.
But the salamander blood proved trickier. She added a single drop, watching it dissolve into a smoky swirl that made the surface ripple unnaturally. The brew hissed faintly, but held together. Encouraged, Cela prepared a final test—she tipped in a pinch of billywig stings.
For a moment, the potion seemed stable. Then, with a sharp pop, it fizzed and spat a spray of scarlet liquid onto the table. Cela jerked back, blinking at the mess, but her lips tugged upward in stubborn amusement.
"Not balanced," she murmured, making a quick notation in her journal. Combination volatile. Salamander blood reacts poorly with billywig extract—perhaps replace with a subtler stimulant, like crushed kola nut or ginseng root?
She wiped her wand across the surface, cleaning the spill with a muttered Scourgify, then returned to her books. Hours slipped past as she scoured indexes, cross-referencing properties of restorative herbs and stimulants, sketching diagrams of possible combinations. She tested two more small batches, each failing in new and instructive ways—one producing a thick, tarry sludge, the other turning nearly translucent but giving off an acrid odor that made her cough.
Still, she was undeterred. Every failure was another step closer to understanding. Cela sat back at last, brushing an ink stain from her fingers, and studied the rows of ingredients with renewed determination. This was no quick concoction to be completed in a single evening. It would demand weeks of trials, pages of notes, patience, and ingenuity.
And she relished the challenge.
Closing her journal with a decisive snap, Cela let her eyes linger on the simmering cauldron. It was only the beginning, but the thought of perfecting such a potion stirred a quiet thrill in her chest. Perhaps one day she would succeed—create a draught that granted strength without the cruel backlash. For now, she would keep testing, keep searching.
She extinguished the flame with a flick of her wand, the blue light vanishing into shadow. The laboratory fell silent again, waiting.
Cela exhaled softly, smiling to herself. Tomorrow, she would try again.