The journey to Diagon Alley was a masterclass in quiet, global wealth. Shya's mother, Mrs. Gill, was a vision in a razor-sharp Chanel tweed jacket and sleek YSL trousers, a Himalayan crocodile Birkin hanging from her arm. Her only nods to heritage were the heavy, flawless diamond and ruby bangles that stacked up her arm, glinting with every movement. Talora's mother, Mrs. Livanthos, was her perfect counterpart in a classic Brunello Cucinelli cashmere coat, a simple but devastatingly expensive diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist, and a Prada satchel.
Professor Flitwick, leading them through the Leaky Cauldron, seemed momentarily dazzled by the aura of immense, modern money they projected before the wonder of the alley took over.
Gringotts, however, commanded their respect. The towering marble and the stern warning on the doors spoke a language their families understood: power, history, and absolute security.
A goblin named Ragnok greeted them with palpable annoyance. "Gill. Vault 711. Livanthos. Vault 923," he rasped, consulting his ledger without looking at them. "Dormant accounts. The auditing alone has been a nuisance." He sneered, showing sharp teeth. "Follow me."
The cart ride was a terrifying, exhilarating plunge that left their mothers gripping their Birkins tightly, their knuckles white. The girls, however, let out a mixture of shrieks and laughter, the thrill overriding the fear. They shot past underground waterfalls that shimmered with stolen rainbows and caverns that breathed gusts of heat from sleeping dragons, the sheer magical engineering leaving them breathless.
Vault 711, the Gill vault, opened. Inside was not a messy hoard, but a curated gallery of power. Light glinted off neat, towering pillars of gold Galleons, illuminating displays of heirlooms: jewels like captured starlight—black opals with shifting galaxies within, star sapphires, and flawless diamonds so clear they were almost invisible beside scrolls of forgotten magic written in languages long dead. The air was still and smelled of sandalwood, ink, and immense, silent potential.
"It's beautiful," Shya breathed, her usual composure replaced by genuine awe, her fingers hovering over a case holding a necklace of emeralds darker than a forbidden forest.
Vault 923, the Livanthos vault, was similar. The door opened with a resonant *clang*, revealing a space magically illuminated by the gold galleons that were piled in warm, inviting mounds that seemed to glow from within. Chests overflowed with emeralds the size of quail eggs and rubies like crystallized fire. Tapestries depicting great stags and forest spirits hung between racks of ceremonial weapons with jewelled hilts.
"Okay, Bob," Talora said, a wide, appreciative grin spreading across her face as she picked up a heavy gold coin. "This is a statement."
They filled their money bags, the sheer weight of the galleons a tangible promise of the influence they now wielded.
Their next stop was Gladrags Wizarding Atelier, a discreet, elegant establishment that their mothers identified instantly as the correct caliber after discussing with Professor Flitwick.
The proprietress, a witch with a severe silver chignon and a critical eye, assessed them. "Hogwarts, I presume?"
It was their mothers who took the lead. "Indeed," said Mrs. Gill, her voice smooth as she ran a discerning hand over a bolt of cashmere. "The standard uniform will not suffice. We require a complete bespoke set."
The girls presented Shya's sketches. "We need a mini-skort," Shya stated, pointing to the design. "Pleated, hitting mid-thigh. And matching tailored trousers."
"Absolutely not," Mrs. Livanthos said immediately, her pragmatic side taking over. "Mid-thigh? In the Scottish Highlands? You'll both freeze to death. It's impractical."
"And a bit too… bold," Mrs. Gill added, frowning at the short hemline.
"But Mum—" Talora started, her face falling.
"It's what we want," Shya insisted, her chin lifting in a silent challenge.
The proprietress, Madame Rochelle, cleared her throat softly, a knowing smile on her lips. "Ladies, if I may? This is a common concern. But you are thinking as Muggles." She gestured to the fabric. "We can weave Warming Charms directly into the wool itself. A simple, permanent enchantment. The girls will be perfectly comfortable, even in a blizzard. The length can be a matter of style, not survival."
A beat of silence hung in the air. Then, the mothers looked at each other, a new understanding dawning. The rules were different here.
"Well," Mrs. Gill conceded, a slow smile gracing her lips. "In that case… proceed."
The victory was sudden and sweet. As their mothers began discussing the intricacies of charmed fabrics and wand-holster placement with Madame Rochelle, Shya and Talora turned to each other. All pretence of composure vanished. They grabbed each other's hands, their earlier excitement from the vaults returning in a wave.
"Yes!" Talora whispered, her green eyes shining.
"We won!" Shya grinned, the gold anklet chiming softly as she did a little, happy bounce on the spot.
They embraced in a quick, giddy hug, whispering "Go witches go witches go witches!" before quickly straightening up as their mothers turned back to them for final measurements. But the shared, triumphant gleam in their eyes remained. They had faced their first wizarding-world problem and, with a little magical help, they had won.