By the time the last of the Hogwarts trunks were unpacked, the silence of summer had started to itch.
It wasn't that Shya didn't like being home — she loved the noise of London, the rush of buses, the smell of pavement after rain — but after a year of castle corridors and enchanted ceilings, the ordinary felt too still.
The phone rang just past noon, shrill and familiar.
She didn't even need to look at the caller ID.
"Bob," Shya said, tucking the receiver under her chin.
"Bob," Talora echoed, her voice bright and wry. "I'm dying. Mother signed me up for something called Advanced Etiquette for Young Ladies of Distinction. I think it involves curtsying."
Shya groaned. "That sounds like a human sacrifice."
"I told her I'd rather go to a museum."
That caught Shya's attention. "Which one?"
"The Natural History Museum. You kept going on about it last term — the cathedral made of bones?"
Shya perked up. "That's the one. Cassian and Roman are still in London. We could drag them along."
"Drag is the correct word," Talora said. "Roman's idea of culture is the Honeydukes catalogue."
"He'll survive," Shya said. "Friday?"
"Friday," Talora agreed. "We'll meet on the front steps at eleven. If we're lucky, they'll bring snacks and bad attitudes."
"As long as we bring sarcasm," Shya replied.
"Always."
They hung up, both smiling.
Roman's letter from Shya arrived by owl — short, bossy, and dusted with a bit of glitter that left his breakfast toast sparkling.
He read it twice before laughing out loud.
Museum of Britain. Friday. Eleven sharp. Wear Muggle clothes that don't scream "I own an ancestral manor."
P.S. Bring Cassian. He won't answer the phone.
He leaned back in his chair, smirked, and reached for his quill.
Tell your museum to prepare itself. I'm bringing snacks and moral support for Cassian, who thinks Muggles still communicate via smoke signals. See you Friday.
—Roman
Cassian found Roman's letter waiting with the morning post.
He read it once, then again, brow furrowing slightly.
A museum? In Muggle London?
He hesitated only a moment before folding the letter neatly into his jacket pocket.
If the girls wanted to show them their world, he'd go.
After all, they'd spent two years letting him show them his.
The sky above London was a perfect, postcard-pale blue. In South Kensington, double-decker buses painted a vivid red roared past, their brakes hissing like tired beasts.
A saxophonist played a mournful tune near the tube station steps, the case before him sprinkled with copper and silver. Across the road, the white-stone façade of the Natural History Museum gleamed, a cathedral dedicated not to a god, but to the earth itself.
"Try not to look like you've never seen a building before," Shya whispered, nudging Cassian as they dodged a black cab that sped a little too close to the curb.
"I haven't seen one that looks like it's judging me," he muttered, craning his neck back until his neck protested. "Those gargoyles look like they could wake up and take a bite out of the sky."
"That's the Victorians for you. Everything with drama," Talora said, slipping her sunglasses onto her head. "And no magic required."
Roman trailed a step behind, staring at a group of tourists clutching translucent plastic cups filled with frothy brown liquid. "Is everyone drinking out of… paper?"
Shya grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Muggle ingenuity. We invent something new every five minutes just to keep you all confused. It's called a 'takeaway latte'. Try one later, if you're brave."
The transition from London bustle to the museum's interior was jarring. The noise fell away, replaced by a vast, reverent hush that seemed to rise with the vaulted ceiling. The great central hall was like the hull of a petrified ship, and sunlight, filtered through high stained-glass windows depicting plants and creatures, threw pools of jewel-toned light onto the stone floor. And there, arching over everything, was the skeleton.
Roman stopped so dead a family of four had to part around him like a river around a stone. "Merlin's beard," he breathed. "That thing's real?"
"Diplodocus carnegii," Talora read from a nearby plaque. "Fossilized. Millions of years old. It's a cast, but the bones it's based on are real."
Cassian squinted at the impossible length of the neck, the tail that seemed to stretch into the next gallery. "But… dragons. They're bigger, sure, but this… this lived and died without a single witch knowing?"
"Pre-magic," Shya said patiently, leading them forward. The cool air smelled of stone and dust. "This was before we learned how to bend nature to our will. This is just… nature, left to its own terrifying devices."
They moved slowly, drawn like magnets to the exhibits. In the Mineralogy gallery, gemstones sparkled under pinpoint lights—a geode split open to reveal a universe of purple crystals, a lump of raw gold that looked like sunlight made solid.
"It's just… pretty rocks," Roman said, trying to sound unimpressed, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from a deep blue sapphire the size of his fist.
"It's chemistry and pressure," Shya countered. "The earth's own cauldron. No wand, no incantation. Just time and heat." She pointed to a meteorite, its surface pocked and dark. "Now that one. That's my favourite."
Cassian leaned in, reading the placard. "'A rock that traveled through space for four billion years and survived a fiery descent through the atmosphere…'" He looked up, his pureblood composure finally cracking into genuine awe. "You do realize this is basically Transfiguration and Apparition combined into a single, silent, burning rock."
"Exactly," Talora said, a smile playing on her lips. "That's what I've been trying to tell you. It's all a matter of perspective."
Roman, meanwhile, had crouched low near a model of a woolly mammoth, its shaggy coat looking strangely soft under the museum lights. "How do Muggles even find things like this? Digging in the dirt? Without… Revelio charms or anything?"
"Hard work, terrible coffee, and a lot of patience," Shya said, grabbing his sleeve and tugging him upright. "Come on, there's an earthquake simulator upstairs. You can feel what a 4.5 tremor is like."
He gave her a look of pure, unadulterated alarm. "A what!?"
The simulator was a mocked-up Japanese supermarket aisle. They stood on a platform, holding a rail, as a recording explained tectonic plates.
"This is ridiculous," Cassian muttered, but he gripped the rail tightly.
Then the shaking started. It was a low, unsettling rumble that travelled up through the soles of their shoes. The shelves rattled, fake cans of tomatoes wobbled precariously, and a low, collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Roman's knuckles were white on the rail, his eyes wide. It lasted only thirty seconds, but when it stopped, the silence felt profound.
"Blimey," Roman exhaled, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "And Muggles just… live with that?"
"They build for it," Talora said softly. "They study it, measure it, warn each other. It's not magic fixing a problem. It's knowledge preventing a disaster."
They spilled out of the earthquake simulator laughing, a little unsteady, the aftershocks still buzzing in their bones.
Roman clutched the railing dramatically. "If the floor ever moves like that again, I'm Apparating to Scotland."
"You'd splinch yourself halfway through a wall," Talora said.
"Better than dying in a Muggle supermarket!"
Shya rolled her eyes, still grinning. "You'd think he'd never been jostled by a moving staircase before."
"Moving staircases are civilized," Roman muttered. "This was anarchy."
Cassian, however, wasn't laughing. He stood still for a moment, studying the diagram of tectonic plates projected on the wall — continents shifting like slow, patient giants. "They track all of this," he said finally. "Without divination. Without magic. Just… math."
Talora joined him, her voice quiet. "They built their own kind of prediction spell. A scientific one."
Roman gave a theatrical groan. "You two are dangerously close to becoming professors."
Upstairs, the Human Evolution exhibit unfolded in a curve of dim blue light. Glass cases lined the walls, filled with fossil skulls, ancient tools, and reconstructed faces — eyes so eerily alive they almost watched back.
Cassian's hand hovered near one of the glass panels, tracing the silhouette of a stone hand-axe. "They made these? With no spells, no enchantments?"
"Just need and intelligence," Shya said. "That's the magic that never needed wands."
Roman peered at a model of a Neanderthal woman. "She looks… fierce."
"Probably smarter than you," Talora said.
"Oi—"
"She'd have hunted you for sport," Shya added helpfully.
Cassian chuckled under his breath. "She's not wrong."
They moved on, past exhibits showing human migration across continents, maps glowing softly under glass.
A sign read: We are all descendants of explorers.
Cassian paused again, reading it aloud. His voice had softened, almost reverent. "That's… oddly poetic."
Shya smiled faintly. "See? Muggles have a sense of destiny too. They just use different words for it."
The last gallery was a glass bridge suspended above a forest of towering models — real trees intertwined with replicas, shafts of filtered green light spilling through the canopy. Birdsongs played softly from hidden speakers, and a faint, earthy scent filled the air.
Roman tilted his head back, his voice hushed for once. "Feels enchanted."
"It kind of is," Shya said. "This is their magic — light, sound, illusion. All designed to make you feel something."
Cassian ran a hand along the railing, eyes thoughtful. "So this is what they do instead of charms."
"They build," Talora said quietly. "And they imagine. It's not that different."
Roman grinned suddenly. "If we're staying this long, I expect a gift shop at the end."
Shya laughed. "Oh, there's one. Rows of dinosaur keychains and overpriced pencils await."
They ended their visit under the museum's high glass dome, where sunlight fractured through the arched ceiling like water over crystal. The café was crowded, all chatter and clinking cups.
Roman had already secured an impressive pile of food — two croissants, a cookie, and something suspiciously green that Talora eyed warily.
Cassian sipped a lemonade like it might explode.
"You can't live on sugar," Shya said, stealing half his cookie anyway.
"Watch me," Roman replied, mouth full.
Talora flipped through a museum guide, eyes catching on a page of ocean fossils. "Next time," she said, "we should go to the British Museum."
Cassian leaned back in his chair. "You two have a next time already planned."
"Obviously," Shya said. "You think one museum is enough to civilize you?"
Roman groaned. "Civilization is overrated."
Talora smirked. "Says the boy who just discovered coffee."
He raised his cup in salute. "And I intend to make up for lost time."
They laughed, the sound bright and easy, bouncing off the glass and marble.
They left the museum blinking into sunlight, the city alive around them — buses roaring, tourists shouting in a dozen languages, pigeons swooping low and fearless. The air smelled of exhaust, ice cream, and late summer freedom.
Shya squinted up at the sky. "So. Education accomplished. What next?"
Talora tilted her head, braid catching the light. "Something loud. Something completely un-educational."
Roman perked up instantly. "Now you're speaking my language."
Cassian arched a brow. "Define loud."
"Arcade," Shya said, grinning. "There's one right around the corner. I used to come here when I was little. It's chaos. You'll love it."
"Highly doubtful," Cassian murmured, but he followed anyway.
The moment they stepped inside, sound swallowed them whole.
The place glowed like a bottled thunderstorm — neon blues and pinks pulsing to the beat of electronic music. Machines beeped, clattered, and whooped. The air smelled faintly of popcorn, metal, and static.
"Merlin's beard," Roman whispered, eyes wide. "It's like Zonko's had a child with Honeydukes and fed it electricity."
"That's one way to describe it," Shya laughed, already digging coins out of her pocket.
They started with air hockey. Talora and Roman took one side, Shya and Cassian the other.
"Prepare to lose, Sunbeam," Shya declared.
Talora grinned. "In your dreams, Moonlight."
The puck shot across the table like lightning. Cassian's reflexes were fast — years of Quidditch paying off — but Roman's chaotic enthusiasm made him unpredictable. At one point he dived so hard for the puck that he sent it flying into the next machine, earning scandalized looks from passing kids and wheezing laughter from Talora.
"Do you play like this on a broom?" Shya gasped between laughs.
"Only when it matters!" Roman protested, wiping sweat off his brow as Talora high-fived him for a lucky goal.
They wandered next into the row of racing games. Cassian sat stiffly in the driver's seat, hands white-knuckled on the wheel, while Roman leaned half-out of his own machine, yelling, "Drift! Drift!" like a backseat driver possessed.
Shya and Talora, in the next pair, were laughing so hard they couldn't steer straight. Talora had somehow managed to drive her virtual car backward, while Shya was swerving between lanes, crying, "This is why they don't let wizards have licenses!"
When the race ended in a spectacular digital crash, they spilled out breathless and red-faced.
"I think I have whiplash," Cassian said, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt.
"Worth it," Talora said cheerfully.
The claw machines were next — rows of blinking lights and improbable prizes. Roman tried first, managing to hook a stuffed frog that dropped just before the chute.
"Robbery!" he yelled, scandalized.
Shya stepped up next, narrowing her eyes like she was about to duel. "You have to finesse it. Watch and learn."
The claw descended… grabbed… and held.
It dropped a small, bright yellow plush duck into the slot.
"Behold," she said grandly, holding it up.
Cassian couldn't help smiling. "You're insufferable."
"Correct," Shya said. "And victorious."
He tried next, quietly determined. The claw dipped — and somehow caught two keychains.
Roman clapped him on the back hard enough to jostle him. "Look at you! First-time luck!"
Cassian pretended indifference but slipped one of the keychains into his pocket. Shya noticed, and her grin softened into something warmer.
They tried skee-ball, basketball toss, a shooting gallery with neon aliens. Cassian proved unexpectedly good at precision games; Roman dominated anything chaotic. Shya cheered too loudly, Talora collected tickets like trophies, and together they built a mountain of paper stubs.
When they finally cashed them in, the machine spit out a cheap plastic tiara, four rubber bracelets, and a keyring shaped like a T-rex.
Shya placed the tiara on Roman's head. "For bravery in battle."
Roman struck a pose. "I'd like to thank my fans and the academy."
Cassian rolled his eyes but kept his bracelet. Talora slipped hers on next to her charm bangles, smiling quietly.
The sky was turning rose-gold when they left the arcade, the day softening into evening.
They found a McDonald's glowing warm and familiar at the corner, windows steamed from the heat inside.
"Do we dare?" Cassian asked, peering through the glass like it was a portal.
"Oh, we dare," Talora said firmly. "McDonald's has the best pop. Non-negotiable."
They pushed inside, the air thick with salt and frying oil. A line of teenagers in uniforms shouted orders across the counter. The four of them hovered by the glowing menu screens, squinting up at the options.
"Pick whatever looks good," Shya said. "That's the only rule."
Talora gave her a sly look. "You realize this is something all of our parents would disapprove of, right? Grease, sugar, caffeine—public seating."
Shya grinned. "Exactly. That's what makes it perfect."
Talora scanned the board. "Ten-piece nuggets, fries, Diet Coke," she said decisively.
"McChicken meal, Coke," Shya echoed, already digging out change. "No notes, no regrets."
Roman studied the glowing photos like they were ancient runes. "That one," he said finally, pointing. "Double cheeseburger. It looks… dependable."
Cassian considered, then ordered the spicy chicken sandwich. "And—" he added, glancing at the others, "a Coke."
"Good choice," Talora said. "Team Coke it is."
They claimed a booth by the window, a fortress of trays between them. The food smelled divine and vaguely sinful.
Roman took one bite and actually moaned. "Oh. Oh no. It's too good."
Cassian sipped his Coke, blinked, and took another long pull. "This is… cold and sweet and slightly terrifying."
"Exactly," Shya said around a mouthful of fries. "That's the thrill."
Roman reached for his Coke and nearly choked. "It's so fizzy!"
"I didn't think it was that great when we had it for your birthday that first year," Cassian admitted between bites, "but this—Merlin, it's… addictive."
"Told you," Talora said smugly, dipping a nugget into her sauce. "McDonald's has the best pop. No arguments."
Roman leaned back, one arm slung across the booth. "If my father could see this, he'd have a coronary."
"Then don't tell him," Shya said. "Some secrets are sacred."
Talora laughed, shaking her head. "You know, sometimes the best magic really is deep-fried."
They spent an hour there, trading fries, laughing over nothing. Roman tried to stack burger boxes into a tower; Cassian sabotaged him with a straw wrapper. Talora spilled ketchup on her sleeve and didn't care. Shya laughed until her cheeks hurt.
Outside, the sky dimmed into indigo, street nlights flickering on one by one.
By the time they'd finished their Cokes and wiped the salt off their fingers, the city had gone soft and golden. The sky was turning violet over the rooftops, and the streetlamps flickered to life one by one.
They lingered outside the McDonald's, still laughing over a broken claw-machine victory at the arcade. Shya leaned against the railing, scrolling through her phone. "We're not going home yet, right?"
"Obviously not," Talora said, already pulling out her own phone. "Movie night?"
Cassian glanced between them. "You mean like… in a theatre?"
"Where else?" Shya said. "We've educated you on Muggle cuisine, now it's time for Muggle storytelling."
Roman leaned over Shya's shoulder, peering at her screen. "What are our options?"
They scrolled together, faces lit by the glow of the phone. Trailers played in bursts of sound — explosions, dramatic music, chaotic laughter.
Talora gasped, tapping one. "Wait, this one — Everything Everywhere All at Once."
The trailer blazed across the small screen: a woman in an office flinging herself through swirling universes, fighting with fanny packs, crying, laughing, collapsing under the weight of it all.
When it ended, there was a moment of stunned silence.
Roman blinked. "That… looked insane."
"Exactly," Shya said, already grinning. "Sold."
Cassian nodded slowly. "It seems… excessively dramatic."
"Then it's perfect for us," Talora said. "Come on, it starts in twenty minutes!"
They sprinted down the street, laughter echoing, dodging puddles and bus stops like it was a race.
The cinema's neon sign buzzed faintly, casting pink light on their faces as they tumbled through the doors. The lobby smelled of popcorn and syrupy soda; movie posters glowed like stained glass.
"Popcorn," Talora declared, heading for the counter. "And three Cokes and one Diet Coke."
"All Cokes?" Roman asked.
"Team consistency," Shya said. "We're committed now."
Cassian peered at the menu. "Why are there so many sizes? Who needs a drink the size of a cauldron?"
"Us," Talora said. "We need it."
They ended up with two massive tubs of popcorn, four Cokes, and a suspicious variety of candy—chocolate buttons, sour gummies, and Roman's latest fascination, Maltesers ("It's like chocolate-covered nothing!").
By the time they reached their seats, arms full and spirits high, the lights were already dimming.
They sank into the soft velvet seats. Cassian immediately dropped a handful of popcorn on the floor; Roman snorted so loudly a stranger shushed them. Talora whispered a scandalized "Sorry!" between giggles.
Then the trailers ended, the screen went dark, and the movie began.
From the first chaotic scene, they were hooked. They gasped, laughed, shouted things like "Did she just fight with a fanny pack?!" and "Wait, what's the bagel for?!" halfway through.
Roman nearly spilled his Coke when a particularly absurd moment hit. "This is unhinged!" he whispered gleefully.
"Welcome to cinema," Shya murmured back, eyes bright.
But as the story deepened — the shouting, the love, the impossible universes — something shifted. The laughter softened. The chaos started to mean something.
Shya sat quietly, her Coke forgotten. On-screen, the daughter's voice cracked under all the weight of not being understood — and something inside her stilled. She didn't say anything; she didn't need to. She just watched, and for a brief, flickering second, she felt it — that strange, familiar ache of being too much and not enough all at once.
The glow from the screen caught her face; Talora's shoulder brushed hers, steady and warm.
When the lights came up, the four of them sat blinking like they'd just returned from another universe. The theater smelled of butter, sugar, and fizzy Coke.
Roman stretched until his back popped. "I have no idea what just happened," he said. "But I think it healed part of me I didn't know was broken."
Cassian nodded solemnly. "I still don't understand the bagel. Or the raccoon."
"Raccacoonie," Talora corrected between laughs. "And you don't need to understand it — you just feel it."
Shya was smiling too, but quieter — like she was still carrying the movie somewhere behind her ribs. "Yeah," she said softly. "You just feel it."
Outside, London was washed clean from a light rain, the streets glistening under yellow streetlamps. The air smelled like wet stone, popcorn, and the faint sweetness of caramel. They lingered under the glowing marquee, none of them quite ready to go home.
Talora checked her watch. "We could call Henry," she said hopefully. "He's probably still near Knightsbridge."
Shya made a face. "Or Milos. But no. Not tonight."
Cassian blinked. "Henry and Milos?"
"Our drivers," Shya explained. "Henry's the Livanthos family one, Milos is ours. They're basically professional babysitters with driver's licenses."
Roman smirked. "So… why not call them?"
Shya crossed her arms, chin tilted defiantly. "Because we're doing something new. Together."
Talora hesitated. "New as in…?"
"The Tube," Shya said, grinning. "We're taking the Underground."
Cassian looked faintly horrified. "The metal snake thing?"
Roman's jaw dropped. "You want us to get into a moving tunnel with strangers — voluntarily — and neither of you have done it before?"
Shya's grin only widened. "That's what makes it fun. I've been on it once with my dad when I was little. Barely remember it."
"I've never been," Talora admitted. "Henry's been driving us since primary school."
"Perfect," Shya said. "Then it's our first real London adventure. No chauffeurs, no carriages, no shortcuts."
Cassian sighed dramatically. "If this goes wrong, I'm haunting all three of you."
"Add it to the list," Shya said cheerfully. "Come on — Victoria Station's not far."
The escalator hummed as it carried them down into the underground. The air was warmer, buzzing faintly with the scent of metal, perfume, and chips. The tiled walls gleamed white under harsh light; a violinist played a haunting tune near the ticket barriers.
"This is so weirdly beautiful," Talora murmured, glancing around.
"Smells… industrial," Cassian said, wrinkling his nose.
"That's the London musk," Shya said proudly. "Public transport chic."
Roman was staring at the arrival board. "These… things run on electricity?"
"Yup," Shya said, tapping her travel card with an exaggerated flourish. "Magic-free motion. Welcome to physics."
They boarded just as the train whooshed into the station. The rush of air hit like a wave; Talora laughed nervously.
"Ladies first," Roman said gallantly, stepping back.
Shya rolled her eyes and stepped in. "Don't act like it's a dragon cave."
They found a cluster of seats, clutching their bags and half-finished Cokes. The doors closed with a chime, and the train lurched forward.
Roman grabbed the pole instinctively. "Merlin's ghost!"
Cassian's eyes widened as lights flickered past outside. "It's so fast!"
"Stop narrating!" Shya said, laughing. "You'll blow our cover!"
Talora leaned in, voice teasing. "You two are acting like we just boarded the Knight Bus."
Roman gave her a scandalized look. "The Knight Bus has decorum."
That set Shya off — laughing so hard she almost spilled her drink. Soon they all were — their giggles echoing in the nearly empty carriage.
By the third stop, they'd relaxed into the rhythm. Talora pressed her forehead against the cool window, watching stations flicker past. "It feels like flying underground," she said softly.
"It feels," Shya said, "like London's heartbeat."
The train rocked gently, its hum filling the pauses between their chatter.
"What does the next couple weeks look like for you guys?" Talora asked.
"Banquet at the Ministry," Roman groaned. "Dad says I have to 'network with the right kind of people.' I might accidentally hex someone."
Cassian grimaced. "You're not alone. I've got duelling lessons and endless lectures on family decorum. The phrase 'correct posture in conversation' haunts me."
"Lucky you," Shya said dryly. "I've got kathak practice four times a week and Mum's dragging me into helping plan some ladies' luncheon. Nothing says summer freedom like color-coding napkins."
Talora sighed. "You're not alone. Mother has me back in etiquette classes and I have to fly to Canada with Tristan for his hockey camp. I swear, I'm becoming a professional chaperone."
Roman winced in sympathy. "That sounds… exhausting."
"It will be," Talora said. "But once I'm back, we're due for another outing. Two weeks from now?"
Cassian nodded. "We'll make it work."
Shya smiled. "Good. Gives us time to think of something new. Something we've all never done before."
Roman groaned. "You mean scarier than the Tube?"
Shya raised an eyebrow. "You survived that, didn't you?"
"Barely," he muttered, earning another round of laughter.
The train slowed as they reached Victoria Station.
"This is us," Shya said, rising and slinging her jacket over one shoulder.
Cassian looked up at the vaulted ceiling as they stepped out. "So this is Belgravia."
"Home turf," Talora said with a little smile. "You can practically smell the old money and overpriced coffee."
Roman grinned. "Fitting."
"Thanks for braving public transport," Shya said. "Your bravery will be remembered."
Cassian mock-bowed. "I'll expect a medal."
"Saturday in two weeks," Talora reminded them as the next train roared in. "Don't flake."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Roman said, grinning as the boys stepped back onto the train.
The doors shut, and the girls watched them vanish down the tunnel.
They emerged into the Belgravia night, the air soft and perfumed with rain. A black cab hissed past, splashing gold reflections onto the cobblestones.
Talora sighed. "Back to etiquette and lace gloves."
Shya groaned. "Back to ankle bells and napkin rings."
They looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
"Two weeks," Shya said.
"Two weeks," Talora echoed, smiling as they turned down the quiet street toward home — already plotting the next adventure.