Night had fully settled over Hogwarts, draping its ancient stone towers and corridors in a dark calmness. The Great Hall was empty, save for the last lingering scents of dinner—the roast meats, the buttery breads, the faint trace of spiced pumpkin juice. In the Gryffindor Tower, the girls' dormitory was quiet, the soft sounds of breathing drifting from the beds of Lavender and Parvati, fast asleep beneath thick blankets. Hermione, always meticulous, was tucked in neatly, her hands resting over her stomach, her chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm.
Cela lay awake in her own bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling a growing restlessness. The soft moonlight filtered through the tall windows, and she could see the shadows of the curtains moving slightly in the night breeze. No matter how she tried to calm herself, sleep refused to come. Her mind raced, circling around the same thought again and again—the same longing that had been there since the moment she had arrived at Hogwarts.
She suddenly sat up, eyes wide, as if struck by a revelation. "Of course," she whispered to herself. "Professor Dumbledore… he told me. There is a place, a secret place… for my potions."
Excitement and a flutter of nervousness filled her chest. This was her chance—not only to indulge her love for potion-making but to explore something no one else knew about.
Carefully, she looked around the room. Lavender and Parvati were still deep in sleep, their blankets tucked neatly around them, their soft breathing unbroken. Hermione, too, appeared perfectly still, lost in dreams.
Cela's eyes drifted to the shadow in the corner of the room. Crookshank, Hermione's large orange Persian cat, was perched silently on a trunk, observing her with quiet, intelligent curiosity.
"Ah," she murmured. "You're awake too, aren't you, Crookshank?"
Slowly, she swung her legs over the edge of her bed, making sure not to disturb the other girls, and reached for the enchanted bag her grandfather had given her. It had been a gift for her attending Hogwarts , a bag imbued with compartments and enchantments perfect for holding her potions, ingredients, and tools. The bag shimmered faintly as she lifted it, light spilling from its seams, and she felt a thrill at the possibilities it contained.
She took her wand from the bedside table and whispered a quiet incantation to unlock the bag's enchantments. Crookshank padded softly after her as she slipped silently out of the dormitory, her bare feet making no sound against the polished wooden floor.
Descending the spiral staircase with practiced caution, Cela reached the Gryffindor common room. The fire had died down to glowing embers, casting a faint amber light across the empty room. She paused, letting her eyes sweep across the lounge. No one was there—no students, no ghosts, not even the faint sounds of the house-elves preparing for the next day.
"It's perfect," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Completely empty."
She carefully opened the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower and stepped into the corridor beyond. The Fat Lady's portrait hung solemnly on its frame, but as soon as she emerged, the portrait's eyes widened.
"Oh my goodness!" the Fat Lady exclaimed, her voice echoing slightly in the still corridor. "You're a new student, huh? It hasn't even been two days, and you're already wandering outside your dormitory! So that's why you're sorted into Gryffindor, isn't it? You naughty child!"
Cela's cheeks colored faintly, and she gave a shy smile. "Please… don't tell anyone," she whispered.
The Fat Lady laughed warmly. "Oh, if I did, every student in Hogwarts would have me thrown out! Don't worry, dear. Your secret is safe with me. Go on, now."
Cela nodded in relief and raised her wand, murmuring the Lumu's charm to light her path as she began her ascent toward the seventh floor. The corridors were unfamiliar at this late hour, and the darkness seemed a little bit scary, almost like there were eyes pressing in on her from the high ceilings and ancient stone walls. Her pulse quickened slightly as she passed closed doors and silent portraits, their painted eyes following her every step.
She found herself pausing mid-corridor, suddenly struck by the absurdity of her daring. "Why am I even doing this?" she whispered to herself. "I barely know the castle… and yet here I am, walking alone in the dead of night. Am I crazy?"
A shiver ran through her, the shadows seeming to lengthen around her, but she pressed forward. Dumbledore's words echoed in her mind: "There is a place for you, Cela. A place where your love of potions can truly flourish. Find it, and it will be yours to use."
The thought steadied her, and she continued, every step measured, her wand tip casting a soft glow ahead. She wandered through the corridors, occasionally stopping to bow apologetically to portraits she accidentally woke with the Lumu's charm. "Oh, I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to disturb you," she murmured, the old wizard or lady within the frame grumbling before settling back to sleep.
Hours seemed to pass as she navigated the labyrinthine corridors, the sound of her own breathing echoing softly. And then, finally, she saw it—a painting of a man struggling with three dancing trolls. One of the trolls toppled, squashing the man beneath its heavy body, and Cela stifled a giggle.
"This has to be it," she whispered, a thrill running through her. She scanned the nearby walls, looking for any sign of a door or passage. Nothing. She walked in circles, returning to the painting, murmuring to herself, "I want a room for my potion experiment. I want a room for my potion experiment. I want a room for my potion experiment."
Three times she circled, her words ringing in the empty corridor, until a faint, soft click echoed from the wall near the painting. A door had appeared. Cela's eyes widened in astonishment, and she approached it cautiously.
"It's real," she breathed. "It really is a door."
Before she could reach for the handle, a sound made her jerk back. A soft, accusatory meow sounded from behind her. Crookshank was sitting at the base of the corridor, his orange fur glinting faintly in the wandlight, tilting his head curiously at her.
"Merlin, Crookshank! You scared me!" Cela said, laughing and crouching to scoop him into her arms. "You little naughty cat… you followed me." Crookshank purred contentedly, kneading her arm with his paws as if congratulating her for the discovery.
"Well, now that you're here," she murmured, setting him gently against her chest, "let's go inside." Together, they approached the door, and Cela pushed it open.
Inside was a room of brilliance. Shelves lined the walls, though mostly empty, waiting to be filled with ingredients, vials, and books. In the center sat a wide cauldron, polished to a gleaming shine, surrounded by ample space for mixing, measuring, and experimenting. The ceiling arched high above, and the soft glow of enchanted lights bathed the room in golden warmth.
"Merlin's beard," Cela whispered, spinning slowly in the space, taking it all in. "It's perfect… exactly as I imagined."
Crookshank jumped from her arms and padded across the floor, sniffing every corner, meowing softly. He found a plush sofa near the far wall and curled up, stretching luxuriously. Cela couldn't help but smile, kneeling beside him. "Sleep well, little one. You're safe here too."
Turning back to the shelves and the cauldron, Cela reached into her enchanted bag and began pulling out every item she had brought—vials of ingredients, dried herbs, powdered crystals, flasks, measuring instruments, stirring rods, enchanted scales, and more. One by one, she placed them in their proper spots, arranging the space with meticulous care. Each item seemed to belong exactly where she put it, as if the room itself approved of her choices.
Hours passed in quiet, focused work. Cela moved methodically, placing each ingredient in a precise order, measuring carefully, adjusting placements, and arranging her notes in a neat stack beside the cauldron. She stirred, tapped, and checked, taking every precaution. Crookshank, now dozing in the sofa, occasionally flicked his tail, content in the warmth and the quiet.
By the time her work was complete, Cela leaned back, sighing in satisfaction and exhaustion. The room gleamed with promise—an untouched sanctuary for her experiments, a space where her love for potion-making could flourish freely.
Finally, she gathered Crookshank in her arms and whispered, "Let's see if it's really safe." With careful incantations, she retraced her steps through the ritual of the Room of Requirement: "I want to enter the potion experiment room of Cela." The door appeared again, just as before. She stepped inside, peeking around. Everything was as she had left it, intact, exactly as it should be.
"Perfect," she said, her eyes glinting. "Absolutely perfect." She ruffled Crookshank's fur. "Now, my little friend… this is our secret. Don't tell anyone. Certainly don't lead anyone here. This place is ours." Crookshank meowed softly, and Cela laughed. "Yes, yes… you are brilliant, the most beautiful cat."
Content, she returned to the Gryffindor Tower, her feet barely making a sound against the cold stones. She entered the dormitory quietly, placing Crookshank gently near Hermione, who was still sleeping peacefully.
Cela climbed into her own bed, curling beneath the covers, her mind buzzing with ideas for potions, experiments, and magical possibilities. For her school time here, she felt completely at home in Hogwarts—not just as a student, but as a creator, an explorer, and a young Potion maker with a secret sanctuary all her own.
Sleep finally claimed her, warm and deep, as the moonlight danced across her hair and Crookshank purred beside her, a guardian of her dreams and the magical room she had discovered.