The first week of October painted Hogwarts in fiery hues of red and gold. For Talora Livanthos, however, the changing leaves only served as a countdown calendar. October 8th was looming, and it required a campaign of military precision. Shya's birthday was not just an event; it was an institution, and this year, their first at Hogwarts, it had to be perfect.
It began in the common room, late at night, with Talora gathered with Padma, Mandy, and Lisa like generals plotting a siege.
"Right," Talora whispered, a map of the castle she'd sketched herself spread on the floor between them. "The objective: Operation Bob's Birthday. Phase one: The Cake. This is our top priority."
"The house-elves?" Padma asked, ever practical. "How do we even find the kitchens?"
"I've tried," Talora admitted, frustration seeping into her voice. "I've spent ages tickling random pear paintings. Nothing. I even asked Nearly Headless Nick, and he just gave me a lecture on the headlessness of poultry. We need an insider."
The next day, during a free period in the library, she found her insider. She was muttering to herself, staring at her map in despair, when Roman Nott slid into the seat beside her.
"You look like you're planning a heist, Livanthos," he said, his tone light.
"Worse," she groaned, not even bothering to hide the map. "A birthday party. I need to get into the kitchens to commission a cake, and the secret entrance is... well, a secret."
Roman's dimpled smile appeared. "Is that all? The kitchens? The trick isn't a painting; it's networking. The Hufflepuffs have an understanding with the elves. Come on."
He led her down to the dungeons, not towards the Slytherin common room, but to a small, cozy alcove near the kitchens where a group of first-years often studied. There, they found a Hufflepuff boy named Justin Finch-Fletchley, who they knew from Herbology, meticulously labelling his potted Fanged Geranium.
"Justin," Roman said smoothly. "A moment? My friend Talora here has a culinary emergency."
Justin looked up, brushing soil from his hands. "Oh, hello! Emergency? Not another Mandrake incident, I hope?"
"A birthday," Talora explained, pouring out her plight. "It's for Shya Gill. I need to talk to a house-elf about a cake, a specific cake, and I don't know how."
Justin's face lit up. "A birthday! Of course! The elves love birthdays. They find it terribly sad when a student doesn't get a proper cake." He leaned in conspiratorially. "You don't need a painting. You just need to know who to ask. Follow me."
He led them to a seemingly blank stretch of wall near the kitchens, where a small, bronze bell hung unobtrusively. He rang it once, softly.
With a quiet *pop*, a house-elf with large, kind eyes and a tea cozy hat appeared. "Tippy is here, Mister Finch-Fletchley Sir! You is needing something?"
"Tippy, this is Miss Talora Livanthos. She needs a very special birthday cake for her friend, Miss Shya Gill. Can you help her?"
Tippy's eyes widened. "A birthday cake! For Miss Gill! Tippy knows Miss Gill! She is always so quiet and polite. Tippy loves making birthday cakes! What is Miss wanting?"
Talora, her heart soaring, pulled out her detailed sketch. "It has to be chocolate. The richest, darkest chocolate you have. And the frosting, a silvery-blue, like our house. And on top... can you do a constellation? Specifically, the constellation Libra? It's her starsign."
Tippy took the drawing with reverent hands. "Oh! The scales! It is being so pretty and balanced! Tippy can do this! Tippy will use the finest cocoa and the shiniest silver-dust sugar! It will be a happy, balanced magic cake!" With another soft *pop*, she was gone.
Talora let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She turned to Justin, grabbing his hands. "Thank you! You're a lifesaver!"
"Happy to help," Justin said, beaming. "It's what we do."
As he turned to leave, Talora had a sudden, impulsive thought. "Justin! Wait. The party is on the 8th, after dinner, by the lake. You should come. You've more than earned an invitation."
Justin looked surprised but delighted. "Really? I'd be honoured! I'll bring some of my Fanged Geranium's less... fangy... blossoms for decoration. They've got a lovely purple hue." He gave a cheerful wave and headed off to his next class.
Talora turned to Roman. "Nott, you're a genius."
He shrugged, but looked pleased. "The oldest families know a few things. The Hufflepuffs run the most efficient underground network in the school. Never underestimate them."
Cassian's POV - The Invitation
Later that day, Cassian Black was in the dungeons, reviewing a complex potion ingredient list, when Talora Livanthos appeared before him, her expression uncharacteristically serious.
"Black," she began, forgoing any pleasantries. "Shya's birthday is on the 8th. We're having a thing. By the lake, after dinner. You're invited."
Cassian looked up from his parchment, his grey eyes meeting hers. A birthday. A social gathering. It was an entirely frivolous concept, one his own family would have dismissed as a sentimental waste of time. He opened his mouth to formulate a polite refusal, but the words didn't come.
He thought of the way Shya's dark eyes would sometimes catch the light during Astronomy, that rare, unguarded spark of wonder appearing before she quickly masked it with analysis. He remembered the quiet intensity she brought to everything, whether studying star charts or simply listening. There was a depth to her stillness that he recognized in himself.
He didn't understand why the idea of her birthday felt significant. It simply was. An undeniable fact, like a fundamental law of magic.
He gave a slow, deliberate nod. "I'll be there," he said, his voice flat.
The moment Talora left, the new problem presented itself: a gift. The obligation was clear. But what did one give Shya Gill? The question occupied a corner of his mind through the rest of the week.
Flowers were transient and meaningless. Jewellery, unless it held power or deep significance, was an empty gesture. A standard book would be an insult to her intellect.
He found himself observing her with a new, specific focus. He noticed she never wore the expensive earrings from her parents, but the simple gold *kara* was a permanent fixture. He saw the way she secretly sketched in the margins of her notes—not doodles, but precise diagrams, deconstructing the magical objects around her. In History of Magic, she was using a self-inking quill to draw its own internal enchantment schematics.
That was it. The answer. She didn't just accept magic; she sought to unravel it, to understand its very architecture.
He knew what to get her.
***
October 8th - Talora's POV
The day dawned bright and cold. Talora had never been so nervous. She'd ushered a groggy Shya out of their dormitory that morning with a flimsy excuse about a rare moss that only bloomed in the morning frost.
The day dragged. Finally, after dinner, Talora dragged a confused Shya outside.
"Talora, it's freezing," Shya complained, pulling her cloak tighter. "What is so important out here?"
They rounded a bend, and there it was. Their spot by the lake was transformed. The cashmere throws were laid out, lanterns charmed with soft, blue *Lumos* orbs floated in the air, and the small group stood around the picnic blanket. And in the center was Tippy's magnificent masterpiece: a towering chocolate cake with silvery-blue frosting and a perfect, shimmering constellation of Libra crafted from edible silver stars, the scales looking perfectly balanced.
"SURPRISE!"
Shya stopped dead. Her hands flew to her mouth, her dark eyes wide with genuine, unguarded shock. For a moment, that careful composure she always wore like armor completely vanished, replaced by pure, childlike wonder. She looked from the breathtaking cake, to her beaming friends, to a grinning Justin Finch-Fletchley arranging his purple geranium blossoms in a jar, to Roman's warm smile, and finally, to Cassian, who stood slightly apart, but he was there.
"You... you all..." Shya stammered, her voice thick with emotion she rarely showed. She turned to Talora, her eyes shimmering in the lantern light. "Bob. You did this?"
"I had a lot of help," Talora said, her own eyes misty, throwing an arm around her and glancing at Roman and Justin. "Happy birthday, you impossible creature."
The party was a roaring success. As the cake was devoured, Talora unveiled her final surprise: ice-cold bottles of Coca-Cola and Diet Coke, procured through a very discreet (and expensive) transaction with the Weasley twins' fledgling business operation.
The magical-raised kids stared in wonder. "It just... tastes good?" Lisa asked, disappointed there was no magical effect.
"It just tastes good," Shya confirmed, taking a long, happy sip of her Coke, a look of pure bliss on her face that made the corners of her eyes crinkle.
Roman tried it and approved of the "aggressive bubbliness." Even Cassian, after careful analysis, gave his trademark nod of "adequate" approval while continuing to drink it.
Then came the gifts. The girls gave art supplies and journals. Roman gave a book on ancient magical languages. Finally, Cassian stepped forward and handed Shya a small, plain wooden box.
Inside was a quill with a dark wood shaft and a silvery nib. "It's a Scribing Quill," he explained quietly. "It doesn't just write. It diagrams the magical theory behind what you're studying. It's for deconstruction."
Shya took it, her fingers trembling slightly. She looked from the quill to Cassian, and that rare, unguarded light was back in her eyes, brighter than ever. "Cassian... thank you." The simple words carried a weight of genuine understanding that seemed to hang in the air between them.
As lanterns glowed against the dark sky, Talora looked at the scene—the laughter, the friendship, the perfect, happy shock on Shya's face—and knew every bit of planning had been worth it. They were building something magical here, something that had nothing to do with spells and everything to do with the quiet understanding passing between friends.
***
Later, back in the quiet of their dormitory, Shya unwrapped the final, couriered package from her family. Inside, nestled in custom-made Gladrags wrappings, was a bag that made even Talora gasp. It was a Birkin, but it had been transformed by her mother's exacting taste.
Madame Rochelle herself had overseen the customization, replacing the original leather with a breathtaking mosaic of rare, obsidian-hued Black Dragon hide and iridescent Occamy skin, the latter's magical properties ensuring the bag was impossibly light and stretchless. With it was a velvet case containing a pair of pink diamond studs, each stone a perfect, sparkling point of light. But the gift that made Shya's breath catch was from her brother: a beautifully soft, hand-stitched plushie of a Fwooper, its feathers a riot of bright colors, and a note that read, "Saw this in that 'Fantastic Beasts' book you sent me and thought of you. To guard your bed from Peeves. And because you always liked the songs." Tucked beside it was a leather-bound set of high-end charcoals and a pad of parchment that promised never to run out of pages.
Shya hugged the plushie to her chest, a genuine, tender smile softening her features. It was a perfect, and perfectly understood, blend of their worlds—her mother's unapologetic luxury, and her brother's quiet, artistic affection, now gently intertwined with the magical world she called home.