"Theodore Nott, long time no see!" Sigrid greeted him warmly.
Theodore turned, his face pale and distant as always. His expression carried a coldness that might have been off-putting, had he not spoken in a voice steady and polite.
"Hello, Miss Stewart."
He had just finished being measured and stepped down from the platform. Sigrid noticed at once that he had grown—now half a head taller than her. In a surprisingly courteous gesture, he offered his hand to help her onto the measuring stand.
Sigrid's impression of Theodore was already far better than that of his father. Though quiet and reserved, he carried himself with the grace of a gentleman. She remembered, with some fond embarrassment, their first dance the previous year. She had made at least four mistakes—stepping on his shoes twice—and had been mortified, wishing she could sink through the floorboards. Yet Theodore never once reproached her. Instead, he had subtly adjusted his own steps to match hers, finishing the dance with dignity and sparing her humiliation. For that, she had always been grateful.
Naturally, their conversation turned to Hogwarts preparations. By the time the enchanted measuring tape finally stilled, Sigrid felt comfortable enough to invite him along to shop for pets. Ten minutes later, they were chatting easily, already addressing each other by their first names.
With permission from both fathers, Sigrid accepted a purse of galleons from her own and set off toward the Magical Menagerie with Theodore, leaving Mr. Stewart to see to her robes and the rest of her supplies.
"Theodore, how do you think we'll be sorted into houses?" she asked, voicing the question on every first-year's mind.
"Likely through some enchanted object," he replied. "I recall reading a brief mention of it in Hogwarts' history."
"Wonderful! I just bought that very book at Flourish and Blotts—I'll have to look it up as soon as I'm home."
She pressed on, curious. "And have you thought about which house you'll be placed in?"
"Slytherin," Theodore answered without hesitation. "My entire family has been."
"That's perfect! I want to go to Slytherin too. Perhaps we'll end up housemates."
Her longing for Slytherin grew stronger still.
As they walked through the throng, Sigrid found herself slowly adapting to Diagon Alley's chaos. She no longer hid under her cloak; when other young witches and wizards smiled as they passed, she even returned the gesture, her unease softening into confidence.
They passed the toad shop without a glance—Sigrid would never consider such unseemly creatures. Too ugly, too inelegant. Cats, however, nearly trapped her in indecision. Each was adorable, and her fondness for feline trinkets made her linger far too long.
Fortunately, Theodore's quiet practicality prevailed. "Sigrid, I think an owl would be best. Only an owl can deliver letters."
That made perfect sense. She accepted his advice, and the two of them stepped into Eeylops Owl Emporium.
Theodore chose a stately snowy owl—large, swift, and dignified—for ten galleons.
Sigrid, meanwhile, fell in love with a tiny white-faced scops owl. Its round eyes and compact body were irresistible. When she reached out to touch it, the little creature tucked itself into a ball, feathers puffing and eyes squinting until it resembled a living caricature. The comical sight made her laugh aloud, and she purchased it at once—though the price was steep at twelve galleons.
With pets secured and addresses exchanged, the two parted ways. Sigrid rejoined her father at the Leaky Cauldron, her first Diagon Alley adventure complete.
The weeks that followed flew by. With more than two months until school, Sigrid's days were suddenly full and satisfying. Mr. Stewart joked to his wife that perhaps they would soon have another Ravenclaw in the family.
Each morning, Sigrid immersed herself in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and Magical Drafts and Potions, comparing them carefully against her grandmother's Beauty Potion notebook to identify materials and methods. Her father indulged her new passion, buying her two cauldrons (a pewter one for class and a collapsible one for beauty potions), phials of both glass and crystal, a brass scale, a mortar and pestle, and a young wizard's complete potion kit.
Afternoons were for spell practice. Under her mother's patient guidance, she learned simple charms—the Mending Spell, Unlocking Charm, Levitation Charm, Lumos, even a shaky Summoning Charm. Her magic was still unsteady, her spells short-lived, but her mother assured her she showed promise.
Evenings were reserved for A History of Hogwarts and long, whispered conversations with her new owl, whom she named Snow. The clever little bird had already carried three letters to Theodore without once mixing them up.
Identical Twins
The steam from the train rolled thick over the platform, curling above the noisy crowd. Cats darted between trunks and feet, while owls hooted impatiently from their cages.
Sigrid struggled through the commotion with her luggage in tow. At eleven years old, she looked especially small amid the throng.
She wore a dark green dress with a high collar and a fitted waist embroidered in delicate detail. Her glossy black curls, styled to perfection, fell to her waist, framing her porcelain face. Though her features were still round with youth, her chin lifted ever so slightly, radiating confidence and pride.
At first glance, she was every inch the little princess raised in a noble house.
But aboard the Muggle-style steam engine, she felt entirely out of place. Other children gave her a wide berth, careful not to brush against the hem of her dress as they hurried past.