"Hmm..." the witch mused, more to herself than to her companion, passing her eyes down the length of the supply list she had liberated from her young niece as the two stood in the alley that would connect them to the Alley. "A telescope? Goodness no—I am certain I have one you can use, save your parents a sickle or two."

Absently, Dido wondered if her sister (or her sister's husband) even knew what a sickle was. Likely not: they had long maintained a polite but firm distance from the magical world, a natural state for muggles, if a bit vexing given Dido had told them young Bet was to be a witch. Alas, no one had listened to her until the truth was staring them in the face. Ah well—at least with Dido in the family, the witchling would not be half so adrift as most muggleborn children!

Her left hand returned the parchment to the girl (who was, mercifully, still shorter than the diminutive Dido, at least for now) and her right drew her wand from a pocket sewn into her skirts. If one did not know it was there, one would never notice it—one of the many blessings of the world Bet was to be inducted into. With practiced hand, the witch tapped the prescribed bricks.

"It may seem overwhelming," she said warmly as the wall opened itself to them, "but it is a world that will welcome you with open arms."