Morning sunlight poured through the tall glass windows of the Gill family's London townhouse, spilling over sleek marble floors and catching on bursts of colour — the lacquered blues and deep reds of silk cushions, the shimmer of gilt frames, the smell of jasmine tea steeping somewhere nearby. The house was the definition of *modern perfection*, but everywhere were hints of something older: carved teak panels, brass trays, a scatter of embroidered pillows imported from Punjab. It wasn't sterile like the homes of Shya's classmates — it breathed. It lived.
Shya sat cross-legged on the white leather sofa, her sketchbook open, doodling absent-mindedly while Arya zoomed past her on his scooter, making dinosaur noises at top volume. He was four years younger, the undisputed chaos engine of the Gill household, and currently obsessed with velociraptors and dump trucks.
"Careful, T-Rex," Shya muttered without looking up, "if you break another lamp, Mum's going to feed you to an actual one."
Arya screeched, turned sharply, and almost took out the corner table.
That was when the sound of fluttering broke through the calm. An owl — not unusual these days, but still thrilling — landed on the window ledge with the haughty air of a creature who knew it carried important news. A thick envelope bearing the Hogwarts crest dropped neatly into Shya's lap.
"Finally," she breathed, grinning. The second-year letter.
She tore it open, scanning the neat handwriting and the list of required materials. "New books, new robes... and apparently a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Wonder who they roped in this time."
Arya abandoned his scooter and climbed up beside her. "Is it for me?" he asked hopefully.
"No, but maybe we can get you a book about magic," she said, ruffling his hair. "If you're very good."
Before the owl had even vanished into the pale London sky, Shya had grabbed the phone.
"Bob, pick up," she muttered under her breath. One ring. Two.
"Hello?" came Talora's voice, warm and still thick with sleep.
"You got your letter yet?"
"Just now," Talora said, a yawn audible on the other end. "I was feeding Tristan breakfast and the owl nearly landed in his cereal. He thought it was for him and tried to trade it for his toy truck."
"Tragic," Shya said, deadpan. "Anyway, we're going shopping together, yeah? Tell your chauffeur to meet mine at the Leaky Cauldron. Noon?"
"Deal. And Shya—" Talora's voice brightened. "Please tell me we're going back to Madame Rochelle's."
Shya smirked. "Already planned. I heard she's launching a new collection — the Celestial Line. It debuted at the Paris Witches' Fashion Show last month. I saw the preview in Vogue Witch. It's divine."
"Oh, Merlin help us," Talora sighed, half-amused, half-ecstatic. "See you soon."
—
The Livanthos estate in the Cotswolds shimmered under late-morning sun when Talora stepped into the car. Her hair, soft golden-brown and loose around her shoulders, caught the light as she adjusted her pale linen blazer. Tristan followed, clutching a plastic stegosaurus in one hand and a pack of stickers in the other.
"Do you think they'll have toy dragons that move around and fly?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Maybe," Talora said with a smile. "If we're lucky."
By the time they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, the narrow alleyway outside hummed with activity. Shya and Arya were already there — Shya effortlessly chic in a black sleeveless blouse and tailored shorts, her gold anklet chiming softly as she shifted her weight. The two girls hugged in that easy, unspoken way best friends did when words weren't necessary.
"You ready?" Shya asked.
"Always."
A moment later, the familiar brick wall shifted open to reveal Diagon Alley in all its glittering chaos — a kaleidoscope of noise and colour, scents of parchment and sugar, the hum of magic thick in the air. Arya and Tristan nearly fell over each other trying to take it all in.
"Stay close," Talora warned automatically, though she was smiling.
Their first stop, as always, was Gringotts. The goblin at the counter gave them a distinctly unimpressed look, already flipping through parchment before they even spoke.
"Vault 711 for Gill," Shya said crisply.
"Vault 923for Livanthos," Talora added.
The goblin's sigh was audible. "Follow me," he muttered, clearly less than thrilled to see money flowing out of the bank.
Arya and Tristan, however, were practically vibrating with excitement. "Is this where the dragons live?" Arya whispered loudly as the cart began its wild descent.
"No dragons," Shya said, holding on to the side. "Just ancient gold and nausea."
The boys whooped as the wind whipped through their hair, and Talora couldn't help but laugh.
When they finally stopped, the vaults opened with a flourish of cold air and the gleam of untouched wealth. Piles of coins reflected the flickering torchlight, the sound of them echoing in the cavernous space. Arya and Tristan both gasped, utterly awed.
"Can we—?" Arya began.
"No," Shya said, before he even finished. "You can look, not touch."
The goblin cleared his throat impatiently.
"Right, right," Shya said.
By the time they emerged back into the warm sunlight, the boys were still talking about the vaults.
"Did you see how much gold that was?" Tristan said breathlessly. "That's more than a hundred!"
"A thousand, easily," Arya corrected, with all the authority of a Seven-year-old.
The girls exchanged amused glances.
"Next stop: Madame Rochelle," Talora said, looping her arm through Shya's. "I've been dreaming about her new line since Vogue Witch dropped that preview. I think my soul left my body when I saw the silhouettes."
"Same," Shya said. "I'm manifesting the dark-academia-meets-Ravenclaw aesthetic. Structured but dramatic."
"And I'm going romantic academia — soft fabrics, embroidery, maybe some celestial motifs. Stars, lions, florals. My vibe is 'ethereal girl at dawn.'
"Mine is if Wednesday Addams got a scholarship to Oxford," Shya replied dryly. " but more maximalist and with more bling"
Talora laughed. "So basically, the same thing, but with trauma and caffeine."
"Exactly."
Madame Rochelle's establishment, 'Gladrags Wizardwear', was less a shop and more a sartorial sanctuary. The entrance was a simple, elegant archway, but stepping inside was like walking into a constellation. The walls were a deep midnight blue, and tiny, charmed lights twinkled like far-off stars. Bolts of fabric—silks that shimmered like moonstone, velvets as deep as space, chiffons that floated on their own—drifted slowly through the air.
Madame Rochelle herself, a witch with severe silver hair and a tape measure draped around her neck like a stole, descended upon them the moment they entered.
"Mes chéries!" she exclaimed, her French accent crisp. " I have been anticipating your arrival. The Celestial Line has arrived from Paris, and I already see the pieces that will sing for you."
She didn't ask what they wanted; she knew. With a flick of her wand, two privacy screens swirled into place, and the floating fabrics began to orbit the girls.
In the corner, Arya and Tristan, who had been given miniature versions of the tape measure to play with, were now thoroughly entangled in them.
"I'm a spider!" Tristan announced, wriggling.
"I'm a velociraptor caught in a trap!" Arya countered, roaring and struggling dramatically.
"Charming," Shya murmured, not taking her eyes off her reflection. "We'll take them."
heir next stop was Flourish and Blotts, but the quiet bookishness they expected was nowhere to be found. A seething crowd of witches, from giggling teenagers to flustered matrons, spilled out of the shop door. A large banner stretched across the front, depicting a winking Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Shya muttered, spotting the commotion. "He's not even fit."
They managed to slip through a side aisle, the boys in tow, and found a pocket of calm where Cassian and Roman Blackthorn were examining a stack of books with intense focus.
"Let me guess," Cassian said, not looking up from a heavy tome titled Curses and Counter-Curses of the 18th Century. "The circus is in town."
"If by circus you mean a walking, talking ego with professionally whitened teeth, then yes," Shya replied, plucking a book on advanced transfiguration theory from a shelf.
At the front of the shop, Lockhart's voice boomed. "Now, now, ladies! Plenty of time for photographs! And look here—young Harry Potter himself! Came to buy my books, of course—knew his education would be lacking without them!"
They watched as Lockhart dragged a mortified-looking Harry Potter into a photo op, beaming as cameras flashed.
Talora winced in secondhand embarrassment. "I can't believe he's our new Defence professor. It's like hiring a peacock to teach aerodynamics."
"At least peacocks can fly," Roman said dryly, adding a book on duelling tactics to his pile. "We're relying on self-study. These," he gestured to the stack, "are written by people who actually fought things that didn't pose for a portrait afterward."
"Add two of everything to our pile," Shya said decisively.
While the older children strategized their academic survival, Arya and Tristan had discovered the children's section. An enchanted pop-up book lay open, its pages showing a magnificent Welsh Green dragon soaring over a miniature, animated mountain range.
Arya gasped. "It's a dinosaur that breathes fire!"
"Bigger," Cassian corrected gently, having wandered over. "And significantly less extinct."
Roman leaned against the bookshelf. "They play Quidditch, you know. The dragons. In the reserves."
Two small faces turned to him, utterly mesmerized. "What's Quidditch?" Tristan breathed.
"Only the best sport in the world," Roman said, a sly grin spreading. "You fly on brooms. There are balls. It's brilliant, controlled chaos."
Their eyes widened to the size of Galleons. "You can actually fly?" Arya whispered, as if hearing the secret of the universe, " I thought Shy was lying, she wouldn't show me at home"
"We can fly, just not at home" Shya said, appearing behind them. "You cannot."
"Not yet!" they chimed in unison, a new, terrifying ambition ignited in their eyes. "Can we get a broom? Please?" Tristan begged, latching onto Talora's arm.
"Absolutely not," Talora said, her voice firm. "You are six."
"They make children's brooms," Cassian interjected calmly, looking up from his book. "The 'Toyfly' series. They're charmed to hover no more than a foot off the ground and have a cushioning charm that activates if they tip more than ten degrees. They're arguably safer than any muggle vehicle."
Shya and Talora exchanged a long, weary look. They had been outmaneuvered by logic.
"We'll… consider it," Talora conceded, which the boys correctly interpreted as a resounding 'yes'
Emboldened by their impending broom ownership, the boys' demands grew. "Can we see the brooms now?" Arya asked, practically vibrating.
"Later," Shya said, steering them away from the bookshop. "We have one more stop."
The stop was 'Wheezy's Wondrous Whips & Whimsies,' a toy shop that looked like a contained explosion of joy. Toys zoomed, chirped, and sparkled on every shelf. The boys shot inside like cannonballs.
Their target was immediately clear: a display of 'First-Fire Dragons,' miniature dragon toys with leathery wings. When commanded, they would flap into the air and let out a cheerful, harmless puff of charmed, cold, coloured smoke.
"It breathes fire!" Tristan yelled, pointing.
"It's not real fire, you dolt," Arya said, with all the superiority of an older brother, but his eyes were just as wide. "But it's close!"
They each grabbed one—a scarlet Welsh Green for Arya and an emerald Hungarian Horntail for Tristan—and looked at the girls with the most potent weapon they possessed: utter, unbridled hope.
Shya sighed, pulling out her Gringotts pouch. "If this keeps them from trying to actually ride a real dragon later, it's a sound investment."
As Shya paid for the dragons, Tristan's eyes locked onto a display at the back of the shop. There, hovering serenely a foot off a mirrored platform, was a sleek, child-sized broomstick with the words "Toyfly 3000" emblazoned on the handle in shining letters.
He tugged on Talora's sleeve, his voice a whisper of pure awe. "Talora… look."
Arya followed his gaze, and his jaw dropped. For a moment, both boys were completely silent, utterly captivated.
"Oh, no," Talora murmured, seeing their expressions. "That's the 'we can't say no' face."
The boys descended upon them, not with whining, but with a devastatingly sincere campaign. They looked up, their eyes wide and shining, clutching their new toy dragons to their chests.
"Please?" Arya said, his voice hushed with reverence. "We'll be so careful."
"We'll share!" Tristan added, nodding so vigorously his hair flopped.
Shya and Talora looked at each other. It was a tactical defeat. The combination of the adorable faces, the promised responsibility, and Cassian's earlier assurance of safety was an unbeatable strategy.
"Fine," Shya said, the word sounding more like a surrender.
"But," Talora interjected, holding up a finger. "You only ride it under adult supervision. But if you break anything at all, they're gone. Understood?"
"UNDERSTOOD!" they shouted in unison, already sprinting towards the display.
A few minutes later, each boy was clutching the handle of his very own Toyfly broomstick, their faces lit with a joy so pure it was almost blinding.
"Best. Day. Ever," Arya declared, his voice firm with finality.
By the time they'd herded the boys out of the toy shop and down the cobbled lane… the shopping had been done.
The heat of the afternoon had softened into a golden glow by the time they claimed a marble table at Fortescue's. The air hummed with laughter and the sweet scent of sugar, and two child-size brooms were carefully propped against a nearby wall.
Shya had mint chocolate chip 'her favourite' . Talora had cookies-and-cream cheesecake, Cassian had chosen black cherry, Roman butter pecan. Arya and Tristan were presented with a rainbow sherbet sundae piled high with enough sprinkles to start a riot, their new toy dragons perched on the table beside them, occasionally puffing out little clouds of red and green smoke.
As they talked of classes and Lockhart's crimes against academic integrity, Arya launched into an impassioned monologue, now using his dragon as a visual aid. "And when I'm a Quidditch star, I'll have a real dragon on my team!"
Cassian nodded, his expression serious. "A bold strategy. The regulation might be an issue."
Shya smirked. "He's already planning to lobby the Ministry, apparently."
Arya shrugged, utterly matter-of-fact. "Thunderclaw needs a career too."
Talora laughed so hard she nearly choked on her ice cream.
The sunlight was turning to syrup, dripping gold over the cobblestones. For a single, perfect heartbeat, there was a quiet understanding between them all—a shared confidence, the solid feeling of roots finally taking hold.
The moment shattered with the precision of a tactical strike.
Tristan's spoon, wielded with catastrophic glee, catapulted a blob of whipped cream squarely onto Arya's forehead.
A beat of stunned silence. Then, chaos.
Arya shrieked, grabbed a napkin, missed, and accidentally knocked over his own sherbet glass, which cascaded across the table and directly into Cassian's lap.
Roman, who had been taking a delicate bite of his cone, started laughing so hard he had to grip the table for support.
"Honestly," Shya sighed, dabbing a splatter of rainbow sherbet off her boot with a napkin, "we can't take you two anywhere."
Talora's giggles spilled over, light and uncontrollable. "And yet somehow," she managed, catching her breath as she looked around at their messy, laughing, perfect group, "this feels exactly right."
The afternoon faded around them, the world for now still golden, whole, and wonderfully, messily theirs.