Ravenclaw Tower woke slowly, but Shya did not. She was already sprawled upside-down in a blue armchair, hair hanging toward the floor like she was trying to communicate with the rug. Talora sat nearby with parchment, quill, and a terrifyingly colour-coded schedule. Padma, Mandy, and Lisa hovered like loyal moons around a very chaotic sun.
"Breakfast," Shya announced to the ceiling, "should be served directly to your pillow. Why must I travel to food? Why does food not travel to me? What's the point of magic if I still have to walk?"
Mandy giggled and nearly dropped her shoe. Padma sighed in a way that meant she was absolutely amused. Lisa was barely breathing for laughing.
Talora's quill didn't stop. "Because if food came to you, you'd never leave the castle's soft furnishings. You'd evolve into a cushion with opinions."
"I already am a cushion with opinions," Shya said proudly. "A deluxe one. Top-tier fluff."
Talora didn't look up, but the corner of her mouth curved. "You're an owl-chewed throw pillow."
Shya gasped. "How dare—"
"Lightly used. Secondhand."
Shya slid dramatically off the chair and collapsed on the rug like she'd been slain in war. Lisa clapped.
Talora kept writing, but her eyes flicked to Shya with affection disguised as exasperation. "If you're done being dead, put on your shoes. We have Charms after breakfast."
Shya groaned. "Fine. But if I starve on the way, I want my tombstone to say Talora murdered me with exercise."
"Oh, definitely," Talora said. "I'll make sure it's engraved in Latin."
They bickered their way toward the common room exit, the girls trailing behind like a well-trained entourage. As they descended the spiral staircase, two figures leaned against the stone wall just outside the entrance—dark green robes, silver accents standing out against the ancient stone.
Cassian and Roman.
Cassian's eyes flicked up first—calm, unreadable—but they warmed an inch when they landed on Shya. Roman didn't bother being subtle; his grin spread the moment he saw Talora.
"You're loud this morning," Roman said casually.
"Shya is always loud," Talora replied. "It's her main trait."
"My *best* trait," Shya corrected, pointing at herself.
"It's definitely a trait," Cassian murmured, voice low, like he was speaking to her alone.
Shya's stomach did that horrible delightful swoop she definitely wasn't acknowledging.
Roman nodded toward Talora's parchment. "Is that today's war map?"
"It's a schedule," Talora said firmly.
He raised a brow. "That's what I said."
"You said war map."
"Same thing, General."
Talora narrowed her eyes and stepped past him—but the slight pink in her cheeks betrayed her.
They fell into step—Slytherins and Ravenclaws, side by side through the corridors. Students glanced, whispering. Lines weren't supposed to blur like that. Not here.
Shya noticed. And she loved it.
***
The Great Hall buzzed loud, floating candles casting warm light as they took their seats. Cassian and Roman claimed spots beside them with only a second of hesitation—a move that made half of Slytherin table turn and stare.
Shya grabbed an orange and stared at it with great suspicion. "I think orange juice is betrayal," she said suddenly.
Talora blinked. "I—what?"
"If oranges wanted to be juice, they'd be liquid," Shya continued passionately. "Juice is what happens when you violently compress their essence. It's fruit torture."
Lisa snorted loudly into her porridge. Mandy choked. Padma shook her head like she did not have the energy.
Cassian… smiled. Not a polite smile. A real one. It made something skip in Shya's chest.
Roman leaned closer to Talora. "Do you torture fruit, too?"
Talora didn't look at him. "Only if they're ill-behaved."
From the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley's head swiveled, his ears turning pink as he stared at Talora, who was laughing at something Roman had said. Harry Potter watched the entire group with a confused frown, as if trying to solve a complex riddle without a question.
Hermione Granger, sitting with them, followed their gaze. Her expression tightened. "I don't see what the fuss is about," she muttered, stabbing a sausage with more force than necessary. "They're just... loud."
Ron dragged his eyes away, stammering. "It's... not just that. They're... you know."
"Pretty?" Hermione supplied, her voice brittle.
"Well, yeah, that," Ron admitted, his ears burning brighter. "But it's like... they don't even care. They don't care about Harry, or... or anything. They've got their own... thing."
Hermione's knuckles were white around her fork. Her own attempts to integrate with the other girls in her house had been met with polite dismissal. She was too intense, too corrective, too much. Seeing Shya and Talora, who were arguably more intense, be so effortlessly adored was a poison she didn't know how to antidote. Fueled by some desperate impulse, Hermione stood and marched over to their section of the table. "Hello," she said sharply. "I thought, now that we're all friends—"
"We're not friends," Shya said, completely factual, not unkind.
Hermione paused, thrown off. "We… could be."
Talora smiled—perfectly polite, impeccably cold. "We already have study partners. Sorry."
A beat. Hermione's jaw tightened. "Well. Enjoy your company, then."
She walked away, shoulders stiff.
Ron leaned toward Harry. "They don't like her very much."
Harry stared after Shya. "Maybe they're just… independent."
Ron snorted. "Or terrifying. Bit of both."
Shya popped a grape into her mouth. "I'm delightful," she said to no one in particular.
Cassian murmured, "You really are."
She pretended she didn't hear that.
***
History of Magic was a battlefield of boredom, and Shya refused to suffer silently. Binns droned on about goblin uprisings while Shya whispered commentary: "If the goblins were that angry, they should've unionized."
Talora jabbed her knee under the desk. "Focus."
"I am focused. On justice."
"Bob."
"What? I care about fair labour conditions."
Mandy snorted so hard Binns drifted directly through her desk in irritation. Padma covered her face. Lisa shook silently.
A folded scrap slid onto Shya's open book. Cassian's handwriting—elegant, sharp:
Your running commentary is the only thing keeping me alive.
Her heart forgot how to rhythm for a moment.
Talora elbowed her with surgical precision. "Stop smiling like that."
"I'm not smiling," Shya whispered—while absolutely smiling.
Talora tried to look unimpressed and failed when Roman looked over with a stupid grin. She quickly looked away, cheeks warming.
***
Walking back through the corridors after classes, the five Ravenclaw girls clustered tight—Cassian and Roman trailing close behind like shadows choosing them.
A group of Gryffindors passed: Harry with that curious glance again, Ron trying very hard not to trip while staring at Talora, Hermione strategically looking anywhere else.
But just ahead, Padma said too loudly, "Honestly, Shya and Talora are the smartest girls in our year. No question."
Hermione froze mid-step. That was her title. That was the one thing she had. She looked at Shya, who was now laughing at something Talora had said, her dark eyes alight, Cassian and Roman flanking them a few respectful steps behind. They were a constellation, and she was a satellite, drifting alone.
"Looks aren't everything," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone.
Ron, walking beside her, overheard. He glanced back at the group, at Talora's easy smile and shining hair, and stammered, "It's... not just that, Hermione."
The words, meant to be comforting, only confirmed her deepest fear. It was just that. It was the easy laughter, the unshakeable confidence, the way they moved through the world as if they owned it. And the worst part was, they didn't even seem to be trying.
Talora watched her go. Then looked away. "That wasn't our fault," Shya said lightly.
Talora nodded. "No. It's just gravity."
Shya bumped her shoulder. "And we are the center of it."
Talora leaned into the bump, just slightly.
***