The remaining weeks of summer melted away, each day gilded with the strange, double-edged magic of anticipation and impending goodbye.
SHYA'S POV
For Shya, the Gill mansion felt both like a sanctuary and a cage. Her art studio became a war room. The walls were now covered not just with her sketches of ravens and intricate patterns, but with feverish diagrams of wand movements copied from The Standard Book of Spells. Her impulsivity found a new, frantic focus. She would practice a single charm for hours, her patience, usually reserved for a single brushstroke, now forcibly applied to magic.
Swish and flick. Swish and flick.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" she commanded a feather, her voice sharp with impatience. The feather twitched, spun in a frantic circle, and then flopped back to the desk. She let out a sound of pure frustration, grabbing a piece of charcoal and viciously scribbling over the failed attempt in her mind.
It was her seven-year-old brother, Arya, who found her like this one afternoon. He stood in the doorway, a book on basic physics tucked under his arm, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Did it not listen?" he asked solemnly.
Shya sighed, the frustration leaking out of her. "Something like that."
Arya came in and sat cross-legged on the floor, watching her. "Maybe you're pushing it too hard," he suggested, his tone that of a tiny, thoughtful professor. "Like Newton's Third Law. For every action, there's an equal and opposite reaction. If you push the magic too hard, maybe it pushes back."
The simple, logical analogy cut through her artistic turmoil. She looked from her brother's earnest face to the stubborn feather. The next time, she didn't command it. She focused, and with a gentle, precise swish and flick, she persuaded it. "Wingardium Leviosa." The feather wobbled, then rose, shaky but undeniable, into the air, hovering at eye level. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her face.
Arya grinned. "See? It just needed the right equation."
TALORA'S POV
Across the city, Talora's summer was a structured, joyful exploration. The Livanthos conservatory was her laboratory, and she approached magic with the same methodical pleasure she applied to perfecting a new recipe. While Shya fought with charms, Talora fell in love with the quiet science of potion-making.
She created a meticulous journal, noting the exact colour change when she stirred a Cure for Boils seven times clockwise versus eight. She discovered that if she sang a steady, quiet tune under her breath, her stirring rhythm became perfectly even, and her potions achieved a pearlescent sheen the book didn't even mention.
Her six-year-old brother, Tristan, was her eager, if chaotic, assistant. "Is it done? Can I smell it? Can I touch it?" he'd ask, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"Patience, you little badger," she'd laugh, shooing him gently away from a simmering cauldron. But his presence was a comfort. It grounded her. This wasn't just some strange, distant power; it was becoming a part of her home, something she could share in her own way.
Their daily phone calls became a ritual.
"I almost set my desk on fire today," Shya would report, her tone a mix of annoyance and pride. "Arya said I was violating the laws of thermodynamics."
"My Shrinking Solution is so perfect, I'm afraid to test it in case it makes Tristan disappear forever," Talora would counter.
They met as often as their families' schedules allowed, their combined practice sessions now a well-oiled routine. Shya's impulsive magical bursts were tempered by Talora's steadying presence. Talora's occasional hesitation was bolstered by Shya's decisive confidence. Their Lumos charms now merged seamlessly into a single, brilliant orb of silver and gold without a second thought.
On the last evening before the first of September, they sat together on the floor of Shya's room, their trunks nearly packed. The new, charmed uniforms from Gladrags hung in garment bags, looking more like armour than school clothes.
"It's really happening tomorrow," Talora said, her voice quiet.
"It's about time," Shya replied, but her usual impatience was softened by a rare, vulnerable note. She looked around her room, at the familiar sketches on the wall, the comfortable chaos of her art supplies. "It's just… going to be different."
Talora leaned her head against Shya's shoulder. "It's us, Bob. It'll be different, but it'll still be us."
The summer was over. The last golden days had bled into twilight, and tomorrow, the real adventure would begin. They were as ready as they would ever be.