A crisp Tuesday morning in the third week of September brought with it the first true bite of Scottish autumn in the air and, more importantly, the morning post. For Shya and Talora, it was a delivery that caused a minor spectacle in the Great Hall.
Instead of the usual school owls, two magnificent, unfamiliar birds swooped down. A tawny eagle-owl, its feathers the colour of rich oak, landed gracefully before Talora, its talons gripping a massive, beautifully woven wicker hamper adorned with a navy silk ribbon. Simultaneously, a sleek, greyish-blue Lanner falcon—a breed Shya recognized from her father's private aviary—deposited an equally large, parchment-wrapped parcel and a bundle of letters before her with a quiet, dignified air.
"Post!" Talora squealed, her face lit bright with excitement, her hands immediately flying to the hamper's lid.
Shya was more methodical, her fingers carefully untying the sturdy twine around the parcel. Inside, nestled in layers of protective wrapping and tissue paper, wasn't food from her mother's kitchen, but a treasure trove of a different kind. There were several boxes of the most expensive Belgian chocolates, bags of exotic, spiced crisps from around the world, and a new, incredibly soft cashmere throw blanket in a deep sapphire blue. Tucked beside it were two new silk scarves and a small, velvet box containing a pair of delicate, dangling earrings shaped like tiny crescent moons.
Talora's hamper was similarly extravagant. She pulled out designer cashmere sweaters, a new leather satchel, several pots of glittering, non-magical but exquisite hair accessories, and an enormous tin of the rarest Scottish shortbread. Beneath it all were boxes of fancy French bonbons and a case of sparkling Italian lemonade.
"It's perfect," Talora breathed, holding up a sweater the colour of heather. "It's them saying they know we're building a life here. They're giving us the... the armoury for it."
The real treasures, however, were the letters. Two for each of them. One set from their parents, and one from their younger brothers.
***
Later, curled up in the privacy of their dormitory with the spoils of their baskets surrounding them like a fort, they opened the letters from their brothers first.
Shya unfolded Arya's note, written on a piece of graph paper.
Dear Shya,
I calculated the velocity you'd need to achieve basic lift on a standard Hogwarts broomstick. I've included my workings. Dad says I'm not allowed to build a prototype in the garage. Is it true the stairs move? That seems inefficient. I beat level 7. Send a moving picture of a ghost. I miss you.
From your superior-in-video-games brother,
Arya
*P.S. I used my allowance. Don't eat all the chocolate at once.*
Shya's heart squeezed. She smoothed the note, covered in his neat, mathematical scribbles, and pinned it next to his first drawing.
Talora was already giggling over Tristan's letter, which was covered in colourful crayon drawings of what looked like a dragon fighting a car.
"Talora! I drew you a picture of Hogwarts. Is it right? Mummy says I can't send you a real frog but I tried. I miss you SO MUCH. Is your friend Shya there? Tell her I say hello. Don't let the potions melt your face off! Love, Tristan (and Froggy the stuffy)."
Then came the parents' letters. Talora's mother's elegant script filled several pages with questions about her social progress, subtle advice on networking, and a reminder that the quality of one's accessories was a direct reflection of one's personal standards. Her father had scrawled a postscript: 'Remember, a Livanthos forges her own path. Make it a good one.'
Shya's letter was shorter, more direct. Her mother hoped she was staying warm, enclosed a list of reputable wizarding tailors in Hogsmeade should she need alterations (clearly researched for her), and reminded her to write to Arya. Her father's portion was, as always, succinct: 'The Gill name carries weight. Ensure your actions add to it, never detract. We are watching with pride.'
The letters didn't evoke tears, but a deep, resonant understanding. They were reminders of the worlds they came from—one of strategic social climbing and global luxury, the other of quiet power, high expectations, and deep, unspoken familial love.
"They don't get it, not really," Shya said, looking at the chocolate bar from Arya. "But they're trying. In their own ways."
"That's all anyone can do," Talora replied, hugging the cashmere sweater from her mother. "We're lucky they're trying so hard."
The shared experience of receiving these parallel but different forms of love—the lavish and the pragmatic—woven together by the innocent adoration of their little brothers, knitted them even closer together. They were two girls straddling two powerful, demanding worlds, and they were the only ones who truly understood the weight of it.
***
The contents of the baskets became a social catalyst. The following Saturday, Talora orchestrated a grand "Common Room Picnic," declaring the Great Hall too formal. They spread the new cashmere throws on the floor, piled high with pillows, and opened the tins of chocolates, shortbread, and exotic snacks.
It was an instant success. Padma, Mandy, and Lisa were wide-eyed at the display, but for different reasons now.
"Merlin, this chocolate is from Belgium!" Mandy exclaimed, reading the label. "But... it's a Muggle brand? How did they get it so fresh?"
"And these 'crisps'... 'Prairie Fire' flavour? What's a 'prairie'?" Lisa asked, cautiously tasting one before her eyes widened. "Blimey, that's good! It's like... spicy, muggle Drooble's Best Blowing Gum!"
Talora laughed. "Our parents aren't magical. They just have... very good Muggle connections. They get everything shipped in from the best places in the non-magical world."
Shya held up a bag of Japanese wasabi peas. "Try these. They don't change colour or scream, but they have a kick my brother Arya would appreciate."
As they lounged, the conversation deepened, moving beyond family to their hopes and frustrations with classes.
"I just don't get History of Magic," Lisa groaned, leaning back on a sapphire-blue throw. "I'd take a Bludger to the head over another goblin rebellion."
"I think it's fascinating," Padma countered, neatly nibbling a piece of shortbread. "The foundational conflicts shape our current Ministry policies."
"It's the delivery, not the subject," Shya stated, not looking up from the intricate friendship bracelet she was tying for Arya from some spare silk thread. "Binns could make a dragon attack sound like a grocery list."
Their study sessions with Cassian and Roman continued, the dynamic growing more comfortable. The boys, both from old wizarding families, were initially baffled by the Muggle snacks Shya and Talora would sometimes bring.
Roman picked up a "Prairie Fire" crisp, examining it. "It doesn't move. Or talk. How do you know it's not poisoned?"
"It's called a 'ingredients list', Nott," Shya said dryly, not looking up from her Potions text. "Muggles are quite clever about labelling their consumables."
Cassian, after a moment of silent observation, took one. He ate it, his expression unchanging. "Adequate heat," was his only comment, but he took another.
The easy camaraderie was occasionally punctuated by friction with Hermione Granger. In the library, when the group was collaboratively working through a difficult Transfiguration essay, Hermione passed their table, her arms full of books.
"It's generally more efficient to work individually on foundational essays," she commented, her tone implying she was offering helpful advice. "Otherwise, how can you be sure you truly understand the material yourself?"
Talora smiled, a bright, polished thing that didn't reach her eyes. "We test each other, Hermione. It's called collaboration. You should try it sometime."
Hermione's cheeks flushed, and she hurried away.
As the last golden days of September began to wane, the girls took a final afternoon to themselves outside, wrapped in their new cashmere, watching the Giant Squid bask in the cool sunlight. They were no longer just the new girls, the ones with the custom uniforms. They were Shya and Talora, the leaders of their little group, with a complex web of friendships, a budding alliance with two Slytherins, and a firm grasp on their place in the world. The castle walls now felt less like a barrier and more like the boundaries of their own burgeoning kingdom.