Stepping out of Gladrags, the world felt new. The knowledge that they had a vault of gold at Gringotts and a custom wardrobe on the way was one thing. But the reality of it—the heavy, clinking of galleons in their bags, extension charms built in (for acouple of galleons, courtesy of Gringotts) in their pockets—made Diagon Alley feel less like a strange place and more like a personal marketplace.
"Right," Talora said, her voice buzzing with excitement. "The bookshop. I need to see a real potions book."
"Obviously," Shya agreed, her artist's eye already darting towards a shop window displaying moving, colour-changing inks. "But look at that! The pigments are alive."
They dragged their mothers into Flourish and Blotts, and the sheer scale of it was overwhelming in the best way. Towers of books reached towards the ceiling, ladders sliding on rails to assist witches and wizards. The air smelled of old paper, leather, and a faint, magical ozone.
Talora made a beeline for the potions section, her fingers trailing over spines with titles like Magical Drafts and Potions and Advanced Potion-Making.
"Oh, this is it, Bob," she breathed, pulling a heavy tome from the shelf. "Look at the ingredients! Boomslang skin! Lacewing flies! It's so much better than..."
"...than the mud and berry 'concoctions' you two used to make in the sandbox?" her mother, Carrie, finished with a warm, knowing laugh, coming to stand beside them. She smiled at Shya's mother, Renu. "Do you remember? They'd spend hours, so serious, mixing dirt and flower petals in your best Tupperware."
Renu Gill smiled, the memory softening her elegant features. "And then they graduated to my skincare cabinet. I still don't know how they got the lid off that La Mer cream."
"We were perfecting our formula!" Talora protested, but she was grinning.
"It was a very potent healing salve," Shya added with mock solemnity, though her eyes sparkled with mirth. "Until your face turned green for a day."
Their laughter echoed through the quiet aisle. It was a familiar story, a thread that ran through their entire childhood. Every Halloween, they weren't princesses or superheroes; they were always witches, with pointy hats made of construction paper and "potions" brewed from ketchup and glitter.
"This is just the next level," Talora said, clutching the potions book to her chest as if it were a long-lost treasure. "The real level."
From there, the shopping became a whirlwind of delight. They piled their arms high with textbooks, but also with extras: Shya found a beautiful, leather-bound sketchbook whose pages would never tear and a set of charmed, self-cleaning brushes. Talora, alongside her standard books, discovered a guide to magical fungi and a beginner's text on herbology that she declared "absolutely essential."
At the Apothecary, the smell was overwhelming—a mix of earthy roots, sharp chemicals, and strange, floral notes. Talora was in heaven, her bossy, commanding nature coming to the fore as she directed the shop assistant to portion out bundles of dried nettles, scurvy grass, and porcupine quills.
"Be careful with those, Miss," the wizened old shopkeeper said, eyeing her enthusiasm warily as he weighed out a measure of bright yellow caterpillars.
"Don't worry," Talora said confidently. "We have a lot of experience."
Shya, meanwhile, was more cautious, observing the strange, pulsating tubers and pickled newt eyes with a critical, artistic eye. "It's... textural," she decided.
Their final stop, before the looming, momentous visit to Ollivanders, was a charming little shop that sold magical confections. They used their own Galleons to buy a small pile of Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizzbees, the sheer novelty of it making them feel like the children they still were.
Sitting on a bench outside, watching their Frog cards hop away, their parents chatting a few feet away, the two girls shared a look of pure, unadulterated joy.
"It's all real, Bob," Shya said, her voice soft with wonder.
"Everything we ever pretended," Talora agreed, popping a Whizzbee into her mouth and giggling as her feet lifted an inch off the ground. "We're not pretending anymore."
For this one, perfect afternoon, they were just two eleven-year-old best friends, surrounded by wonders, their biggest worry being which flavour of Every Flavour Bean to try next.