After Ancient Runes, Cela and Hermione left the classroom together, their footsteps echoing lightly against the stone floor as they headed toward the Great Hall. Cela glanced sideways at her friend, her eyes curious.
"So, what have you got this afternoon?" she asked. "You did choose all the electives, after all."
Hermione let out a small sigh, brushing a curl from her face. "Muggle Studies," she replied briskly. "I thought it would be useful to see how the wizarding world teaches it."
Cela gave her a bright smile and patted her shoulder encouragingly. "Go on, girl. You'll manage. It's only the start of term—you'll get through it." She gave a little laugh, light and teasing.
Hermione rolled her eyes, though not unkindly. "Honestly, Cela. You sound as though I am climbing a mountain instead of going to a class. Come on, let's get lunch. I am starving."
They slipped into the Great Hall together, the smell of roasted meats and fresh bread rising to meet them. At the Gryffindor table, they found a place among their friends, talking little as they tucked into steaming plates of food.
When the meal ended, Hermione gathered her books with a determined air. "I had better get going," she said. "I do not want to be late for Professor Burbage."
Cela waved her off with a smile. "Good luck. I'll see you later."
With no classes that afternoon, Cela decided to make use of her time. She left the bustle of the Hall behind and made her way up through the castle, her thoughts already on the potion project she had been planning. The corridors grew quieter as she climbed toward the seventh floor. Once there, she paused, glancing around to be certain she was alone.
She paced three times in front of the blank stretch of wall, concentrating hard. At once, a door melted into being where the stone had been. Cela's lips curved into a satisfied smile. She grasped the handle, pushed it open, and stepped into the Room of Requirement.
The door closed behind her with a soft click, and Cela paused to take in the familiar sight. The Room of Requirement had once again arranged itself into the perfect laboratory for her needs. Tall shelves lined with books and ingredients stretched along the walls, gleaming brass cauldrons stood ready on sturdy oak tables, and bundles of herbs hung drying from a beam overhead. The faint scent of chamomile, mint, and crushed peppercorn lingered in the air, as though the room itself anticipated what she might need.
Cela walked straight to her worktable, where her scattered notes lay exactly as she had left them the day before. Rolled parchments, some ink-stained, contained her half-formed ideas. In the centre, an open book on medicinal brews displayed a familiar page about the Pepperup Potion. She touched the corner of the parchment lightly, then set her satchel down, her mind sharpening into focus.
Her idea was still only a seed, but it had taken root: she wanted to design an energizing draught that avoided the drawbacks of existing potions. Wizards had Calming Draught to ease frayed nerves, and Pepperup to invigorate weary bodies, but each carried its flaws. Her thoughts drifted to the side effects she had carefully recorded—drowsiness, sluggishness of thought, and the almost comic steam from the ears. No potion existed that could balance energy and calm in the same breath, one that could steady the mind while strengthening the body.
To begin, Cela pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward her and dipped her quill. She wrote across the top:
Comparative Study: Calming Draught and Pepperup Potion.
Her neat handwriting soon filled the page with lists.
Calming Draught:
• Valerian root (primary sedative)
• Peppermint (mild relaxant, soothing effect)
• Hellebore (in carefully measured drops, stabilises agitation)
• Chamomile flowers (gentle calming influence)
Pepperup Potion:
• Peppermint (sharp, cooling flavour, clears sinuses)
• Bicorn horn shavings (stimulates circulation and energy)
• Peppercorns (heat and invigoration, the source of warmth and steam)
• Mandrake root (restorative properties, especially against magical fatigue)
Cela tapped the feather of her quill against her lip. "Peppermint in both," she murmured aloud. The common thread was obvious, but its role differed: in one, a soothing element; in the other, a refreshing stimulant. It struck her that balance could not come from simply combining the two. She would need to control the way ingredients interacted, amplifying the benefits of one while tempering the excess of the other.
She leaned closer to her notes, circling the words Valerian root and Peppercorns. The two lay on opposite ends of a spectrum: one pulled the body down into calm, the other pushed it upward into heat and motion. What she needed was something between, an anchor that would steady without sedating, energize without overwhelming.
Cela rose and crossed the room. The shelves offered jars labeled in spidery script: ginseng root, dittany leaves, powdered moonstone, essence of rosemary. Her eyes lingered on ginseng. Known among Muggle herbalists for its invigorating qualities, yet not often used in wizarding draughts beyond minor tonics. She lifted the jar, feeling a small surge of excitement.
"Perhaps you could steady Pepperup with this," she whispered, already imagining the balance. Ginseng might provide the energy she sought, but without the overheated, ear-steaming effect of peppercorns. If blended carefully with chamomile or rosemary, it could create clarity rather than drowsiness.
She set the jar beside her cauldron and returned to her notes, jotting quickly:
Possible Additions:
• Ginseng root: sustained vitality, milder stimulant than peppercorns.
• Rosemary: mental clarity, memory enhancement, complements both calming and invigorating effects.
• Powdered moonstone: stabilises magical reactions, prevents extremes in emotional state.
Cela sat back, her quill still poised. She felt the flicker of an idea forming at last. Not simply a potion of calm, nor one of fire and energy, but a draught that sharpened the mind while easing the body into steadiness. She could see how it might be useful for students during long nights of study, or for healers working tirelessly in St Mungo's wards.
Her cauldron stood waiting, its polished sides glinting faintly in the glow of the enchanted lamps. Cela leaned over the table, quill still in hand, lost in thought as she considered which ingredient to test first. The surface of her pewter container caught her eye. In its reflection, something unusual shimmered, a patch of colour that did not belong to parchment or flame.
Frowning, she bent closer. The gleam was not of her potion at all, but of a painting.
Cela straightened at once, her heart giving a small leap. She turned quickly toward the wall where the reflection had shown it, and there—spread across the stone—hung a painting she was certain had not been there before.
It was large, nearly as tall as she was, framed in gilt that caught the lamplight. The scene within was striking: high mountains rose in the background, their snow-bright peaks fading into mist, while at their feet lay a vast forest pierced by the rush of a waterfall. Yet the heart of the painting was not the scenery at all, but a nest built high upon a jagged cliff. In the nest stood a great eagle, proud and majestic, its golden-brown feathers sleek and its wings half-spread as though it were about to take flight. Its dark eyes seemed fixed outward, not on the painted world it inhabited, but on the very room itself.
Cela stepped closer, her brow furrowed. The Room of Requirement always gave her what she asked for potion supplies, cauldrons, a place to work—but never had it offered her art. She could not remember summoning anything like this.
She stopped in front of the painting and studied it, unsettled by how alive the bird seemed. Its eyes, sharp and golden, locked with hers in a way that made her throat tighten. For a long moment she simply stared back, caught between awe and unease.
Then, clear as though spoken beside her ear, came a voice.
"Come on girl, do not look at me with those blue eyes of yours. You make me embarrassed."
Cela gasped, stumbling a step backwards. Her hand flew instinctively toward her wand. She looked wildly around the empty room, but the sound had not come from her imagination—it had come from the painting.
The eagle's beak was closed, its feathers still. Yet she was certain the voice had belonged to it.