It was almost impossible to communicate with Elara in the summer months.  The Byrne family had a telephone, but Elara was a pure-blood.  It was uncertain if her parents even knew what a telephone was.  Or a record player.  Maeve had tried to explain the phenomenon that was Fleetwood Mac on vinyl and Elara had been stunned.
	Maeve pocketed the letter and ran inside again.  The kitchen was empty as she opened the fridge for a piece of the hardboiled eggs she kept on hand for Oat.  It was a good source of protein for barn owls even though she hated the smell.  As she walked swiftly through the living room, she nearly tripped over Aoife's cat, Serafina, who promptly hissed at her for the intrusion.
	Once she was upstairs in her room with the door shut behind her, she propped open the window.  Oat appeared on the sill, impatiently waiting for his reward.
	"You crossed the Irish Sea for this."  She placed the pieces of egg in front of him.  "Seems like low pay."  He gave her a strange look, but ate it nonetheless.
	Maeve ripped open the seal of the letter, which was a glittery star sticker.  In it was an answer to Maeve's previous question: yes, Elara was also going to Diagon Alley tomorrow.  No, she wasn't sure if she could beg her parents to get tickets for the next Quidditch World Cup as they were already selling out.  And then a question for Maeve: are you still at it with Sorcha?  I wanted to know if I could borrow her jumper with the flowers on it.
	Elara had no siblings.  She didn't understand what it meant to share everything with a person who looked nearly identical to you.  She couldn't begin to imagine how Maeve's heart had broken when they were eleven years old and being sorted.  Maeve had gone first.  Her older sister Aofie was a Slytherin, and Maeve had no prejudices.  All she wanted was to be in the same house as Sorcha.  The hat deliberated, but ultimately had sent her on her way to Ravenclaw house.  Then came Sorcha's turn, and when Gryffindor! rang out in the hall and Maeve tried desperately to catch Sorcha's gaze, she realized her sister wasn't looking for her at all.  She hadn't wanted to share a house with Maeve.  She was glad they finally had something to separate them.
In time, Maeve too understood the appeal of their separate houses.  It gave them two separate sets of friends.  Spaces that the other could not enter.  A place where their differences finally made sense.  But in the end, those differences had become a near-rivalry that had reached its fever pitch at the end of last term.  Maeve still hadn't forgiven Sorcha, and she had spent the entire summer reminding her of that very fact.

✤

DIAGON ALLEY was packed. The air had turned cool, but it was still warm enough that Maeve was regretting her choice in long sleeves.  A blue and cloudless sky stretched above, making the buildings look like perfect cardboard cutouts in the noon sun.  By the time they had reached the entrance of Madam Malkins, Maeve's hair was burning hot from the heat of the sun.
"Every year, what do I say?" Her mum nearly shoved into the person walking ahead of them just to get into the shop.
Her dad just grinned.  On days like this, it was his task to keep the mood light.  "Sure look, we could've come a week ago and it would've been just as busy, Niamh."
It seemed that every family milling about the shop was in various states of distress.  A pair of toddlers were darting between racks, parents coaxed their children into trying on robes, and Maeve heard someone saying, "I can't believe you already scorched the last robes we bought you.  How does one burn an entire sleeve off?"
Maeve craned her neck.  Sure enough, James Potter stood off on the far side of the store with his parents.  She knew how he had done it, she had been in potions when the room started to smell of burning fabric.  James had leaned too close to the cauldron and had lit himself on fire trying to impress Lily Evans, which everyone knew was a lost cause.