The following week saw the social experiment of their group solidify into a new, unshakeable fact. The sight of Ravenclaws and Slytherins moving through the castle together was no longer a shock; it was an expectation. And with that expectation came a subtle shift in power.
It was in Potions, a class that had become a quiet showcase for their particular talents, that the architecture of their influence became most clear.
Professor Snape, a circling predator of black robes, paused behind Shya and Cassian's workstation. They were brewing a simple Cure for Boils, and their cauldron emitted a steady, turquoise steam that smelled perfectly of fresh copper and nettles.
Snape observed their synchronized, wordless movements for a full minute. Shya crushed the snake fangs with a artist's precise, rhythmic taps while Cassian monitored the cauldron's temperature with a hawk-like focus, his wand making minute adjustments to the flame.
"Adequate," Snape murmured, the word from him akin to roaring applause. His black eyes then slid to the next station, where Ron Weasley was sweating over a murky, lumpy liquid. "A stark contrast, Weasley. Try not to brew a poison that would be an improvement on your current state."
As Snape swept away, Shya didn't gloat. She simply reached for the porcupine quills, her fingers brushing against Cassian's as he moved to hand them to her. A static jolt, brief and telling, passed between them. Neither acknowledged it.
Across the aisle, the dynamic was different but equally effective. Talora was explaining the stirring rhythm for the final phase to Roman, her voice a low, confident murmur.
"It's not just four clockwise, it's four *precise* clockwise. The potion knows if you're lazy."
"It's a sentient conspiracy, this potion," Roman replied, but his hands were following her instructions exactly, his usual casual air sharpened into focus under her direction. Their success was a joint production, his charm tempering her intensity, her knowledge giving his efforts direction.
Meanwhile, Padma, Mandy, and Lisa had formed a protective, productive unit, their potions all a clear, vibrant blue under the guidance of the notes Talora had shared. They were no longer just a group of friends; they were a bloc, and their collective performance was a quiet, relentless demand for respect.
***
The library that evening had become their unofficial court. They occupied the same large table, but their chosen books revealed their paths. Talora had a stack on Herbology and a thick compendium on advanced potion ingredients. Shya, meanwhile, was surrounded by a book on advanced wand lore, a theoretical text on defensive magic, and her ever-present Astronomy charts.
The glow from their lamps pooled on the wood, a cozy island in the vast, silent room. For a while, the only sounds were the scratch of quills and the soft rustle of turning pages. Then Shya broke the silence, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.
"Okay, but hypothetically," she said, leaning forward and sending a stack of *Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1* teetering, "if Peeves got hold of a Time-Turner."
Talora didn't look up from her diagram of Gillyweed, but her quill stilled. "He'd use it to simultaneously prank the founders of Hogwarts just to create paradoxes that would annoy future headmasters on principle."
"Exactly!" Shya's eyes glittered. "He'd give Salazar Slytherin a whoopee cushion right as he was designing his secret evil lair."
"The horror," Talora deadpanned, a grin threatening. "Godric Gryffindor's sword would get stuck in the scabbard because it was full of pudding."
"And Helga Hufflepuff's recipes would all call for salt, but every time she reached for it, it'd be sugar!" Shya concluded, slumping back in her chair with a satisfied sigh. "We'd be eating cursed treacle tarts for centuries. The end of wizardkind as we know it."
From the other side of the table, Cassian watched Shya, his chin resting on his hand. He hadn't spoken in ten minutes, but he was listening to every word of her ridiculous, brilliant hypothesis, a faint, unguarded softness in his grey eyes.
Padma, Mandy, and Lisa were trying to stifle their laughter, their shoulders shaking. Mandy had tears in her eyes.
Roman shook his head, a wide, dimpled grin on his face as he looked at Talora. "I'm impressed. You've planned the logistical downfall of a thousand years of wizarding education over a five-minute break."
Talora finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "Someone has to consider the long-term strategic threats. It's called being prepared."
"It's called being terrifying," he countered, his tone full of admiration.
"It's a delicate balance," she replied, but she preened, just a little.
The dynamic was so natural that when Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered, it was the Golden Trio who looked like the interlopers.
Hermione's eyes immediately went to their table, to the easy laughter and the advanced books. She saw Shya's text on wand lore and felt a pang of envy. She'd read that one too, but she hadn't made anyone laugh about it. She wanted to be the one at the center of that circle, the one who could be both brilliant and beloved. The wanting was a physical ache that curdled into something darker. She made a beeline for the restricted section, her posture rigid.
Ron stared, his gaze lingering on Talora's smiling face. "Blimey," he muttered under his breath.
Harry wasn't looking at just one of them; his eyes flickered between Shya's animated expression and Talora's confident posture. He didn't understand the pull, but he felt it. They were a different kind of magic altogether.
"It's like they've got their own ministry," Ron mumbled, slumping into a distant chair.
"They're just studying, Ron," Harry said, though he sounded unconvinced. He watched as Cassian, now drawn back into his own work, pointed to a complex symbol in Shya's book on defensive theory, his head bent close to hers.
Later, as they packed their bags, the group drifted into pairs on the walk back to the common rooms. Padma, Mandy, and Lisa walked ahead, still giggling about the sugary stew.
Talora and Roman fell into step just behind them. "Your method for the Wand-Lighting Charm," Roman began, his tone light but his eyes serious. "The one where you hold your wrist steadier. It's brighter."
"It's more efficient," Talora said with a shrug, seamlessly taking the lead in their direction down a corridor. She was always the one who decided the route, and Shya was always happy to follow. "The standard flick is too loose. You lose focus."
"You keep finding these... efficiencies," he said, bumping her shoulder gently with his own. "You do know you're rewriting the first-year curriculum in your head, don't you?"
This time, Talora didn't correct him. A small, proud smile played on her lips. "Someone has to. The original editors were clearly asleep at the desk."
Further back, Shya and Cassian walked in a companionable silence that was anything but empty. The sounds of the castle settling for the night echoed around them.
It was Cassian who broke the quiet. "Your brother," he said, the subject seeming to come from nowhere. "The one who draws you pictures. Does he like magic?"
Shya looked up, surprised. It was the most personal question he'd ever asked her. "He's seven. He thinks it's brilliant. Sends me lists of questions I have to ask the portraits. He's currently obsessed with how Peeves eats if he's a ghost."
Cassian nodded slowly, as if this was a perfectly valid line of inquiry. "A logical question. Most people don't ask how things work. They just accept them." He glanced down at her. "You ask."
"It's what I'm good at," she said, her voice softer than usual. She didn't overthink her reply; it was simply the truth, flowing out as naturally as her earlier ridiculousness.
"I know," he replied, and the simple acknowledgment felt more intimate than a compliment.
They reached the point where their paths diverged. The rest of the group was already ahead, Talora glancing back with a knowing look before turning the corner.
Cassian stopped. "Your friend mentioned the first Quidditch match is this weekend."
Shya blinked. "And?"
"Slytherin versus Gryffindor will be the first match. It's… loud. A spectacle." He seemed to be choosing his words with uncharacteristic care. "You should come."
It wasn't an invitation to a date. It was a statement of fact, as if her presence was a necessary variable in an equation he was solving. A Slytherin inviting his new friends to watch a game together a sign that they weren't just study partners but that he also regarded her as a dear friend.
Shya held his grey gaze, her own dark eyes unblinking. She didn't need to consult Talora or ponder the social ramifications. The idea appealed to her, so she was direct. "I'll consider it. I've never seen a concussed bludger before."
Another one of those rare, real smiles touched his mouth. "I'll try to make it educational."
He turned and melted into the shadows of the dungeon corridor. Shya stood for a moment, the castle's familiar chill feeling suddenly different, charged with a new and potent kind of magic. They weren't just studying together anymore. They were building something, and the blueprint was becoming thrillingly, dangerously complex.