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Chapter Text

December 1985, London.

Just over four years had passed since the Dark Lord's defeat. The time of constant fear was over, yet the scars remained; grief lingered. British witches and wizards still remembered nights filled with screams and flashing lights of spells; no one knew if their next step would be their last. Lord Voldemort's fall lifted a heavy weight from the Wizarding World; many of his followers, the Death Eaters, were caught—some trialled; some claiming they'd been under his control; a few seeking amends. Healing had begun, though it was slow. Most witches and wizards believed the worst was behind them. But quiet voices here and there whispered doubts and the fear Lord Voldemort had left behind hadn't disappeared just yet.

A cold wind blew through the empty streets of a London suburb, carrying the smell of snow and cold air. It was already night; the sky was almost black; only moonlight fell on the snow covered roofs of small houses lining the quiet street. At the far end stood a modest house, half hidden by an overgrown garden. Frosted bushes and tangled vines surrounded it, and wooden fence surrounded the edge and warm light glowed in the windows. The house looked ordinary, but it felt safe; it was tucked away, protected by wild plants and a magical barrier. As the wind moved through the trees, everything went still.

A soft pop broke the silence, and a man appeared in front of the house. He wore a long black cloak, his outline was barely visible in the shadow he stood in. His face was thin and sharp, with deep set eyes and a hooked nose that gave his features a harsh edge. His black hair hung to his shoulders and his expression didn't change; his face gave away nothing. He moved slowly, each step deliberate, towards the house. At the door, he paused, then raised his arm and knocked. The sound echoed into the cold night; a few seconds passed. Then he heard soft footsteps inside; a shadow moved behind the curtain. Eventually, the door opened slowly.

A young woman stood in the doorway. Even in the dim light, there was no denying her beauty. Her hair, almost white, framed her face in loose strands and was tied back into a long braid that reached down her back. It caught the light behind her with a faint shimmer. Her features were fine and noble, softer than her brothers', but the shadows under her eyes showed she hadn't been able to sleep well recently. She looked like someone who had been through a great deal. Still, there was a clear strength beneath it. Her light jade green, almost translucent eyes were calm yet watchful. Even though she looked tired, her gaze was steady.

"Severus," she said, her voice even and firm. She said his name like someone who had known it for years and she had.

"Lucinda," he answered.

They had been in the same house and year at Hogwarts. Both had difficult relationships with their fathers, a shared pain that had brought them closer in their early years. This common ground created a kind of trust between them. They were also both highly talented in Potions, though Severus had always been a little more advanced of course. Their mutual respect for each other's skill had formed another bond; their early fascination with the Dark Arts was influenced by their circumstances and upbringing. For both, it began as a way to understand the world they lived in, a world overshadowed by expectations and fears. Lucinda had approached it with caution, convinced that dark magic should never be used, only studied to defend against it. Severus, however, had been drawn to the power it promised. His choice to follow the Dark Lord ultimately ended their friendship.

Her wand was in her hand, steady and raised. She watched him closely, observing every move and every look, as if trying to understand his purpose. After a few moments, she lowered the wand; her grip relaxed. She remained cautious, but the distrust faded slightly.

"it's late," she said. "Why are you here?"

Severus held her gaze for a moment. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he quickly hid it behind his usual mask.

"Dumbledore sent me," he said. She seemed to weigh something in her mind before giving a slight nod.

Her hand dropped further, and she said under her breath, "I suppose it was only a matter of time."

She stepped aside to let him in and closed the door softly behind him. He had expected her to be wary, but her calm and controlled reaction took him by surprise. Perhaps he had expected more resistance, given their past.

As he stepped into the sitting room, he noticed how quiet and calm the space was; it felt intimate. The living room was simple but warm. The polished wooden floor reflected the glow of a small fire burning in the corner in the fireplace; one large armchair and a small couch placed in front of it. A few tasteful paintings were hung on the walls and lit softly by the fire. Light curtains framed the windows, offering only a glimpse of the night outside. Lucinda walked ahead of him, saying nothing.

"Betty's asleep," she said, gently pushing open the creaking kitchen door. "I'd rather not wake her."

Severus followed, letting his eyes move across the room as if trying to understand more about the life lived here. He could tell she was not someone who cared about luxury, even if that might be expected from someone with her background.

When Lucinda mentioned her daughter, something stirred in him. Betty. The name meant little to him, but he remembered Dumbledore saying it when he had sent Severus here. The headmaster had spoken briefly about the girl and her mother's situation, though Severus hadn't listened closely at the time. Still, the name had stayed with him, like many of the small details Dumbledore dropped into conversation.

He couldn't bring himself to care much about the child. Betty was simply the daughter of... Black. The thought of associating that man with a child stirred an involuntary sense of disgust. Sirius Black. A man who embodied everything Severus despised—recklessness, arrogance, a leader without a sense of consequence. Severus had spent his youth in the presence of that man, painfully, and he couldn't count how many times he had seen the hunger for chaos and disruption in his eyes. He had always been a constant source of irritation.

The idea that this man, who had learned so little from his own mistakes, had left behind a child disturbed Severus in a way he could not fully explain. Elizabeth Black. Another legacy of Sirius Black, likely carrying the same flaws and rebellious nature. To Severus, Black had left behind nothing but damage and betrayal. Now imprisoned in Azkaban for murder and treason, he had done nothing to redeem the name he carried. Severus couldn't help but wonder how much of Sirius lived on in that child. It was hard for him to imagine that anything good could come from such a man. He hoped the girl took more after her mother, that Lucinda's ambition and intellect would outweigh the rest.

Yet he could not ignore that Lucinda herself had once chosen to run off with that reckless fool. After finishing school, she had turned her back on her family, who had branded Black a blood traitor and disowned her for her choice;her strong loyalty and willingness to fight for what she believed in had put her in a difficult position. Severus found himself wondering whether her daughter had inherited those same traits.

"Something to drink?" Lucinda's voice broke into his thoughts as she entered the kitchen. The room was simple, but functional. The dark wooden cupboards and the rustic counter looked like something from another time. In the center stood a solid wooden table, surrounded by worn chairs; another fireplace sat at the far side of the room. The kettle on the stove hummed softly as she reached for her wand to heat the water.

Severus gave a short nod as he followed her into the kitchen.

"Tea, if that's alright," Lucinda said, flicking her wand. A teapot and two cups floated into the air and settled gently onto the table.

"And I assume you're not here with ill intent, or you wouldn't have knocked so openly," she added, casting him a dry look.

Her expression were serious as she continued. "Dumbledore trusts you." She let the words hang between them, heavy with meaning. "A man like him does not give trust easily, Severus. But I know he follows the truth. As do I."

She held his gaze, letting the silence speak for her. It was clear her trust was not given lightly and certainly not to him. Not after his choices he had made.

Severus felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. That she trusted Dumbledore wasn't the issue, he had expected that. What unsettled him was that she also appeared to trust him. That she accepted Dumbledore's decision. It confused him more than he wanted to admit. He suspected there was something Lucinda wasn't saying. Something she knew about him but did not say it out loud. 

"And one more thing," she added, her voice now sharper. "My house is protected by strong wards. They are more than capable of detecting and repelling intruders with hostile intent." She paused before continuing. "Don't worry. Your presence didn't trigger them. There was no alarm." Her eyes gleamed slightly. It was clear she took the security of her home seriously. "That may speak in your favor. Or in Dumbledore's. Perhaps both."

Severus looked at her, knowing she understood far more than she revealed. He knew her well enough to suspect those protections went beyond ordinary wards. Given her background and knowledge, he imagined she might have used some old, maybe even dark magic to keep the place safe. It was exactly the kind of measure someone like Lucinda wouldn't hesitate to take when protecting something precious.

"What does Dumbledore want from me?"

"He needs information, Lucinda," Severus replied. "The Ministry has little to offer, and you are one of the few who still have access to other sources."

It was not a full answer, but it was not a lie either. Severus had a quiet sense that Dumbledore's interest in her ran deeper than he admitted. He knew that Lucinda had started working at the Ministry shortly after Voldemort's fall. Her ambition, her skill with foreign languages, and her diplomatic talents had helped her rise quickly in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Beyond that, she had made many connections with people all over the world.

"And he sent you to ask?"

It wasn't disbelief she showed, but something else. A recognition of what both of them knew that Dumbledore never acted without purpose. She studied him with unwavering focus.

"And what sort of information does Dumbledore believe I have?" she asked, her eyes fixed on him.

Severus answered without flinching. "Information about the Dark Lord. Where he might be hiding. Who is searching for him."

Lucinda did not break eye contact with Severus as she asked calmly, "And what does Dumbledore believe I know that he doesn't already?" She paused. "The only rumours I've heard, are that the Dark Lord is in Albania. But that's not exactly new."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And what do you think?"

"Most in the Ministry believe the Dark Lord is dead. If he's alive, he's covered his tracks well," she said, hesitantly. "It would be naive to think he's simply gone. After everything he's done. After trying to kill a baby. As if a child could stop him. Not the Dark Lord. Not someone so obsessed with power." Suddenly, a deep sadness crossed her face.

"And you think he made preparations?" Severus asked sharply.

Lucinda nodded slowly. "He was too power-hungry to just let himself be killed. He must have protected himself from death. Taken precautions. Something involving Dark Magic. You, as a former follower, don't know anything about that?" She paused, she looked away before continuing quietly. "A baby boy surviving the Killing Curse must have meant something. Don't you think?"

Severus had always considered it an advantage that Lucinda was smarter than most, that she saw deeper where others only skimmed the surface. But her words made him uneasy. There was a sharpness in her eyes, but also a darkness, as if something inside her stirred. A look that revealed she knew more than she said. He watched her without showing emotion himself as he watched her. Something inside her seemed to break as her thoughts turned to someone whose name he could never speak aloud.

Severus's eyes narrowed briefly. "If such protections exist, they are well hidden. No one has found any sign. At least, nothing I have seen."

Severus noticed it immediately, even though she did not say it out loud. The pain he knew. The loss that had haunted him for years. She looked at him without words. She had been her friend too. In that look, he read that she knew he would never face the loss. Her eyes flickered as he tried to hold up his facade.

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. He hadn't known what the Dark Lord had planned in the end. No one had. But hearing Lucinda suggest it with such certainty unsettled him more than he expected.

She gave a slight nod, though her expression didn't change. The silence stretched between them.

"I have a hard time believing a baby boy could have destroyed him without hurting himself," she said then. Her voice had changed. "I know what Dumbledore believes."

It was no longer analytical, no longer focused on theories or past allegiances. It carried something else now. Severus watched her carefully. There was a flicker in her eyes, a shift he had learned to recognise. Lucinda rarely revealed what she felt, but when she did, it was never accidental.

She had been her friend too. Not in the beginning. There had been years where neither Lucinda nor she had spoken to each other, let alone trusted one another. Back when he had stopped being Lucinda's friend and stopped being Lily's, the two of them had found something in each other. He had watched it happen from a distance.

He said nothing. He didn't have to.

Lucinda didn't speak either. But her fingers tightened slightly around the handle of her cup, and her eyes remained fixed on a point just beyond him.

"I know old magic was involved," she said, more quietly now. "Magic we rarely know of. I know Dumbledore used it to create the wards around the boy. To keep him safe. But why do such things, if the Dark Lord was truly gone?"

Severus didn't move. He simply looked at her, and in that moment.

Lucinda hesitated, then said in a calm but firm voice, "I have visited him—Harry." She quickly added, "Not directly, of course. Arabella Figg, a friend of Dumbledore's, lives nearby and keeps an eye on him. But I have doubts about whether his uncle and aunt are really good for him."

Severus grimaced. "The boy is his child. Potter's. That is not my problem," he said coldly. 

Inside him a sharp pain he usually kept buried deep. It was easier to push it away than to confront it. Lucinda's gaze showed she saw more than he wanted to reveal. A fact that made him uncomfortable.

"He is her child too," Lucinda said firmly. "I know how much you loved her. I have seen with my own eyes how you looked after her, how close you were when you came to Hogwarts. And I know how much she hated your decisions. Just like I did."

Severus remained silent. The truth stood between them, even though he had buried it long ago. Lucinda knew him better than he liked. His true feelings for Lily had always been hidden, shared only openly with Dumbledore. But Lucinda had seen it. Of course she had, even though she had never directly told her. She had once told him he had ruined what he had with Lily, just like he had ruined what they had.

It was not pain that made him uncomfortable. It was the feeling of being exposed. He was used to hiding that part of himself.

Lucinda lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "I also know why Dumbledore is keeping Harry there. Her sister is the only remaining blood relative. Dumbledore put a protection in place to keep the boy safe. I understand that. I know a lot about protective wards."

Her eyes drilled into his, relentless. "But I feel responsible. I should've taken Harry in. It was my duty. She would have wanted it."

Did she know he had begged Dumbledore to protect Lily? That he had changed sides for her? He would not be surprised if she did. The thought unsettled him yet again; and an urgent feeling of wanting to leave rose. He pushed the feeling aside and kept his face blank, revealing nothing of what was going on inside him.

"You've built a wall around you, Sev," she eventually said, her voice soft.

Severus didn't respond, but Lucinda sensed he saw through her too. Still, he would never admit it.

"Anyway. I won't be able to give Dumbledore any information. But we all need to remain vigilant." She pushed the chair back to the table and rested her hands on the backrest. "Is that all?"

Severus was about get up when he noticed a slight movement behind Lucinda by the door. The door that had creaked loudly when entering the kitchen now opened silently. Severus sensed a subtle change in the air, a tension he immediately noticed. His eyes narrowed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blurred movement, a shadow moving silently toward the kitchen counter. He watched a glass of water on the counter slowly shift in the direction of the blurry movement.

"I think," he said, sharply, "we have an univited visitor."

Without another word, he raised his wand.

"Finite Incantatem."

The shadow that had been hidden until then suddenly came into view. A small girl, no older than six or seven, stood frozen just a few steps from the counter. Her attempt to go unnoticed had failed. She stared at Severus with wide, watchful eyes.

Lucinda turned and blinked in surprise when she saw her daughter standing there.

"Betty, sweetheart," she said softly, stepping over to her. "You should be upstairs in bed, sleeping." She knelt and gently brushed her daughter's tousled hair back from her face. Her eyes flicked briefly to Severus before returning to the girl. "What are you doing?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"I'm thirsty," the girl whispered, her eyes still fixed on Severus.

A sharp, almost mocking tone slipped into his voice. "And I thought we had a particularly shy ghost here." He kept his eyes on her as he added, "Not bad for a child. Though not quite perfected."

He hadn't seen many talented students over the years, a child that young casting a Disillusionment Charm—unconsciously, yet with intent—was rare. Too young, too precise. He wondered if Dumbledore knew.

Lucinda straightened, her hand still resting lightly on Betty's shoulder. "You could've called me. I would have brought you something to drink.'

Betty was silent for a moment, then said softly, "I didn't want to disturb."

Her voice was calm for a child caught sneaking around. But that wasn't what unsettled Severus. It was the way she spoke, the way she looked at him, as if she had already taken in the entire situation and weighed it carefully.

He studied her more closely. Barefoot on the cold wooden floor, her nightgown slightly slipping off one shoulder, a stuffed toy, a black dog, clutched under her arm. Her light brown, wavy hair stuck out wildly in all directions as if she had just woken from a deep sleep. Everything about her seemed ordinary. He let his gaze sweep over her face, searching for traces of her parents. Her face was still soft and round, but in the shape of her eyes and the slight curve of her mouth, he recognised Lucinda's expression. A quiet, watchful manner that observed more than it revealed. Yet in her eyes, a darker green than Lucinda's, there was something wild, untamed, that reminded him involuntarily of Black. A mixture of vigilance and defiance that made him pause for a moment. The way she looked at him, without blinking, with a piercing gaze as if trying to see through his facade, sent shivers down his spine.

"Then have a drink and go back to bed," Lucinda said, gently guiding her out of the kitchen. But the girl didn't move. She stood still, her eyes still fixed on Severus, as if waiting for something he wouldn't say.

"Betty," Lucinda urged, but the girl remained silent. She seemed to be weighing something, as if she saw something in Severus that she couldn't put into words.

Lucinda's expression changed when she noticed Betty's stance. She raised her hand, as if to draw the girl closer, but Betty still didn't seem ready to move.

"You're different," the girl said at last, her voice quiet but firm. It wasn't a question but a statement, an attempt to understand something hidden. "There's something inside you. Something you're not showing."

She stared at him for a moment, her forehead creasing slightly as if trying to solve a puzzle. She could sense that he was hiding something, not the pain itself, but the fact that he hid it stayed with her. It unsettled him in a way he couldn't name.

Suddenly, a soft pop echoed through the kitchen, and a small figure wrapped in a clean dish towel appeared.

"Forgive me, Madame Lucinda," a thin voice squeaked. A house elf, bowed hastily and gave Lucinda a nervous glance. "Mimi was not paying attention, very inattentive. Miss Betty should be asleep already." She hurried over to the girl, gently took her hand, and looked up at Lucinda with a guilty expression.

"Please don't be angry, Madame. Mimi will take Miss Betty to bed right away."

But the girl still didn't make any motions. She was still looking at Severus.

"I can make it weaker."

Severus raised an eyebrow, just slightly.

"What do you mean?" He asked, coldy.

The girl glanced once more at Severus, then murmured, "If it's too strong, I can make it weaker—your hurt," she stretched out her hand in Severus' direction.

He felt his fingers tense slightly. It was clear by now that she was trying to read him, enter his mind. The moment was brief, but he felt her pushing gently against his intented barrier. It wasn't a forceful intrusion, more like a soft knocking. But he noticed it. And even though she was trying to enter his thoughts, he could tell she meant no harm. Her concern was real, though ridiculously naive.

"Stop sneaking around in other people's minds, girl," he said sharply. Like father, like daughter, he thought disgusted. Always sticking their noses where they didn't belong.

Then, without another word, she let the house elf lead her out of the kitchen.

What remained was a long silence. Just a sentence. Just a child's words. But as the elf closed the door behind them, Severus stayed where he was for a long time. Her words echoed louder in his mind than he expected. She had tried to enter his mind. A child.

Lucinda sighed quietly, sat back down at the table, and slowly poured herself another cup of tea. Then she looked at him directly.

"She's a born Legilimens."

Severus didn't turn to her right away, but his body tensed slightly.

"Obviously."

He had never encountered a seven-year-old who instinctively sensed when someone was hiding their thoughts. For a moment, there was silence between them.

Then Lucinda continued, "Sev. She didn't mean to intrude. She just noticed that you—'

"I don't need your analysis, Lucinda," he cut in sharply.

Lucinda nodded thoughtfully. "You noticed it yourself. She's not like other children. Her connection to magic is unusual strong. She already uses it instinctively. You saw how she moved without being noticed. Most children her age only show accidental signs of early magic, but Betty is already using hers deliberately."

Now Severus turned slowly toward her, his dark eyes sharp. "Since when?'

"Since... she was a toddler," Lucinda said. "Since... since her father left, it has become stronger. Out of grief, she created illusions of him and talked to them," she hesitated, "Her magic is affected by her emotions in a way that worries me. The feelings of those around her influence her too. And she doesn't need eye contact to sense other's emotions."

No eye contact? Severus found that concerning. Most Legilimens needed it to see directly into the others eyes to view thoughts or emotions clearly. If that girl could do it without, her connection to others ran deeper than it should. That made her unpredictable and vulnerable. And dangerous in the wrong hands.

"She can soothe people's pain. Not just physical but also mental pain. That's what she tried to do to you," Lucinda was silent for a moment. "Last summer she had a magic outbreak she ended up hurting a boy. It was obviously an accident, but it frightens her. You know what happens to children who suppress their magic. She's fine now, but what if it happens again? And again? I know she has to learn to control herself."

Severus knew what happened when magical children suppressed their power. The magic would not disappear, but it twisted into something dark and dangerous. Obscurials were proof of that. Without control, the magic would consume them and everything around them. Discipline was not optional, it was survival.

Her lips trembled. "We ran into Lucius in Diagon Alley recently."

Severus looked up. He knew the complicated relationship between Lucinda and her older brother all too well. As children they had drifted apart. Lucius, the ambitious heir of the Malfoy family, and Lucinda, the daughter who went against her family's blood traditions when she fell for the young Sirius Black. Their family had disowned her when she ran off with him, and from then on Lucinda was seen as a traitor, a rebel.

"He really tried to smooth things over," Lucinda said at last, bitterness in her voice. "He acted like nothing ever happened between us. Like he never joined the Dark Lord. Like our father never threatened me." She gave a humourless laugh, resignation in her eyes. "He told me he had no choice. That he was trapped and manipulated. Like he was some innocent victim." She paused, and for a moment it looked like she was fighting back anger. "Betty had stayed right by my side the whole time. She is an open minded child, a little shy, but always curious about the world. She held my hand tight when Lucius walked away. Then she suddenly said, "'He is lying. He wasn't forced.'"

Lucinda's voice shook as she continued. "It was frightening, Severus. It was like she felt it. She knew he wasn't telling the truth. That he was only looking out for himself."

She put down her cup and ran a hand through her hair. The worry in her eyes was deep and real; he couldn't deny his own surprise by her being unusual open. Desperation must make her reveal. "What if Betty is near someone truly dangerous? What if she learns things about people that are not meant for her? Or worse, what if those people find out she knows more than she should?" Lucinda sighed deeply. "I am worried."

Severus sat quietly, his thoughts racing. As Lucinda spoke, he thought about how many reasons there might be why Dumbledore sent him here and how little he had considered it before. The concern in Lucinda's voice was more than motherly instinct. She knew the girl was more than just an unusually empathetic child. Betty had powers that could be dangerous not only for herself but for others. If she could not learn to close her mind, she could put herself at risk and also get into the heads of enemies and that was a threat nobody should take lightly.

"The girl needs to learn to close her mind," Severus said, calm but firm. "The sooner the better. But that won't be enough. She has to learn when and how to enter other minds intentionally. That will help her not get distracted by other people's feelings."

Lucinda looked up, worry still in her eyes. "I know. I'd teach her Occlumency, but I don't have enough knowledge to do it properly."

"Occlumency is not easy," he said. "It's not something you learn in a few hours. It takes discipline. She must learn to control her own thoughts before she can block others. And above all, she must have emotional stability. If her magic is influenced by fear or anger, control is impossible. That only makes learning harder."

"You're right." Lucinda paused, then her eyes brightened with hope. "Severus, please. You could teach her."

Severus made a face, like the idea of dealing with such a young child disgusted him.

"Why me?" His voice was sharp. "Surely there are others more suitable." He knew the excuse was weak, but said it anyway.

"Because you have the discipline and understanding to help her," Lucinda said. "You know what it means to gain control, even over what others see as uncontrollable. You lived it yourself. No one else understands to hide yourself than you."

Severus thought about Dumbledore's plan in sending him here. Dumbledore must have guessed this. He must have known how dangerous Betty's gift could be; he must have known Lucinda's desperation to ask him to teach her, and decided to make him one of the few who could assess her abilities and maybe teach her if needed. Severus felt a flicker of disgust when he realised Dumbledore had known all along; had planned it all along.

He should have known better that Dumbledore had not sent him just to gather information about Voldemort. The old white-haired wizard had planned this from the start. Severus was meant to see for himself the need to teach the girl. Did he have a choice? He understood the threat of untrained magical power; still he didn't want to be dragged into this. Yet a flicker of curiosity stayed.

"You don't expect me to be gentle, do you?" His voice grew colder, almost unforgiving. "I'll teach her what she needs to know, but I expect discipline. No exceptions. If she can't handle it, she won't get far."

"That's what I expect from you," Lucinda said firmly. She stood and walked beside him to the door. Her steps were quiet, but her posture held a determined sharpness Severus noticed.

Lucinda nodded, though worry remained in her eyes. "I've already found someone to teach her. A friend from the Ministry, Zuberi Bakari. He's also a teacher at Uagadou. He'll teach her how to regulate her feelings so her magic stays in control."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "What makes him qualified?"

Lucinda remained calm. "I've known him a long time. I trust him. Dumbledore trusts him. He's experienced with children like Betty. I have no reason to doubt him."

Severus began to understand more and more why Dumbledore had sent him. Of course. Dumbledore wanted him to handle the mental discipline while that other wizard focused on the emotions.

"We'll see," he said slowly. "But emotional training can be dangerous if done wrong. I hope your friend knows the risks."

"He does," Lucinda said firmly. "He knows what he's doing."

Severus nodded and turned to leave. "Don't expect quick progress. Occlumency takes years to master."

"I know," Lucinda said softly as she closed the door behind him.

Severus walked into the night. The cold air cut his face as his thoughts turned to the young girl. It would be clear soon enough if the child was just the chaotic legacy of Sirius Black or something else. But to Severus, it was clear— chaos was the legacy he expected.

Chapter Text

Late August, 1990.

The setting sun covered the land in warm golden light. The shadows of the acacia trees stretched long across the dry ground, and the wind moved through the tall grass; a river shimmered in the distance. A black kite circled in the sky, its wings widely stretched, every movement seemed effortless. Betty sat on the edge of a flat rock, knees pulled up, arms around them. Her eyes followed the bird; she envied its quiet elegance. Not because she felt trapped, but because that kind of freedom seemed hard to reach. That was often how her life in Kenya had felt. Without constant judgment. Without expectations.

During the summer months, from June to August, she had stayed with Zuberi. He taught at Uagadou, one of the five wizarding schools that welcomed students from all over Africa. But he himself was from Kenya, where he lived and trained Betty. In that time she felt closer to who she really was—and free. The rest of the year she studied at home in London, where everything felt stricter, her days more defined. As a child, she had learned to fit into that structure, to watch others and to sense what they felt before they spoke.

With the help of Zuberi's guidance she began to understand herself and her abilities better. Her own emotions had often overwhelmed her; when she was younger she had often cried without knowing why. Often, she couldn't tell her emotions apart from those of others, mistaking other fear or anger as her own. She could sense what people felt as if their emotions were hers, and when her gaze met their eyes, fragments of their thoughts flickered in her mind. She didn't understand what was happening, but she knew things she couldn't know.

By now, Betty had learnt how to distinguish between her own feelings and from those of the others. She had learnt to avoid letting her own magic being overwhelmed by emotions all together. Understanding her magic, learning how to guide and how to use it intentionally had been the key.

She knew the difference between her kind of Legilimency and what other wizards could learn. Others needed a wand, spells, and years of training to enter thoughts and search for memories. Hers, however, was natural, inherited and needed no spells; being born with it was rare. What she had to learn wasn't how to enter minds but how to stop herself from slipping into them, a skill that demanded focus and discipline. To help, she had developed the habit of avoiding direct eye contact when speaking to them. Instead, she focused on their mouth, nose, or eyebrows. Even then, she could sense the emotions of those around her even without eye contact—even if not as strongly.

She could still dive into someone's thoughts and emotions unless they protected themselves with the art of Occlumency. Professor Snape, who had taught Betty Occlumency for many years, often warned her sternly not to sneak around in other people's minds. But sometimes, out of curiosity, she did it anyway. Learning Occlumency didn't just help her hide her own thoughts and feelings from others; it also helped her avoid constantly sensing the emotions of those around her. Even though its constant usage was exhausting.

Thoughts him, her mentor in the art of Occlumency who had taught her weekly for the past five years, came to her mind. Betty had not only learned to control her Legilimency more consciously but also to protect her own thoughts and feelings from potential intruders. Snape had taught her. Soon she would have to see him again—as a teacher of Potions at Hogwarts. She had mixed feelings about him; his harsh and often intimidating manner had never really made her warm toward him, but still something about him fascinated her. It was this unique mixture of strictness and constant vigilance as if he always saw one layer deeper than he let on. Even though she had never really understood him, she knew he had taught her more than she was willing to admit.

It was not only his manner, his stern looks, or his relentless attitude that challenged her, but also the feeling that he saw something in her that others didn't notice. Something she often couldn't quite understand herself. She trusted him even though he would probably never trusted her. And that was what somehow held her captive about him. She knew that he understood her in a way no one else did—perhaps because he was also a loner who viewed the world with a distant gaze. And although his manner often seemed intimidating, she couldn't deny that she felt safe in his presence, as if she could rely on him in a way she found nowhere else. In a way, she was even looking forward to seeing him again. Betty remembered the many times when she had worked with him for hours on the technique of blocking her thoughts and emotions, protecting herself. Every lesson had taught her more. She thought of her last lesson, just before she would leave for Kenya with her mother.

The professor had stood before her, his arms folded behind his back, and she had felt his black eyes piercing her.

"Black, I have no patience for games," he had said in his sharp voice. "I will try to enter your mind. Prevent it or only show me what you want. But let me tell you one thing—I see through cheap tricks immediately."

At the time, she had looked back at him without being impressed, although she knew more was at stake now than just blocking his attempts to invade her mind. She had to manage it, not only prevent it.

"Then I suppose I should do my best," she had replied with an innocent smile.

Snape had raised his wand with narrowed eyes. "Legilimens!"

The familiar sensation had returned, but instead of being flooded with unfiltered memories, he encountered an impenetrable, firm barrier. He had withdrawn and scrutinized her sharply.

"You can block. But that alone is not enough."

At first the professor had told her to bring order to her mind—to sort every single memories, and lock them away, each behind its own wall. That demanded a linear strucutur and precision. But Bett'ys thoughts never followed a straight line; they were tangled, an jumped from one memory to another before she could catch them, let alone lock them. Trying to separate had seemed impossible, and the harder she tried, the more chaotic her mind seemed to become. It had been her mother who suggested a different approach, watching Betty struggle. "Try to understand your mind's pattern."

Only then Betty had started to imgine her mind rather not as a linear path, but as a web—threats that connected memories. It became less about separation and more about connection. She had learned to weave them together, to shield the entire wrap, instead of locking every single one separately. When Professor Snape entered, he would only sense a dense structure, impossible to navigate through it. Later, as she grew more confident in her skills, she had learned to isolate single threads—letting him see only what she chose, while the rest of the web stayed hidden.

When he would approach Betty another time, she had been prepared.

"Legilimens!"

Snape had tried again, and this time she let him enter, but only as far as she wanted. She followed the familiar pull inward, moving along the threats, until she reached the ohne she had chosen. A vivid scene formed in her mind—a harmless moment from her childhood when she tried to fly a paper kite in the garden, and eventually, when the wind changed, the kite actually flew. Her laughter had been loud and genuine as she ran after it. Snape had abruptly withdrawn, and she saw his eyebrow twitch.

"Deception is an art. But your kind is—" He hesitated. "childish."

Betty had answered calmly and a little cheekily, "But I am a child, am I not?" Then she added, as he looked her over, "What would be more convincing than childish memories?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Coldness protects against pain. Too much openness is an invitation to vulnerability."

Betty met his gaze. "Or a weapon."

"Interesting theory. Then let us see how good your weapon really is." Snape raised an eyebrow and then his wand again.

"Legilimens!"

This time he reached deeper, searching for insecurity and fear. But Betty had been ready; she felt him moving along the outer of the web, guiding him to that one she would show him. She revealed nothing real but brought up another memory—a sunny afternoon with her mother in a meadow when they tried to sweep flowers that kept blooming again.

Snape had withdrawn. No weakness, no pain, no fear. He had found nothing.

"Acceptable," he had finally nodded shortly.

Betty remembered grinning triumphantly. "I take that as high praise, Professor."

His gaze had grown colder, his eyed narrowed to slits. "Don't."

Still sitting on the plateau, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air was dry, carrying the smell of dust and hot stone. In the distance, she heard a branch snap and the soft hum of insects. At Zuberi's, she was usually alone with him. Occasionally, other children were around, but Betty mostly observed them from afar.

Another part of her training had been to understand the four elements—fire, water, earth, and air. Zuberi had explained that while magic came from within the wizard or witch, the elements chose their listeners or carriers. Once a connection had been formed through practise, the ancient force could be embraced.

Many wizards were connected to only one element, some to two, a few to three, and only a rare few mastered all four. All four elements were carried by Zuberi. For Betty, it was two—air and water. In Great Britain, where Betty came from, this practise had been long forgotten—but not here.

Shortly after arriving in Kenya for the first time, she was seven years old, frightened by her own power, after accidentally hurting someone. Zuberi had sent her alone to the high plateau and gave her only one task—to listen.

At first, she had refused. How could anyone listen to air? But when she closed her eyes, the wind became more than just a sound in the trees. It moved around her, reacted to her gestures. When she raised her arm, a gust followed. Her laughter made the wind grow louder.

Then, when she was nine, she had sat alone by the river. The other children had played in the village, but she had sought quiet. She had dipped her hands into the water and noticed how the current changed. It seemed like the water recognized her, reflected her. For the first time, she saw the water wrap around her arms like a glove, without her saying a single spell. She learned to control these elements. The air followed her movements. The water flowed through her hands. She could sense the balance of strength and calm that each element carried. Zuberi taught her how to heal with water magic. She learned to cleanse wounds, and ease pain. Over time, her control deepened. She could draw moisture from the air, condense it into small droplets, and gather them into a sphere of water between her palms. With focus, she could warm the water until it was damp and comforting, or freeze it into sharp shards of ice. Zuberi had taught her to form a bubble of air around her head so she could breathe underwater. Betty had spent hours practising it, staying beneath the surface until she was entirely at ease. Swimming quickly became something she loved more than almost anything else; in the water, she felt free and weightless, able to twist and dive as if the river itself accepted her. She often shaped currents to push her faster or swirl around her. With her hands, Betty could set the air spinning, creating small whirlwinds that stirred leaves and dust. She could unleash sharp blasts of wind that pushed opponents back or cleared obstacles in her path. Sometimes she let the breeze brush lightly against someone, sending a hidden signal or an unspoken warning. Zuberi always reminded her that true power did not come from brute force but from harmony with the elements. Betty learned to use air to dampen sound, moving almost silently, and to make her body lighter, allowing her to perform small, agile leaps that helped her dodge and move with ease.

Now, at eleven, she sensed both elements like companions that responded to her mood. The wind sharpened when she was alert, the water softened when she was calm. Zuberi said that most wizards were lucky to connect deeply with even one element. Having two was rare. Betty could already hear the faint whisper beneath her feet: earth.

Her thoughts wandered to Hogwarts, now only a day away. Soon she would no longer look out over endless savannahs or breathe in the earthy smell of rain on dry soil. Instead, she would be in an old Scottish castle, among other children, she didn't know and with rules she wasn't used to. She would have to use a wand even though she had channelled her magic without a tool for years. And she was supposed to hide her true strength. No one was allowed to know what she was really capable of. Betty knew she was different from most magical children. Most experienced their first magic by chance, uncontrolled flying plates, exploding lamps, changing hair colours. Her magic had always been different. It was more purposeful, instinctive, as if it were a part of her that had never slept. And she had learned how to control it with her will and her hands.

And that was exactly the problem.

Wizards and witches, especially those in Britain, relied on their wands. They believed that magic without a wand was wild magic. A child who performed magic with bare hands, who could control the elements if they wanted to something like that would cause suspicion. Perhaps even fear. Her mother had phrased it carefully but Betty had read between the lines. "Hogwarts is a safe place, but that doesn"t mean everyone there will understand you.'
And what would happen if someone like her stood out? A girl who mastered magic without a wand, who felt more than others, who did things she was not supposed to do?

People with power were either feared or used. And Betty wanted neither.

She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. A lump formed in her throat as she looked at the last rays of the sun. What if nobody liked her at Hogwarts?
Her mother had always said she was a smart, strong girl, but Betty knew she was not like other children. When she was five, she had friends—real friends. But then it happened. Her magic had erupted uncontrollably for the first time and someone had been hurt. It had been an accident; no one had blamed her. But Betty could not forgive herself. She never wanted to hurt anyone again. Since that day she had withdrawn.

Mimi, the house-elf, had become her only real friend. And books. Books weren't afraid of her. While other children played, she learned. While they exchanged secrets, Betty practised controlling herself. Her world had become small — full of discipline, magic, and the effort not to get too close to anyone. Her world consisted of training, magic, and learning. What if she was seen as strange? What if she remained alone? She sighed quietly.

Silently, Betty slid down from the rock. The ground beneath her feet was dry and dusty. She left the rock ledge and walked quietly through the tall, dry grass toward the house where Zuberi lived. The sun had dipped below the horizon and twilight had taken over. The small village was hidden at the edge of Laikipia National Park, remote but nestled in the wide savannah. The trees cast long shadows in the fading light. Betty moved like a shadow herself, invisible to anyone who was not looking for her. She had practiced the Disillusionment Charm intensively with Zuberi, along with other techniques to hide from strangers. It took a lot of focus, but she welcomed the effort to move unnoticed.

She passed some gnarled acacia trees whose branches stretched across the path. The house stood on a small clearing. It was simply built, with thick clay walls that glowed red-gold in the last light of day, and a roof made of tightly woven, magically treated grass. Smoke rose from the narrow chimney, a sign that dinner was ready. Zuberi lived there alone, but neighbours from the village often visited. The house was open, but protected by enchantments that shielded it from curious eyes. Betty crept up to the door, ready to surprise him. But as always, Zuberi sensed her presence before she became visible.

He turned around and looked at her with an amused smile. "You try it every time, but I always notice you first," he said calmly. Betty sensed a hint of amusement.

Slightly dissapointed, she stepped out of the shadows, ended the spell, and sat down silently at the small table in front of the house. It was made of dark, oiled wood, the edges weathered. Two plates were set, steaming, simple, but carefully prepared. It smelled of roasted roots, wild greens, and something she couldn't quite name, but that was familiar.

"You are late," Zuberi said calmly and placed a bowl of roasted nuts between them. "You were watching the black kite again?"

Betty nodded slowly and leaned back, picking up a nut to roll it between her fingers. "It just let the air carry it. Not once did it flap its wings."

"You envy him, do you not?"

"He can fly wherever he wants," she murmured. "No expectations, no rules. He doesn't have to hide."

Zuberi smiled, a calm, knowing smile. "Even a free bird must adapt to survive. One that does not know storms will not fly long."

They ate in silence for a while. The crickets had begun to chirp, twilight deepened, and somewhere in the distance a bird called. The wind had calmed. It was one of those transitional moments that happened often in Kenya and Betty enjoyed very much.

"I wonder if one can learn that. Just gliding, without struggling."

He raised his eyebrows and took a nut for himself. "You mean how to live?"

"Yes."

"Struggling is part of life, just like falling. What matters is getting back up every time and keep going. This is what shapes you."

Betty sighed. He had said this every time when Betty didn't want to keep going.

"How was your exercise with the water today?" Zuberi asked.

Betty shrugged. "Stable, but not very strong. I wasn't really concentrated."

Zuberi looked at her briefly, then turned his gaze back to the horizon. "You were too focused on other things."

She didn't answer right away. Then she nodded. "It was loud. In my head, I mean."

Zuberi stayed silent, waiting.

Betty pushed her plate a little to the side, rested her elbows on the tabletop, and let her gaze wander into the darkening grass. The sun had completely set. Only a thin orange line still hung over the horizon.

"You are afraid of Hogwarts," he stated after a pause.

"Maybe." Betty twisted her mouth slightly.

"You have not said ‘maybe' since you were seven."

Zuberi leaned back on his hands and also looked up at the sky. "It is normal to be nervous," he continued. "But you forget what you have learned: adaptation, control, the ability to go with the flow instead of against it."

Betty let her head sink onto her knees. "I am supposed to hide."

"No." He shook his head slightly. "You are supposed to be smart. You are more than your abilities. Magic is a tool, but your mind, your heart, that is what makes you special. When the time comes, you will know when you can show yourself."

Betty sighed and drew her knees tighter. "I'm not used to being around by so many children. What if they don't like me? What if I don't fit in? What if they do not understand me? And what if too much and I just want to be alone?"

Zuberi pushed his bowl aside, leaned his forearms on the table, and looked at her. "There are plenty of places at Hogwarts where you can be alone," he said with a wink.

Betty pushed a nut over the table edge with her thumb, let it fall, and watched it disappear into the dust. With a wave of her hand, she lifted it again, sent it flying upward, and caught it with her other hand. "Maybe I will not go to Hogwarts," she murmured. "Maybe I will go to Uagadou after all. Maybe I will not get a letter from Hogwarts. Maybe it will be from Uagadou."

Zuberi smiled, not mockingly, but gently. "Magical children in Africa do not get their invitations by owl like in Britain. Their invitation comes in a dream. A dream messenger brings it. This happens at the second full moon after the summer solstice."

He paused briefly. "Did you have such a dream?"

Betty said nothing for a while. Finally, she answered in a very quiet voice, "No."

Zuberi simply nodded. "Your mother will be glad. She does not like it when you are away from her for too long."

Betty sighed. "Yes, I know. But I won't see much her when I'm at Hogwarts either."

"What do you not like about Hogwarts?" he asked calmly.

Betty hesitated for a moment. "They wear uniforms there." She made a face and looked down at the light, airy garment she was wearing—loose-fitting, made of thin fabric, along with the wide trousers that never got in her way when running or jumping. Comfortable, cool, unrestricting. Something that felt like her. "And itchy wool jumpers," she added with a hint of distaste. "And ties."

Zuberi laughed softly. "You will get used to it."

"It"s cold in Scotland," she said. "And it's always raining."

Zuberi smiled at her. "Then you will learn spells that keep you warm and dry." He paused briefly. "I did not like Uagadou in my first year. Too big, too loud. But I stayed because it changed me. Not because it was comfortable."

Zuberi looked at her for a long time, then reached out as if to catch something in the wind, but the moment passed. "What you have learned here, you will use there. Hogwarts will not be the end, Betty. It will only be the beginning. And you will always be able to return to this place. Next summer you will be here again. And you will be stronger than you can imagine now."

She looked at him, feeling a strange mix of relief and sadness inside. Yes, she would come back. But for now, there was only one day left before she had to leave. Tomorrow she would return to London. The thought made her chest tighten. She was sad to leave Kenya and Zuberi behind, but also happy to see her mother again after so long.

They cleared their plates together. The sky had turned black and the first stars began to twinkle overhead.

"This one here," he said quietly, "is Orion's Belt. You can see it in Scotland too, but it might look a bit different depending on the time of year. When you feel far from home, just find those three stars in a row. They will remind you that some things do not change, no matter where you are."

Betty followed his gaze, tracing the faint shapes of the stars, feeling a quiet comfort in the thought. For a moment, the distance between her two worlds seemed smaller, joined by the stars above.

With a fluid gesture of his hands, Zuberi summoned nearby twigs and branches. They floated toward them and arranged themselves neatly in a circle of stones. He moved his hand again, and the fire lit instantly, casting shadows on their faces. It was their last evening together before Betty would leave in the morning.

As the fire crackled, Zuberi pointed again to a cluster of stars.

She leaned back, wrapped in the warm glow of the fire and the steady presence of Zuberi's stories, getting ready for the journey ahead. Zuberi broke the silence, his voice calm and steady, telling one of the many tales he had shared over the years. 

Many years ago, in a remote village, there lived a young witch named Amara. She was known for her extraordinary magic, especially for her ability to influence the elements. But Amara had a great secret: she could never truly allow herself to feel her emotions. Anger, sorrow and fear. All these feelings she tried to hide in order not to endanger her power. She had learned that true wizards had to control their emotions if they didn't want to appear weak. In truth, however, she was haunted by her own suppressed feelings. She buried her grief over the loss of her parents, the anger at the injustice of the world, and the fear of never being enough deep inside. She thought that if she ignored these feelings and kept them hidden, she could reveal her true strength.

One day, Amara heard of a mountain known as the "Mountain of Inner Storms." It was said to be the place where the greatest magicians found their true strength. To achieve it, a wizard had to dare to confront their deepest emotions. Many who tried to climb it without facing their true selves never returned. Amara ignored the warning as she believed emotions makes one weak. Inspired by the idea, Amara decided to climb this mountain. She was determined to finally unlock her true power. She spent days on the path, fighting against the steep slopes and the icy wind. The mountain wasn't only physically challenging but also mentally demanding. Every step seemed accompanied by the weight of her own suppressed emotions.The higher she climbed, the more difficult the climb became. Her buried anger over the loss of her family simmered deep within her, yet she repressed it, fighting against it. The fear of never being good enough beat inside her, but she held it back. Her heart raced from the effort, and she refused to face her own sorrow.

When Amara finally reached the top, something happened that she hadn't expected. The mountain began to shake. At first it was a slight vibration, but then it grew stronger and stronger. The wind howled, and suddenly storms broke loose, covering the summit in darkness. Amara felt the air around her charge with the anger, fear, and sorrow she had long suppressed. It was as if the mountain itself had sensed her inner storms and now tried to shatter her. The feelings she had ignored for so long flooded through her like uncontrollable flames. The storm grew ever stronger, and Amara felt as if the anger and sorrow would crush her. She could no longer hold onto the mountain. The elements she had once mastered began to turn against her.

In that moment, she remembered her grandmother's words she never wanted to believe: "Emotions are like the elements, Amara. If you try to suppress them, they will eventually consume you. But if you accept them and learn to live with them, you can use their true power."

Amara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She allowed the feelings she had locked away for so long to come through. She felt the anger, sorrow, and fear not as a threat, but as a part of herself. She let these emotions flow through her, but instead of suppressing them, she directed their energy. With a deep breath, Amara opened her eyes and stretched out her hands into the storm. She felt the elements calm around her as she came into harmony with her own feelings. The anger turned into determined energy that pushed her forward. The sorrow gave her the depth and wisdom she needed to understand the mountain. The fear helped her to be cautious and choose the right path. She was no longer a victim of her emotions but had learned to guide them. The storm slowed down, and the mountain became still. Amara stood there on the top, stronger and wiser than ever before. She hadn't only conquered the mountain but had found herself in her emotions, which she now accepted as part of her magic.

Betty knew the story well. Zuberi told it to her often to show her that true strength does not lie in suppressing feelings or running away from them but in the ability to accept and use them.

"Like Amara, Betty," Zuberi said, "you have to learn to live with your emotions. They are not your enemies. They are your allies if you understand them and use them deliberately."

Betty usually listened to Zuberi's stories silently, her knees drawn up, her chin resting on them. Her gaze often wandered into the fire as if she wanted to search for hidden meanings among the flames. But inside, the words moved her more than she ever let on. The story of Amara stayed with her for a long time. She didn't understand everything yet. But something about it felt true. Perhaps her strength lay not only in control but also in understanding. When Zuberi finished, she said nothing at first. Then she asked quietly without looking up.

"What if you don't even know what you feel? If everything is too much at once?"

Zuberi didn't answer immediately. He took his time. Like he always did when he sensed that a question was meant not just for conversation but for something deeper.

"Then it is like the wind," he finally said. "When it is still, you hardly hear it. And when it is too strong, you cannot hold it. But you can learn to read it. In the leaves, in the dust, on your skin."

Betty was silent again.

"Betty, if one day you forget what you can do with your feelings — remember your breath."

She frowned. "My breath?"

"Yes. Your breath is always there. When you are angry. When you are sad. When you feel nothing or too much at once. You cannot control it if you try to force it. But you can go with it. You can guide it. And it will guide you back. To yourself." He placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You do not have to understand your feelings immediately. You do not have to like them either. But you have to feel them. When you feel them, breathe — and listen — then they remind you who you are. And what kind of magic lives inside you."

He winked at her. "And if that does not help either—eat something. Nobody thinks clearly on an empty stomach."

Betty laughed quietly, almost surprised at herself, then nodded. She lifted her head and let her gaze rest on Orion's Belt once more. Maybe her new life at Hogwarts wouldn't be so bad after all.

Chapter Text

The portkey to London was set for eleven o'clock. Zuberi had come all the way to Nairobi to send her off. The air pressed heavily, warmer than she remembered, thick with the city's noise—honking Muggle cars, the sharp scent of roasted corn, and the bitter smell of hot tar. Betty tightened her grip on her bag. The chaos felt sharper here, more immediate. Leaving Kenya was never easy, no matter how many times she had done it.

Zuberi moved ahead, navigating the narrow alley where traders displayed their goods beneath bright, fluttering canopies. Betty followed close, her steps careful. Her mind circled the same thought—this was the first time she would make the journey home alone—which gave her a tingling sensation in her stomach.

The entrance to the Kenyan Ministry of Magic was intentionally easy to miss. Hidden between a café and an auto parts shop, and shielded by wards to keep Muggles away. Zuberi placed his fingers on an engraved symbol and spoke softly in Swahili. The wall shimmered and a narrow passage opened.

A cool breeze washed over Betty as they stepped inside. The reception hall was dimly lit, the amber light softly reflecting on the polished stonefloor. Tall columns rose to a vaulted ceiling. Murals traced the magic woven into East African history—rainfall carrying spells, warriors cloaked in shadows, healers surrounded by glowing runes.

Zuberi's gaze fixed on a mosaic at the room's center.

"This is where we part, Betty," he said. "You know what to do."

She nodded, pressing her lips together. In the morning, she had gone over the journey in her head several times and checked repeatedly to make sure she had her ticket with her. And still, she felt like something pressed against her lunges.

His hand rested briefly on her shoulder.

"Next summer", he said quietly. "I am looking forward to hearing your stories from Hogwarts."

Betty nodded again. No need to say more. She waved goodbye and moved toward the round hall. The golden lines on the floor divided it into four directions. In the northwest corner, a small group waited beneath a glowing sign:

Cairo—11:05 a.m.

A wizard in rusty red robes eyed her briefly, then signaled her to come forward. Betty took out her rolled ticket, and he scanned it with a long curved rod. A soft tone, the edge glowing green, confirmed her passage. He nodded and gestured to the waiting group. The waiting group consisted of two older witches with faintly jingling bracelets, a trader holding a satchel, and a young woman who shifted nervously from one foot to the other. At their feet lay the port key—an old spear with a brass tip, its handle covered in ancient hieroglyphs.

When it was activated the tip faintly glowed. Betty's fingers closed around the wooden handle. The light above flared, her stomach tightened, and she felt the familiar sharp pull behind her navel. The world shifted and then steadied.

Cairo's arrival hall was bright, almost dazzling after Nairobi's dimness. The air was dry and crisp. Sunlight poured through large windows, casting patterns of blue and gold across stone tiles. Betty stepped down from the hexagonal platform. Her knees trembled slightly. She could still feel the jump's effects on her balance and tightened her grip on her bag until the feeling passed. She had travelled by portkeys as long as she could remember and yet she hadn't got used to it—especially long jumps like these. At least she didn't fall anymore.

She looked around at the hall.

Travellers moved through the hall, some rushing towards the exits, others into the waiting hall nearby. Above the platform, golden letters rotated to display the departure times:

Kampala—11:19, Accra—11:46, Ankara—11:57, Kabul—12:11

At the bottom:

Marseille—14:09.

Next to each of them, golden sand slowly dripped from an hourglass. Three more hours until the jump to Marseille. She exhaled. Waiting was harder for her when she was alone.

A high archway led on to the exit towards Cairo. A magical veil shimmered, searching for unregistered or forbidden items. Betty's eyes caught the trader from Nairobi frozen beneath the veil. An official approached, speaking low in Arabic. She caught only few words—carpet, permit, export forbidden. The man unrolled a richly patterned carpet, and the official's voice tightened. Apparently flying carpets were only legal under strict conditions here. The man was led away. Betty turned, chest tight.

She followed signs to the travellers' waiting room and the noise dropped immediately. Dark stone lined the floor and colourful cushions and mosaic tables stoof everywhere. Water flowed out of a brass spout. Betty went over and let the cold liquid flow over her arms.

Betty sank onto a cushion, drawing her knees close to her. Above the arch, hourglasses marked the passing time. She had waited here many times before, as a child clinging to her mother's robes. Then, the noise had been easier to bear. Now, the noise and the moving shadows unsettled her, she felt the restlessness growing inside her, so she pulled a book from her bag. Reading helped her focus and distracted her from the surroundings around her.

After a while an older woman appeared dressed in violet robes with golden embroidery, carrying a wooden tray. "Tea? Pastries?" she asked kindly in Arabic.

"Yes, please," Betty replied softly, "Shkran."

The woman placed a glass of spiced tea on the table in front of Betty, steam scented with cinnamon and cloves rising from it. Betty took some syrup-soaked pastries, which tasted sweet and nutty. The taste calmed her.

When it was finally time a group travelling to Marseille gathered. Betty threw her book into her bag and got up. The portkey was a copper plate, stamped with the French Ministry's seal—a unicorn entwined with a hawthorn wreath. An assistant passed it wordlessly from a cushioned box. Betty's ticket was scanned again. The plate lit up when it was activated and, once she touched the portkey, she felt the familiar pull again.

Marseille greeted her with cooler air that smell faintly salty. The arrival hall lay beneath the old town, walls painted with faded mystic sea motifs like siren.

After ticket were checked again.

"Next departure in ten minutes" said the official in French, pointing to a corridor. "Room three."

"Merci beaucoup," Betty replied. The woman nodded curtly, but not unkindly. Betty walked up to the next waiting room. A worn tapestry of the French Ministry hung on stone walls. Travellers gathered around a braided leather belt—the last portkey.

The light flared again.

The Department of Magical Transportation stood before her, with its cream-coloured ceilings, dark wood panelling and the quiet, familiar hum of witches and wizards working in the rooms. Two aurors greeted the arrivals while a feather floated above, recording names. Betty shivered as cold air brushed her skin.

She raised her ticket and stepped forward. The auror barely glanced at it before the green light confirmed her.

"Welcome back," he said.

She nodded, adjusted her bag and walked down the polished corridor. She had arrived. All on her own for the very first time.

Betty looked up just in time to catch her mother's glance. For a brief moment, Lucinda's usual calm cracked — a shadow flickered across her face before she ended her conversation with the older wizard in midnight-blue robes. Bartemius Crouch Sr, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation where her mother worked. The man's sharp gaze unsettled Betty. There always was something cold and calculating in it that kept people at a distance.

Her mother led the sub-department for International Agreements and Treaties. A position that demanded patience and skill in navigating delicate politics. Lucinda was a close associate of Crouch. Betty never liked that man, without knowing exactly why. His stiff posture and clipped movements made him seem like a man hiding something.

Lucinda often said she owed much to Crouch. Without his support, she never would have reached this position. He recognised her talent and backed her, treating her as her own person, not as a Malfoy or the wife of a criminal. That meant a great deal to Lucinda. After the imprisonment of Betty's father and Lucinda's husband, she distanced herself from his crimes and took back her maiden name.

Betty didn't know very much about her father. His name rarely came up, not even during family visits with Andromeda and Ted Tonks. Andromeda was her father's cousin, but to Betty, she and her husband Ted were like close family. Whenever her father's name came up, it was always by accident. Ted sometimes spoke of him with unexpected warmth. He would talk about memories of the young Sirius, who had rebelled and left home at sixteen to live with James Potter. Betty listened without asking questions. She sensed the pain beneath them, but she never knew how to act. She had learned early to read between the lines, to catch tone and what went unsaid.

Lucinda nodded briefly, then turned fully to Betty. Her smile was small but sincere, and her steps lost some of their usual formality as she approached. She pulled Betty into a firm hug. The warmth was steady and sure. Betty stayed still, accepting it without hesitation. Lucinda held her a moment longer than expected before gently letting her go. Her light green eyes scanned Betty's face.

"You've grown. Taller. And there's something different about you."

Betty shrugged. "You always say that. It's odd to be back."

After almost three months in Kenya, walking barefoot outside in the warm sun, practising magic and meditating, it felt strange to be back in the cold of London. But Betty couldn't deny the other feeling slowly stirring inside her—relief and excitement.

"It has been a long summer," Lucinda said softly.

She gestured slightly and began walking beside her. As they passed desks and filing cabinets, a few staff looked up, offering polite smiles before returning to their work. Betty's eyes caught familiar faces and others she didn't recognise.

Lucinda's voice lowered. "We can go over everything later. Or tomorrow, if you want. No rush."

"Later," Betty said quickly.

Lucinda nodded. "How was the journey?" She asked as they moved along the corridor.

"It was okay," Betty answered, shrugging. "I'm glad it's over."

Lucinda said nothing, her pace steady but softened, as if allowing Betty time to adjust.

"The Hogwarts letter arrived three days ago," Lucinda said quietly. "I didn't open it. It's yours."

Betty's eyebrows lifted. Her heart started pounding. The doubts that had plagued her in Kenya were replaced by excitement and nervousness.

"We'll go to Diagon Alley on Friday," Lucinda continued. "I took the day off. I want to see how you manage the wand fitting."

Betty's voice lowered. "And if none of them fits?"

Lucinda stopped and looked her in the eye. "Then we keep looking. But I doubt that will happen."

Her tone was calm but her eyes showed quiet certainty. Betty said nothing. Her hand tightened around the handle of her bag.

"The train leaves Sunday. Eleven o'clock, platform nine and three-quarters. We'll leave early. I'll be with you all the way to the barrier."

"You don't have to—"

"I do," Lucinda interrupted gently but firmly. "I want to. I know you've grown independent, but this is my moment to see you off. Let me have it."

They reached the hall with the Floo fireplaces. Lucinda handed Betty a pinch of powder. Betty tossed it into the fire, which flared green.

"Dearborn Hollow," she said clearly before stepping in. The world spun fast then slowed, before stumbling into the familiar living room. Lucinda followed. Although she would miss Kenya and Zuberi, she was finally home.

The kitchen door creaked open. Mimi was there, quick despite her age. Her dark eyes lit up at the sight of Betty.

"Miss Betty, good to have you home! So long you've been away, yes?" She bowed slightly. "All ready for Miss Lucinda to cook. Fresh ingredients, all clean, just as you like it."

Betty smiled faintly. She knew how much her mother enjoyed cooking, like brewing potions. Mimi helped prepare everything.

Dropping her bag, Betty said, "Hello, Mimi. Good to see you."

Lucinda slipped off her coat and shoes, moving toward the kitchen.

"Thank you, Mimi," she said.

Mimi bowed again, voice soft. "Miss Lucinda is so clever and hardworking. Mimi is happy to help."

She disappeared behind the kitchen door. Betty stayed still a moment, taking in the room. Everything was as she remembered. Even the half-empty jug of lavender on the windowsill remained, but replaced with fresh ones. The house felt like it had held its breath.

"Do you want the letter now?" Lucinda asked, coming out of the kitchen.

Betty nodded. "Yes."

Lucinda stepped into the study, returning with a thick cream envelope. Without a word, Lucinda handed it over to her.

Betty turned the letter slowly. The Hogwarts seal was solid, the wax clean. It felt real. More real than anything she had imagined. Written in dark green ink, old-fashioned and neat:

Elizabeth Jamie Black, Dearborn Hollow, Wimbledon Common, London.

"I'll give you a moment," Lucinda said quietly, heading back to the kitchen to fill the kettle.

Betty sat down on one of the old armchairs and broke the seal. The parchment rustled as she pulled out the first page. Term begins Monday, third of September, arrival on the Hogwarts Express the day before. Her fingers paused at the words:

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The school supplies list followed: wand, books, robes, cauldron, ingredients, telescope, choice of pet. Parents are reminded that first years are not allowed their own broomsticks. Her eyes lingered on the options of pets: owl, cat, or toad.

Lucinda placed a steaming cup of tea beside her but stayed standing.

"I thought you might want your own owl. If you like, we can visit Eeylops when we're in town."

Betty looked up. "I'm not sure yet."

Lucinda nodded.

"All right," she said softly. "Friday will be a long day."

***

On Friday at eleven o'clock, Betty stood in front of the fireplace in the living room. Her wavy hair was tied back into a loose plait at the nape of her neck, falling down to her shoulder with a few strands already loose and falling into her face. She blinked irritably and pushed one behind her ears. She wore baggy shorts and a loose T-shirt printed with a Muggle-born band her cousin liked. Her scuffed trainers squeaked softly on the wooden floor as she turned.

Lucinda stepped behind her, glanced briefly and raised an eyebrow in appraisal.
"Will you ever wear your hair neatly?"

Betty rolled her eyes. "It's tied back."

Lucinda said nothing more, which probably meant she considered the discussion pointless. She was, as always, flawlessly dressed in a flowing lavender linen robe. A pale grey wool travelling cloak draped over her shoulders, and her light blonde hair was flawlessly pinned up.

"You go first," she said, handing Betty a pinch of floo powder.

Betty nodded, took some powder, stepped into the fireplace, and tossed it onto the grate. When the flames turned green, she said clearly, "Diagon Alley!"

She stepped into the flames, and her world began swirling around. She stumbled out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, coughing dryly as ashes dusted her cheeks and the collar of her T-shirt.

Almost immediately, Lucinda stepped gracefully out of the fireplace. She too had traces of ashes on her face, but before anyone could say anything, she flicked her wand with a precise motion and the dirt vanished from both of them.

Lucinda nodded approvingly. "See? No need to fuss." As if Betty cared.

Betty looked around the room curiously. The room was almost empty only an elderly wizard couple were having breakfast in the corner and behind the bar, Tom, the old innkeeper, was polishing a glass with his usual expressionless face.

When he saw them, his eyes brightened.

"Lucinda Malfoy. And young Miss Black. You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you."

Lucinda gave a brief nod. "Good morning, Tom."

"Off to get school supplies then?" He grinned as if he'd already guessed.

"Good morning," muttered Betty, nodding and then followed her mother.

Lucinda placed a few sickles on the counter for the passage, then they went through the narrow back yard to the brick wall. Lucinda pulled out her wand and quickly tapped the familiar stones—three at the base, two on the left—and with a low rumble, the entrance to Diagon Alley opened.

The alley was already crowded. Children with parents, witches and wizards carrying long shopping lists. The familiar sight of Eeylops, Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkin's and the Apothecary was overwhelmingly close.

Lucinda stepped beside her. "First wand, then robes. After that, we'll see if we find an owl."

Betty nodded. Her heart quickened. Lucinda briefly laid a hand on Betty's shoulder, a sign that it was time to move, and led her through the alley. They left the busy street behind as they reached the narrow shop with the faded golden lettering:

Ollivanders—Wands since 382 B.C.

Aas soon as Betty stepped inside, it felt like the air changed. The shop was narrow, the walls stretching to the ceiling, and everywhere narrow, simple boxes piled up. The room smelled of wood dust, and a feeling of something she couldn't name. Something alive.

An older man with silver hair, pale eyes and an almost translucent ganze stepped silently from the half-darkness behind the counter. Ollivander stepped closer, tilting his head slightly and briefly glancing at Lucinda, who was standing just behind Betty. His voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet it filled the room. There was a faint trace of recognition in his gaze before he returned his attention to them.

"Miss Black."

Betty looked up, surprised. She hadn't greeted him, nor had they ever met before.

"I remember every wand I have ever sold. Including the one I made for your parents."

Lucinda stood behind Betty but said nothing, slightly lifting her head. Ollivander stood behind the counter, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Betty. A thin silver tape appeared, floating around her, measuring from shoulder to fingertip, circling her head before snapping shut and returning to his hand.

He nodded once, then turned, eyes gleaming with quiet certainty. "Let's see what combination we have here—hmm—Dragon heartstring core. Ten inches. Ebony."

He handed Betty a small box. She opened it carefully and withdrew the wand. But she had barely grasped it when a sudden shot through the room, breaking a lamp above them. Betty flinched. Ollivander's hand darted forward to take the wand back.

"No. Not that one."

It went on like that. One knocked some boxes off the shelf, another shot sparks into the air with such force that Betty staggered and barely managed to catch herself. She was slowly becoming impatient, she was still sceptical about the concept of using magic wands.

"What if none of them fits?"

Ollivander gave her a look both amused and serious. "Every witch finds her wand, Miss Black. Or rather—the wand finds her."

Then he fetched a box from the top shelf.

"Wenge wood. Eleven inches. Phoenix feather."

Betty took the wand in her hand. The air immediately grew warmer. A faint glow spread from the tip of the wand. The wand felt heavy and effortless at the same time. She could tense a complete feeling of—harmony.

"Yes. Yes, that's the one," Ollivander smiled.

He studied her closely. "Wenge is a willful wood. Powerful magic if the witch knows what she wants. But not easy to command. And phoenix feathers—" His gaze lingered briefly on Lucinda. "—are rare. Like those suited for it."

Betty held the wand a moment longer, then looked at her mother. Lucinda just nodded.

"We'll take it."

They left Ollivanders with the narrow box in hand. Betty held it as if it contained something fragile. They joined the flow of shoppers again and headed back toward the shop fronts. After a few minutes, they stood in front of Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions. The bell above the door jingled as they entered. It smelled of freshly ironed cloth and washing powder.

Madam Malkin was plump, with a friendly face, deep set eyes and a tape measure that seemed to move by itself.

"Hogwarts starter kit?" she asked, stepping closer.

"Yes," said Lucinda. "Please note she grows quickly."

"Of course," said Madam Malkin, and before Betty knew it, she was pulled onto a small stool in the middle of the shop. The measuring tape darted over Betty's shoulders, back, and waist, while Madam Malkin adjusted the robes with practised ease.

"That's a bit long, but it will shrink when washed. And here—we'll sew in a second hem. If she grows in six months, it can be let out."

Betty raised her arms mechanically as the first robe was pulled over her.

Lucinda stepped forward and tugged slightly at the shoulder. "It mustn't slip when casting. She's very active."

Madam Malkin nodded. "We'll reinforce the shoulders a bit then. It's common for children who cast spells with lots of movement."

Betty said nothing, letting herself be turned, measured and marked. Only when she was back on the floor did she brush her hand over the fabric. Not unpleasant. Not tight. And it smelled new.

"Besides robes, she'll need more to get through the school year," Madam Malkin said, placing both items in a paper bag. "The rest—protective gloves and school attire to be worn under the robe — you'll need those too.

Lucinda nodded. "Jumpers, please several—woolen, various thicknesses. And at least three shirts. Matching shoes, sturdy but not clunky."

Madam Malkin waved her wand softly, and a neat pile of jumpers floated silently from behind a shelf to the counter in front of Betty.

"But wool's so itchy," she murmured, pulling one sleeve between thumb and forefinger sceptically. She imagined the wool scratching at her neck.

Lucinda took one of the jumpers and checked the label. "You wear shirts underneath, so it won't itch," she said calmly. "Besides, they'll keep you warm. There's always a cold breeze in Hogwarts."

Betty was silent and let her eyes wander over the piles, and she wondered how many layers she'd really need in winter. She would miss the warmth of Kenya.

"A hat for special occasions is required," Madam Malkin added, handing Lucinda a simple black model with a stiff brim.

"And?" She turned directly to Betty, "Skirt or trousers?"

Betty shrugged slightly. She had mostly worn trousers because they made running easier. But she liked skirts too.

"Hmm, both," Betty said evenutally.

"Good," said Madam Malkin briskly, waving the assistant over who brought a new pile. Two pleated skirts, two pairs of plain black trousers, several pairs of knee high socks, jumpers in dark grey and black, a pair of sturdy but plain black leather lace-up shoes, and finally a thicker black cloak with a hood.

"This one's extra warm and water resistant—for the cold season up in Scotland," Madam Malkin added.

At last, she handed Betty a narrow, still colourless, almost transparent tie.

"That will change colour," she explained. "Colourless in the transition because no one knows where you're sorted before the hat decides."

Betty turned it over in her hands. The fabric felt smooth, almost cool. She held it up to the light shining through the cloth.

"Looks odd," she murmured.

"It will change once the hat has decided," Madam Malkin repeated.

Lucinda paid and took the finished packages, sorting them smaller with a quick spell, and handed Betty a light bag. Then she pushed open the door. Betty stepped out into the alley again, the sun having shifted. It was now midday.

"You still need potion supplies, books and a cauldron," Lucinda said casually as they stepped back into the alley.

They bought the rest of the supplies quickly. At Potage's, they picked up a standard size‑2 tin cauldron. At Flourish and Blotts, Betty lingered by the Transfiguration section, reading the back of a thick volume while Lucinda waited. The last stop was the Apothecary for buying the needed ingredients for Potions.

Betty held the list but knew most of it by heart. She had often stood beside her mother brewing, sometimes allowed to stir or prepare ingredients. She liked it best when the potion changed colour.

"That will be your favourite subject," Lucinda said casually as they left the shop.

"I'll see," Betty said. She was curious. Not just about potions. About everything.

Finally, they headed to the pet shop. It was noisy. Cages stacked to the ceiling filled with screeching, hissing, purring or rustling creatures. Betty stopped when they reached the owl section. Snow-white, speckled, brown owls. Some asleep, others watching alertly from their cages.

She watched them for a long time. Owls were fascinating—independent, clever, majestic. But they were slow too. Sending letters by owl was... romantic, maybe. But not very practical. The floo network was faster, safer, more direct.

Some wizards now used enchanted objects to communicate with each other like ink that bound themselves to a parchment. Still—owls always found you. Even if you were in a remote place.

Betty hesitated. "Do I have to have one?" she asked.

Lucinda stepped beside her. "No. You can use the school owls at Hogwarts."

Betty nodded slowly.

"I want to see how often I actually want to write."

Lucinda's mouth twitched slightly. "Good. We'll leave it for now." She paused. "But I do hope I'll hear from you more often, Betty."

On the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, they stopped briefly at Scribbulus, the shop for writing supplies. Betty looked at quills. Different sizes, some with colourful feathers, others plain black or white. She picked a medium quill that felt pleasantly light, with ink bottles in blue and black, parchment in various sizes and a few blotters in case she made a mistake.

While she was still thinking about the ink colours, a familiar figure with short bright pink hair suddenly appeared beside her. "Wotcher, kiddo!"

Chapter Text

"Wotcher, kiddo!"

The voice came so suddenly, Betty nearly dropped the bottle of ink. She spun around.

A young witch leaned against the shop wall, bubblegum pink hair sticking out in all directions. She wore a slightly oversized leather jacket over a patched denim skirt and dark burgundy boots. Everything about her radiated energy, like she didn't care much for rules. Arms folded, one knee bent, she grinned at Betty.

As she shifted her weight, her elbow clipped the corner of a shelf. A row of ink bottles rattled. One tipped over and started rolling. She lunged to catch it, but overcorrected, and bumped her hip into a stack of parchment, which promptly collapsed in all directions.

"Brilliant," she muttered, crouching to collect them. "I swear, I don't even try."

"Dora!" Betty beamed at her.

Betty was one of the few allowed to call her that. Tonks was her second cousin and had been around for as long as Betty could remember. She was a born Metamorphmagus, a rare talent that let her change hair colour, face, even body shape at will.

"Last minute shopping for your first year at Hogwarts?" Tonks asked, eyeing her before adding with a wink, "Fancy outfit."

She gave a short nod toward Betty's clothes. "You're actually wearing those Muggle shorts. I told Mum you'd pull it off better than I ever did."

Betty glanced down at her wide shorts, faded band shirt, and sneakers with worn soles. She smiled faintly.

"I like them. Muggle clothes are just more comfortable than those old fashioned wizard robes."

Tonks laughed out loud. "Our ancestors would've hated it." She winked. "I love it."

Tonks's eyes landed on the wand box Betty carried under her arm. "Got yourself a wand yet?"

"Wenge wood and phoenix feather. Eleven inches."

Tonks whistled softly. "Sounds rare. Mine's ashwood—stubborn as anything."

She looked Betty up and down, mock serious. "You ready for all the drama? Peeves—the poltergeist—throwing stink bombs at students, staircases that make sure you end up anywhere but punctual to class, and portraits yelling insults?"

Betty smiled slightly. "You make it sound like a battlefield."

"It is," Tonks said, winking. "But you'll like it."

Betty raised an eyebrow, unsure if that was a joke.

Tonks glanced at Lucinda, who was carrying Betty's shopping bags.
"This is going to be a big adventure. But you're well prepared, I can see that."

Then casually, with a playful tone, she added, "if Betty fancies it, she could come for a little trip with me around London. See the city a bit before school starts. What do you think?"

Betty's eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a faint sparkle appearing in her eyes. "Can I, Mum?"

Lucinda hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Yes. But be back in time for dinner."

Tonks grinned widely and winked at Betty. "Promise. And don't worry, I'll get her back in time."

Betty felt excitement spreading inside her. An afternoon in London with Tonks before school started felt like a small adventure. A brief moment just for her before everything would change.

Lucinda briefly placed her hand on Betty's shoulder. "Take good care of yourself," she said softly, then she glanced at Tonks. "And no impulsive decisions. You know what I mean."

"Yes, Ma'am," Tonks replied without hesitation. Her tone was light, even playful, but her grip on Betty's arm tightened just a little as she took it. Betty, after just a few steps, gently slipped out of her grip. Together they left the shop, walking side by side toward the Leaky Cauldron, while Lucinda stood, watching until the door closed behind them.

They entered the Leaky Cauldron, said goodbye to Tom with a quick, warm nod. Instead of disappearing back through the fireplace to Diagon Alley as usual, this time they stepped out through the large, heavy wooden door into Muggle London.

Betty inhaled the familiar mix of city smells, the distant honking of cars, and murmurs of voices far off. She didn't mind the noise or the rush here; in fact, she found comfort in watching Muggles go about their everyday lives, each absorbed in their own world. Tonks led her confidently through the streets, hands casually tucked in her coat pockets. After a few minutes, they reached the nearest tube station.

"Northern Line," Tonks said with a grin.

Betty stopped and looked at her. "Where are we going?"

Tonks turned briefly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I've got a surprise for you. You're gonna love it."

Betty couldn't hide her grin. Despite her curiosity, she mostly felt excited. They left the tube and walked up the stairs and out of the station at Camden Town.

The buzz of market stalls, the mix of music, smells, and people hit her all at once, once they arrived at Camden Market, but she kept close to Tonks, focusing on her breath, trying to take it in without getting overwhelmed. Just before they moved on, Tonks stopped and pointed to a small shop with bright neon lights and a big sign reading Piercing 'n' More.

Tonks grinned. "You always wanted your ears pierced, but your mum won't let you, right?"

Betty looked surprised and amused. She nodded.

"True," she said, feeling her heart quicken in her chest. "Mum's going to kill us. She warned you. 'No impulsive decisions'", she said, imitating her mother.

"She said no impulsive decisions. I planned it quite a while ago." Tonks shrugged and smiled wider. "But I reckon, right before your first school year, you've earned the full experience."

Betty swallowed, then giggled. "Alright. If you say so."

"Let's do it then. After you." Tonks opened the door and gestured Betty to enter.

Inside, Betty scanned the shelves and chose a pair of simple gold studs, elegant but discreet. The piercer explained the steps, then pushed the needle through each earlobe with quick precision. It barely hurt, just a quick pinch, and left behind a faint tingling warmth. Shortly after, they left.

"How'd you get the piercer to do this?" Betty asked curiously. "You need parents' permission, right?"

"I'm of age, kiddo," Tonks said with a grin. "I might've used a spell or two." She tapped her coat pocket where her wand was.

Betty's eyes widened. "You're unbelievable."

Tonks leaned back against the wall at the store. "I'm meeting some friends soon. Want to come along?"

Betty frowned. "You want an eleven-year-old coming along?"

Tonks shrugged and smiled. "You're a pretty cool eleven-year-old. Besides, I need your keen nose."

Betty raised an eyebrow. "Huh." She looked at Tonks closely. "And what exactly do you want me to find out?"

Tonks expression suddenly changed; her usual confident demeanour gave way to a slight flush, and she shifted nervously from from one foot to the other. She hesitated and fiddled with her collar.

"Well..." she said finally, "I really like this boy—Julian. He's good looking and popular. It's just...I'm not sure if I should make the first move."

Betty tilted her head. "And you want me to find out if he likes you?"

Tonks nodded, her voice was quieter now, almost hesitant. "Exactly. I—I don't have the courage to go to him directly. Maybe... you could dig a bit for me?"

Betty frowned. "But Dora, you know I'm not supposed to snoop inside other people's heads!"

Tonks laughed, the familiar grin returning. "First—You don't really stick to that rule anyway," she said dryly. "Second—call me Tonks, just Tonks. Please. Third—I'll buy you an ice cream."

Betty sighed. "Alright then," she said, "but only because it's you."

They walked back to the tube station. The air was still warm from the summer day. Chater and music drifted from nearby pubs. Down in the subway shaft, they waited for the train to Piccadilly Circus.

"What's the plan then?" Betty asked as the train pulled in and they got on.

Tonks grinned and settled into a free seat, looking at her. "My friends have never been to Muggle London. I thought I'd show them around."

Betty asked skeptically."And they'll find their way? Muggle underground isn't easy. Especially if you come from a purely magical household."

"I told them where to apparate safely and gave them a hand drawn map—with colours and arrows. I feel like a tour guide on a mission. And Frankie's mum's Muggle. Frankie hasn't been to London yet, but she knows how to stay low key."

Betty grinned and leaned back as the tube rushed through the tunnels.

At Piccadilly Circus it was loud and colourful. Lights flashed everywhere. From giant billboards, cars, red double decker buses. Crowds pressed through the streets. It smelled of hot asphalt, perfume, and something else Betty couldn't identify. Voices came from all directions, in many languages, some she didn't recognise. It sounded like French, Spanish, German, Japanese. She didn't understand all of it, but it didn't matter. They stopped near a corner stand where a vendor sold ice-cream. Tonks bought a cone with lemon ice cream for herself, vanilla with nut brittles for Betty.

"Wow..." Betty murmured, stopping as she took her first lick.

Tonks turned to her, licking from her cone. "Good place to remember there are people out there different from you. And that's a good thing."

Betty nodded slowly, eyes wide. "Everyone looks different. And nobody seems to mind. A strangely dressed wizard wouldn't even draw attention."

"Exactly. Here no one's strange just for being strange. Because everyone's a bit strange," said Tonks. "That's why I love this place."

They moved with the flow of people, each slowly working their way through their cones. Betty licked hers carefully, letting the sweetness cool her tongue as she took in the chaos of the square.

A little boy ran past, laughing, chased by a girl shouting in Italian. A man in a purple cap took a photo of another woman and a girl, probably their daughter. An older woman in a bright blue hat handed her dog a cup of water. Betty stood in the middle of it all, with her new earrings and half melted cone, knowing she would never forget this day.

"Do you think Mum will be angry?" she asked eventually. "About the piercings?"

Tonks shrugged. "Probably. But then I'll just be her awful, incorrigible niece again, and you'll be her innocent little angel, too young to know what's right or wrong."

"That won't last much longer."

"Then enjoy it while it lasts," Tonks said with a conspiratorial look.

They were standing at the edge of the crowd, across from the statue with angel wings, when Tonks suddenly stopped—her eyes widened as she stared into the crowd.

"Wait a second... isn't that—Harry Potter?"

Betty blinked, turning to where Tonks pointed. Amid the mass of tourists, she spotted a boy with messy black hair and round glasses, walking beside a blonde woman who looked deeply displeased to even be out in public. Next to her trailed a blond, chubby boy talking non stop.

But the dark haired boy suddenly looked up, as if had heard his name being called. He glanced around until his eyes met Betty's, and for a brief moment time froze. And she recognised him. Her eyes widened even more, her mouth opened slightly and she stared at the boy. She'd seen him a few times when she visited Mrs Figg with her mother.

"Harry?" Betty called, raising a hand in greeting. The boy stared at her, then his eyes widened as well, and he slowly raised his hand, like someone remembering something long forgotten. He recognised her too. He waved back.

"Is that your girlfriend, freak?" the blond boy walking beside him said mockingly.

But the woman grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him away, her mouth set in a hard line. Harry looked back at Betty one last time before they vanished into the crowd.

Betty just stayed there, her heart was beating faster.

Tonks looked at her in surprise. "Wait... he recognised you? Last time you saw each other you were toddlers."

Betty shok her head slowly, still dazed. "I... I met him once. I was maybe seven or eight. I went with Mum to Mrs Figg's sometimes. She had him there occasionally," she paused, as if to process what she just realised. "No one ever said he was Harry Potter. I thought he was just a Muggle boy."

Tonks' eyes widened. "Figg? The squib cat-lady? The one whose house smells like cabbage?"

"Yeah, that one." Betty smiled faintly. "She was nice. Odd, but nice."

Tonks crossed her arms. "And you had no idea that was Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?"

Betty shook her head. "He seemed... sad, a bit shy. Not like someone everyone in the wizarding world tells stories about. Mum never explained who he was. I wasn't allowed to talk about magic then."

Tonks snorted. "Merlin, what a coincidence to see him here."

Betty stared at the spot where he'd vanished, unsure if he'd really been there or if she'd imagined him. Without Tonks here, she'd have brushed it off as a daydream.

But in her chest something felt warm and heavy. Harry. The boy who never got birthday presents. They had laid together on Mrs Figg's colourful carpet, petting cats and building towers out of toothpicks. They'd only seen each other once or twice more.

And now he was gone again.

"The women—she looked pretty nasty," Tonks murmured. "Like a troll in pearl earrings. Poor kid."

Betty nodded slowly. Her thoughts lingered on Harry's face, that look like he'd just seen someone he wasn't sure he'd dreamed or remembered.

"They always left him with Mrs Figg," she said quietly. "When they went to the cinema. Or on holiday. Or when his cousin had his birthday. They just wanted to get rid of him. I think he was always glad when someone came. Even if it was only me, and I hardly knew him."

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "They don't celebrate his birthday?"

Betty shook her head. "No. I asked once if his cousin had to go to Mrs Figg's on his birthday too... and he just said,‘They don't celebrate my birthday.' Like it was normal."

Tonks' face twisted with distaste. "That's awful. I mean... this kid survived You-Know-Who, and his family treats him like a doxy?"

Betty looked down, then at the slender silver ring on her finger, which had once belonged to Tonks before she gave it to her. "I don't think he even knows he's a wizard," she shrugged. "I thought he was just a muggle boy." She bit her lip. "He was afraid of his uncle. He doesn't treat him well."

Tonks regarded her for a moment, serious, without her usual grin. "That does something to a kid."

"Mhh," Betty whispered. "That's why... I hardly recognised him. He's changed. But his eyes... and the glasses. I gave him the bracelet", Betty remembered suddenly. "The one with the coloured beads."

"The one with the subtle protection charm?"

Betty nodded slowly.

"Good. He really seems to need it."

Tonks leaned back slightly, her eyes scanning the crowd. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then she suddenly looked up and pointed into the crowd.

"There they are," she said, waving energetically. Two teenagers made their way through the crowd. A girl with short dark hair grinned widely and moved with confidence in the hectic crowd. The boy looked like he had pulled his outfit blindly from a laundry basket that morning. He wore patterned trousers, a faded dragon T-shirt, and an oversized jacket.

The girl reached them first. She gave Tonks a quick, enthusiastic hug and then turned to Betty. "I'm Frankie." Her outfit was much more subtle.

The boy followed, offering a crooked grin. "Julian. And before you say anything, this is Muggle clothing, right?" He spun in a slow circle, looking entirely too pleased with himself, as if he were wearing a designer piece.

Tonks laughed and pulled them both into a hug, though she held Julian a beat longer. As she stepped back, her foot caught on the edge of the curb and she stumbled slightly, bumping into a passing tourist.

"Whoops—sorry!" she said, hastily. Her ears turned a little pink. Julian murmured something to her that Betty couldn't hear. Tonks's expression shifted briefly. She looked at him a moment too long before recovering her composure.

Betty saw it all. The corner of her mouth twitched. She fought to keep her face straight.

Tonks turned back to her and rested a hand on Betty's shoulder. "This is Betty, my little cousin. Off to Hogwarts next week, so be nice."

Frankie grinned and offered Betty a fist bump. "Welcome to the madhouse, Betty."

Julian blinked. "Oh, the one with the knack for figuring people out? I've heard about you."

Tonks elbowed him in the ribs. "Julian."

"What? I didn't mean anything by it," he said, laughing and raising his hands in surrender.

Betty crossed her arms, studying him, mockingly. "I know."

Julian swallowed, Frankie laughed, and Tonks shot Betty a satisfied glance. Then she suggested, "How about some drinks somewhere at Leicester Square?" Frankie and Julian agreed immediately.

Betty walked a few steps behind the others. They fought their way through the bright chaos of Piccadilly Circus, then ducked into a side street leading towards Soho. Here, the noise softened and cafés and small shops stood closer together.

Tonks walked beside Julian, maybe a little too close, Betty thought. Tonks bumped him with her shoulder, laughed too loudly at his half decent jokes, and shot him quick glances whenever she thought he wasn't looking. Betty noticed all of it. She rolled her eyes.

Julian didn't seem indifferent either. He played it casual, gesturing animatedly as he explained something to Frankie, but his eyes kept drifting back to Tonks. When they stopped at a crossing and Betty found herself directly opposite him, their eyes met for a fraction of a second. She held his gaze for a heartbeat—not for too long to risk slipping too deep and letting him notice the pulling feel—but it was enough. She saw a flickering image that appeared without her trying to look for it. Tonks, in Julian's mind, close. His wish to kiss her. Tonks in his arms. Not a clear picture, more a blur of longing and hope. Betty saw it anyway.

She blinked, looked away fast, and stared at a shop window full of garish Union Jack mugs. Why did I even have to do this? she thought, her cheeks burning. Thoughts like Julian's were private, somtimes intimate, and sometimes—inappropriate. She shoved that feeling aside, reminding herself again why the adults were right about not intruding other's thoughts; at least she had found the answer Tonks asked for.

Her cousin called something about a milkshake shop nearby, and the group turned off, unaware of what had just passed through Betty's—or rather Julian's mind. She exhaled slowly, walking half a step behind the others, still flushed.

They settled into a small, slightly chaotic café that looked as if someone had rescued a bunch of mismatched furniture from attics. Tonks dropped into a bright blue armchair, Betty sank into a worn sofa. Frankie and Julian went to the counter to order something that smelled of vanilla and was probably twice as sweet as necessary.

Betty watched Tonks idly shred a napkin, her expression carefully neutral.

"You're not exactly subtle."

Tonks glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Betty said, still a bit uncomfortable, "you laugh at all his dumb jokes, walked so close next to him, and you held onto him for a bit too long back there."

Tonks blushed. "I was just being friendly."

Betty said nothing, just held her gaze, rising an eyebrow. Tonks lasted a moment before rolling her eyes. "Fine. Did you find out anything? About Julian, I mean?"

Betty shrugged, hesitating briefly before saying in a low, almost embarrassed voice, "He wants to kiss you. And, um... see you without clothes."

Tonks froze, staring as if she'd misheard. "You saw—that's what you saw?"

Betty nodded calmly. "He thought about it. Just for a second. I didn't look for it; it was just there. It was very obvious" She paused, voice dropping. "I know what I saw."

Tonks looked unsettled. "So... you know...?"

"I know how babies are made," Betty said, frowning. "And I know that's not the only reason people do it." She clearly wanted to drop the topic.

Tonks raked a hand through her hair, uneasy. "I... didn't mean to drag you into that."

"It's fine," Betty said quietly, eventhough it was not. "But you should know what you're making him think."

Tonks' face twisted, half shocked, half flattered. "Merlin..."

Betty leaned forward, elbows on the table. Tonks glanced at her warily, waiting for what came next. Betty asked, the curiosity prevailed, "Do you want that too? What he's imagining?"

Tonks' eyes widened; she raised her hands as if to ward it off. "Oi, oi, Betty... you might be a bit young for this conversation, don't you think?"

Betty met her gaze coolly. "I've had my period. Since March."

Tonks blinked, then laughed . "That doesn't mean you get all of it yet."

"I get enough," Betty said dryly.

Tonks studied her sidelong. "Do you want to kiss anyone?"

Betty thought for a moment. She'd never really considered it. "Well... I know some boys... but I never thought about kissing them." She grimaced in disgust.

Tonks smiled. "Doesn't sound like butterflies."

"Nope," Betty said.

"Good," Tonks said, her grin softer now. "You've got time for all that."

Frankie and Julian returned with a tray of milkshakes, Julian carrying it with exaggerated care.

"I paid with real Muggle money!" he announced proudly, as if this made him an adventurer.

"And even held it the right way up," Frankie deadpanned, passing Betty a vanilla shake.

Tonks looked at Julian like he'd just tamed a hippogriff. Betty bit back a smile.

"Are you nervous about Hogwarts yet?" Frankie asked, leaning forward with her elbows casually propped on the table.

Betty nodded. "A bit. I'm excited, but... it's a lot."

"Oh, I know that feeling," Frankie said with a grin. "When my letter came, I nearly lost it. I wasn't even sure I was a witch. My mum's a Muggle, my dad's a wizard. And me—nothing for years. No exploding stuff, no floating teacups, nothing."

Betty frowned. "And then?"

"Then I accidentally turned my little sister's hair bright red when I got angry," Frankie said with a grin. "After that, there was no doubt."

Tonks snorted into her cup. Julian, who was sipping a milkshake, grimaced like he'd heard the story too many times.

Frankie turned back to Betty. "Tonks says you can already do magic?"

Betty hesitated, then shrugged. "A bit. I'm not allowed to do much yet."

"But you can do it without a wand, right?"

Betty glanced at Tonks, who only grinned and raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Betty said simply.

Frankie nodded slowly. "Wow. I couldn't do anything at eleven."

Julian moved his chair closer. "When I was a first year, I tried to turn an apple into a goldfish. It twitched and squeaked."

"The squeaking apple was the creepiest thing I've ever seen," Frankie muttered, rubbing her forehead. "You should've seen McGonagall's face!"

Betty couldn't help but laugh. Suddenly, it all felt a little less overwhelming.

Julian leaned back with a grin, pulling his soda across the table. "Any idea what house you want?" he asked curiously.

Betty stirred her milkshake. "Not really. doesn't the hat decide?"

"It does but... Hufflepuff's the best," Julian said at once. "Chill, loyal, none of that endless Gryffindor vs Slytherin drama." He rolled his eyes. "Best food nearby and a common room full of plants and big armchairs."

Frankie rolled her eyes, though her smile showed she wasn't serious. "You're recruiting again, Julian."

"So what? Cool people belong with us."

Betty looked at him for a moment, then turned to Tonks. "Were you sure about your house back then?"

Tonks smiled. "I was sure I didn't want Slytherin. That was enough."

Betty smirked faintly, then glanced back at Julian. "I think I'll just let the hat decide."

"Fair enough," Frankie said. "It took ages with me. I think it wasn't sure I belonged anywhere."

Julian chuckled. "And it still put you in Hufflepuff. Just proves it was completely right."

Frankie gave him a look but kept smiling. Betty leaned back in her chair. The thought of Hogwarts still made her nervous, but the conversation made it feel a little more real. And less frightening.

She turned to Tonks. "Is Slytherin really that bad? Our mums were in it."

Tonks raised her eyebrows, as if she had expected the question but would rather not answer it. She took a sip of her drink, leaned back, and met Betty's eyes.

"Slytherin is... complicated," she said slowly. "Not everyone there is cruel or manipulative. But the house values ambition and status. That draws a certain kind of person."

Betty dropped her gaze. "But our mums aren't like that."

Tonks gave a short laugh. "Your mum is ambitious. But no, not in the way people usually mean. She had to work hard to stay there because she didn't follow the old traditions. And mine... well, she chose to distance herself later."

Betty stared at the wood grain of the table. "But what if the sorting hat says I belong there?"

"It might suggest it," Tonks said gently, "but it won't force you. It sees who you are, what your potential is. But your choice still matters."

Frankie, who had been half listening, leaned in. "My dad always said if you know who you are, the house doesn't matter. And if you don't, you'll figure it out while you're there."

Julian nodded. "Exactly. In the end, it's the people around you who shape the experience, not the colour of your tie."

Betty leaned back again. It wasn't a clear answer, but maybe she didn't need one yet.

Tonks crossed her arms and gave her a crooked smile. "If I had to guess, I'd say Gryffindor or Ravenclaw."

Betty raised an eyebrow. "Not Hufflepuff?"

"You've got a lot of Gryffindor in you," Tonks said, ignoring the question. "You stand up for people, even when it's risky. You've got courage, the quiet kind that stays when things get difficult. And you speak your mind, even when it's uncomfortable."

Betty stayed quiet, listening.

"And you might fit in Ravenclaw too," Tonks went on. "You're sharp. Not the type who memorises books, but you see patterns. You notice things. You think quickly. Sometimes a bit too much." She chuckled.

Betty looked down. She was surprised by how well her cousin knew her.

Tonks took another sip and added, more thoughtfully, "Honestly, you might surprise us all and end up in Slytherin."

Betty frowned slightly.

"You're more strategic than you let on. You know when to stay quiet. And if you truly want something, you usually find a way to get it," Tonks grinned.

Betty shrugged, her face tightened. "I don't really care. But I heard their common room's in the dungeons." She pulled a face. "But I'd rather be in a tower."

Julian, Frankie, and Tonks burst out laughing. Julian tilted his head and grinned. "What house do you want?" he said in a mocking voice. "Doesn't matter, as long as there's a good view."

Betty smirked despite herself, her expression settling back into her usual quiet restraint.

"Hufflepuff isn't in a tower," Julian went on. "But it's warm, comfortable, and peaceful."

Frankie nodded. "And it's right by the forest. You see animals outside sometimes. It feels very homey."

Betty eyes brightened.

Tonks gave Betty a knowing look. "See? Every house has strengths and weaknesses. What matters is where you feel you belong."

Betty looked toward the crowd outside, her eyes moving from face to face without really seeing them, her thoughts drifting somewhere she couldn't name.

"We'll see," she murmured, and looked out of the window. "If I belong anywhere."

They gathered their things and stepped back into the street. Betty walked next to Tonks who had gone ahead. A sudden thought slipped in.

"But what if the hat can't decide? What if I don't fit anywhere?"

The question lingered in the space between them. A cold knot formed in her stomach, creeping upward until it settled in her chest.

"Would they send me back?" she asked softly. "What happens then?"

Tonks stopped. Her voice was calm and sure. "That's not going to happen. The hat always finds a place. Sometimes it takes a bit longer, but it always decides."

Julian grinned. "That's called a hatstall. Last one was Professor McGonagall, I think."

Frankie nodded. "It's rare, but it happens. The hat considers your choice, too. If you really want a house, it listens."

Betty nodded slowly. The worry didn't leave. She knew she was different. She had always felt different. She never quite fit in. The idea of not belonging pressed against her chest.

"No matter where you end up," Tonks said sotftly, "you can always come to me. We're family. That matters more."

Something in Betty relaxed, a small weight lifting. "Thanks you," she said quietly.

Julian smiled at her. "You're lucky to have her." He glanced at Tonks with more meaning than the words alone carried.

Tonks flushed and looked away. "Oh, stop," she muttered, half laughing. "That's just what family does."

They wandered through the city, past old stone buildings and red buses, until they reached Buckingham Palace. The late sun cast a golden glow across the square.

Frankie stopped at the gates and turned. "The guidebook says the Queen has over seven hundred rooms. And apparently there's a wizard living in the palace, but it's not offically confirmed."

Betty slowed to a halt, her breath catching slightly as her eyes followed the towering gates and grand stonework. Even for someone from a magical family, the palace had a presence—old, unshakable. Something about it felt sacred. It was the kind of place both Muggles and wizards spoke of with a hush in their voice.

As they walked on, Frankie and Julian talked about evening plans. A concert in Camden. Maybe drinks after. Loud, typical Muggle things.

Tonks hesitated. "I'd love to join, but I promised my aunt I'd bring Betty home."

"Just drop me at the Leaky Cauldron," Betty said. "I can floo home from there."

Tonks shook her head. "No chance. I promised," she said, glancing at Julian, "I don't want to get in trouble with your mum."

"Then we'll take her home," Julian said, holding her gaze for a beat too long, then his eyes gleamed. "I heard it's like a tunnel curse on wheels."

Betty raised an eyebrow, her voice dry. "You mean a train."

"That's what I said." Julian grinned.

Betty caught the looks they exchanged and couldn't help a smile.

They headed toward the nearest station. The sun began dropping as they stepped down the stairs into the tiled hall. The air smelled of rubber, metal, and damp stone. It was loud, filled with echoes and screeching brakes.

Julian stopped in his tracks, eyes wide as he took in the strange, humming machines and bustling crowd. "Now this is Muggle magic." He pointed at an old beige machine, its buttons worn down, its coin slot crooked.

"What is that? A creature?"

Frankie laughed. "Just a machine. Feed it coins, push a button, and it spits out a ticket."

Tonks already had hers and nudged Julian toward the counter. "Go there and say, 'A single to South Wimbledon, please.'"

Julian shuffled toward the booth where a tired-looking Muggle man sat behind glass. Tonks followed to make sure he didn't end up with a pensioner's pass.

Betty watched with quiet amusement, her lips twitching as Julian nearly got stuck in the turnstiles. Pure-blood or not, Muggle technology wasn't new to her. Tonks had taught her how to get around London. Her mother thought it practical. And Tonks, raised by a Muggle-born father, moved through the city with ease.

They stepped onto the creaking escalator. Julian grabbed the rail with both hands.

"It's moving on its own. Without magic? What if it reverses?"

"Then you'll fall backwards into a parallel dimension," Betty said flatly.

Tonks snorted. "Don't scare him," Then addresing Julian, "She's joking."

"I figured," Julian muttered, but he was grinning.

He stayed by the window for the whole journey, staring into the dark tunnel. Tonks explained where to change trains. Frankie watched to keep them from getting caught in the doors. Betty, familiar with the route, let her gaze drift calmly from face to face. She watched passengers slump into seats and rustle their newspapers.

After a change and several more stops, they finally disembarked at a terminus in south-west London. The platform was almost deserted. The afternoon sun hung low as they emerged from the station. It took about fifteen minutes to reach the small house at the end of the quiet street.

Tonks led the way and knocked on the door. Barely half a minute later, the door opened.

Lucinda stood in the doorway, elegant as ever, although the sleeves of her dress were pushed up. She had clearly been in the middle of cooking or preparing something. Her pale green eyes widened slightly at the sight of the group.

"Oh—you've brought company," she said, stepping aside. Her gaze quickly swept over Frankie, Julian, and finally settled on Betty.

The moment her eyes met her daughter's, her expression altered subtly. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly and her shoulders tensed. Without a word, she leaned forward slightly, her sharp gaze lingering on Betty's ears, before stepping back and let them in.

The door had barely closed behind them when her eyes darted once more to Betty's ears. "Since when do you have pierced ears, Elizabeth?" she inquired dryly, but with an unmistakable undertone. Her mother never called her Elizabeth except when she was in trouble.

Betty opened her mouth to reply but before she could speak, Tonks stepped forward with her hands raised as if to assume the blame.

"My idea," she said quickly. "Well... not entirely mine. But I was there. She has wanted them for ages. Honestly, it wasn't a big deal."

Lucinda turned her head slowly and fixed Tonks with a cool, expectant look that would have unsettled even seasoned Aurors. Tonks held her gaze but no longer smiled.

"Well," Tonks glanced at Julian, then at Frankie, who was inching discreetly toward the door. "We'd better be off. I promised Julian a view of the Thames by night, didn't I? And Frankie probably needs to head home."

"What?" Julian asked, puzzled. "But we—"

Tonks gave him a playful jab in the arm. "Come on, move it." She bent down and whispered to Betty, "If she tells you off, just say it was my fault. But only partly—just half."

"But—"

Frankie grinned and waved. "Lovely to meet you, Betty! You'll be brilliant at Hogwarts!"

With that, Tonks, Frankie and Julian left quickly. Lucinda watched them leave, before slowly turning to Betty, who stood in the hallway with flushed ears and her chin held in quiet defiance.

"Sit," Lucinda said, her voice still calm—too calm. "We are going to talk about choices and responsibility."

Betty lowered herself onto the old wooden hall chair. It was uncomfortable and wobbly, and was positioned so that it would be directly face her mother. Her mother approached, closing the front door with a brisk click, and folded her arms.

"So," she began, "you had your ears pierced without my permission."

Betty nodded but said nothing. At that moment, there was nothing she could say that Lucinda would accept. A short pause followed. Then Lucinda sat down slowly on the bench opposite.

"You are nearly twelve. I know you see yourself as very independent, and in many ways, you are. But decisions like this are not trivial. It's not about the hole in your ear, Betty. It is about the fact that you knew I would not approve and did it anyway."

Betty spoke quietly. "I have wanted it for ages."

Lucinda raised an eyebrow. "Then you could have talked to me."

"You would have said no."

"Yes," Lucinda replied evenly, "and then we would have discussed why."

Betty shrugged. "It doesn't hurt anyone. It didn't hurt me."

Lucinda was silent for a moment before taking a deep breath. Her voice softened, though her seriousness remained.

"You know why I react this way? Because I know you, and I want you to learn when you can make your own choices and when you cannot yet see the consequences. You carry a lot of responsibility for your age. You have abilities most children your age cannot even comprehend. But that does not mean you should handle everything on your own."

Betty looked down, chewing the inside of her cheek. "Tonks said it wasn't a big deal."

Lucinda gave a quiet snort. "Tonks had a tattoo done at fourteen to protest something she cannot even remember now. She is wonderful, but not always the model of sound judgment."

Betty couldn't help but smile faintly. Lucinda noticed and sighed.

"You won't be punished," she said at last, "but no more piercings. And should you even think of getting a tattoo—believe me, Betty, I would know before you even walked through the shop door."

Betty nodded slowly.

Lucinda rose, pushing her hair back. "I have to admit, though, it suits you."

Betty looked up with a hesitant smile. "Thanks for not freaking out."

Lucinda was already heading toward the kitchen. She paused in the doorway and gave Betty a dry look.

"I am saving my energy. You will have plenty of chances to test my patience once you are at Hogwarts." She disappeared into the kitchen.

Betty leaned back, exhaling softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Then a sudden thought struck her.

"Mum!"

She jumped up and ran into the kitchen.

"Tonks and I saw Harry at Piccadilly Circus today! Harry Potter"

Lucinda was holding the cauldron mid air when she froze. Setting it down slowly, she said evenly, "Did you now? Are you sure?"

"Yes! When Tonks called his name, he looked straight at her. And he looked at me—he recognised me!" She hesitated, then added more quietly, "Why did you never tell me the boy at Mrs Figg's was Harry Potter?"

Lucinda's gaze darkened. She didn't look up immediately.

"I promised Dumbledore he would not find out. Not from me. Not from you. He was meant to grow up without being told who he was. Not as the Boy Who Lived. Just as Harry."

She paused briefly, then added in a lower voice, "I still visit him sometimes, though, at Arabella's. Discreetly. Just to check on him. Dumbledore knows. He tolerates it as long as I say nothing and leave no trace."

Betty studied her, unwilling to accept that answer.

Lucinda looked at her with sad eyes. "He is meant to grow up as normally as possible, Betty. No child should have to carry a story like his. Every witch and wizard in Britain knows his name. Dumbledore wanted to give him at least a few years where he could just be a boy, not a legend."

Betty frowned. "But Mum, they treat him badly. His aunt touched him as if he were something dirty. And when he saw us, it was as if he had done something wrong. She pulled him away straight away. And—" she hesitated. She had promised not to tell anyone. She whispered "—his uncle hurts him."

Lucinda set down the ladle, turned fully to her daughter, and said quietly, "I know."

Betty's voice wavered. "You know? If you know, why does no one do anything?"

Lucinda stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I have made sure Dumbledore believes it is safest. And I... I cannot do more than I did."

Betty met her gaze, eyes solemn.

"But if he is suffering, that's not enough."

"No," Lucinda said softly, "but not everything that is wrong can be changed straight away. Sometimes we have to be patient and to wait."

Betty stared down at her hands.

"I gave him a bracelet then, from Tonks - Dora. Nothing special, but to him it meant a lot because he never gets presents. Not for his birthday, not for Christmas. And his cousin laughed at him for ‘having a girlfriend.'"

Lucinda's brow creased.

"You gave him something they couldn't break—warmth. That stays."

Betty looked up at her, tears welling up.

"But I only saw him a few more times after that. Why could we not visit him again? Why was I never allowed to come along again?"She hesitated, her voice trembling as she added, "Harry had said he hadn't got a single friend because his stupid cousin beats up anyone who tries."

Lucinda closed her eyes briefly, swallowing the lump in her throat, then opened them again. Her voice was calm, tinged with quiet pain.

"Sometimes the paths we must take are not the ones we would choose. You gave him a light, Betty."

Betty lowered her gaze, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"It's not fair."

Lucinda drew her into an embrace, her hand warm and steady on Betty's shoulder.

"No, my love, it isn't. I wish it were different. But I cannot undo Dumbledore's decision. He used ancient magic to protect Harry with his only remaining maternal relatives. As long as he lives with them, he is safe."

She paused, holding Betty's gaze with quiet intensity.

"You are going to seehim again. Soon. He starts Hogwarts next year."

Betty looked at her mother, her face serious but unsure.

"Then I'll make sure he's not alone when he gets there."

Lucinda smiled softly, a quiet promise in her expression.

"You will, my darling. You will."

Chapter Text

1st September 1990

The next day, a gloomy Saturday, passed at an unrelentingly slow pace. At breakfast, Betty had barely managed to eat anything, even though Lucinda had set fresh bread and poached eggs on the table. Afterwards, she sat in the living room with her legs pulled close. Her tea on the coffee table had gone cold. Not long after, she had withdrawn to the wide windowsill, her usual place, knees drawn up with her chin resting on them, watching the leaden sky outside.

The clouds over London hung low and moved at a sluggish crawl. Occasionally a bird crossed her view, yet even that felt subdued today.

Betty's thoughts wandered, and although she felt a restless excitement about what lay ahead, there was also an unease. It was not that she feared Hogwarts itself, but the order it represented, with strict lessons at fixed times, spells written in books and wand movements copied exactly as the teacher showed them. She had never learnt like that before, never had to follow rules set by others, and the idea of it felt strange, almost like stepping into a world that might not fit her. After years of shaping magic in her own way, testing its limits with nothing but instinct and guidance, this structure seemed unfamiliar and suffocating. The thought pressed harder the more she tried to ignore it: what if she couldn't adjust, what if she failed before she even began?

She thought about the fact she would no longer be alone. Since she was six, her lessons had been one-to-one at home. Now there would be classrooms full of children. Shared dormitories. She would be sleeping in a room with strangers. Betty didn't know if she liked the idea. Her Aunt Dromeda had once told her she had shared a bedroom with almost ten other girls.

"Ten?" Betty had asked, unable to believe it.

Dromeda had nodded, and Ted had explained that the war had taken so many lives that birth rates had fallen sharply, meaning her own year group would be much smaller. Betty hadn't been sure which thought unsettled her more—the idea of living in such close quarters, or the knowledge that so many had died to make it more bearable possible.

Her eyes moved to the small wooden box on the side table, she had brought it from the kitchen earlier. Inside lay her wand, almost unused, still new. She crawled forward, opened the box carefully, and took the dark wenge wood in her hand.

It felt unfamiliar. Smooth and cool, as if it had not yet decided to trust her. Still, there was something beneath the surface. A faint, steady pulse began to spread in her palm when she held it longer. Not the vivid, immediate current of her own magic flowing through her body, but present all the same.

Betty tightened her grip. Something about it unsettled her. With wandless magic, she shaped thoughts and feelings directly; the wand offered no such instant connection. It stood between her and the magic, a gap she would have to learn to bridge.

She reached for one of the books from the pile beside her. Magic for Beginners – Volume I. The cover was unmarked, the corners still sharp. Opening it in the middle, she let the pages slide under her fingers until her eyes stopped at a familiar entry: Wingardium Leviosa, the levitation spell.

She straightened, set the cold teacup on the windowsill in front of her, and picked up the wand again.

She raised it, aimed at the cup, and took a slow breath.
"Wingardium Leviosa," she said quietly, moving her wrist in the prescribed upward motion.

Nothing. Not the slightest movement. Her brow creased.

"Wingardium Leviosa." This time her voice was firmer, her movement smoother, but the cup remained still.

Frustration rose in her, gradual but insistent. She had lifted objects before, could have done so without a wand, without even thinking, simply by knowing how it should feel. The wand, in contrast, was a tool, a channel she would have to master first. For a moment she thought of putting it away and trying again later. The thought passed quickly.

She would learn. Not because anyone expected her to, but because it interested her. Because the idea of succeeding stirred something in her. Not everything held her that way. The idea of succeeding sparked something inside her. Not everything did that. Chess bored her quickly, and she gave it up without a second thought. Knitting was worse—too many repeated motions and too little progress. Those things demanded methodical persistence that wasn't in her nature.

This was different.

The thought that she could do it —someday, somehow—stayed with her, and that was enough. She'd have to learn it anyway sooner or later.

She closed her eyes briefly. Training with Zuberi came to her mind: the feeling of magic, ready to be guided. She breathed in slowly through her nose, exhaled just as steadily, and opened her eyes.

For the third time, she raised her wand. “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The cup trembled, lifted slightly from the windowsill, and finally hovered, light and hesitant, in the air. Betty held her breath; her arm stayed perfectly still. Slowly, she lowered the wand, and the cup drifted back onto the sill. She turned it in her hand, deliberate. Perhaps it wasn't a setback. Perhaps just a different path – one she had to learn, without losing herself along the way.

Betty opened the book again, hands trembling from excitement, this time a page further back. She wanted to try more. Lumos seemed right–simple, but useful.

She lifted her wand, shaping the word precisely.

“Lumos.”

Nothing.

Again, with slightly more focus.

“Lumos.”

A faint glow appeared at the tip of her wand, flickering briefly, like a candle in the wind. Betty straightened, tense with anticipation, and tried once more.

“Lumos.”

This time, the tip lit clearly.

At that exact moment, the door opened. Lucinda stepped in and paused, seeing the light. In her hand, a steaming cup of fresh tea.

Betty flinched and turned. “Mum, look! I made the cup float. And now this.”

Lucinda set the cup down and glanced at her daughter. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she moved closer, perching on the arm of the chair.

"I think it's laudable you're so ambitious," she said slowly, "but you know that underage witches and wizards are not allowed to perform magic outside Hogwarts."

Betty froze. She'd forgotten. The warning about the magic tracing spells that tracked every underage witch and wizard.

"Does that mean... I could be expelled?" Her eyes widened. "Before I've even started?"

Her mother shook her head, serious but without panic.

"No. The tracking spells detect magic being cast— yes —but not who specifically cast it. They only register that magic happened nearby, especially around Muggles. Once adult wizards are present, the spells weaken, because then it's impossible to tell who did it. In a wizarding household like ours, there would be constant false alarms otherwise."

She gestured toward the windows. "Besides, this house is protected by shielding spells. The Ministry won't notice any of it."

Lucinda leaned forward slightly. Her gaze was firm but not harsh. Betty sensed how much her mother craved control—over situations, over her, over everything—but still she gave her space. That caught Betty off guard.

"But don't tell anyone, alright?"

Then Lucinda winked.

Betty grinned, a small tug in her chest, not unpleasant, the feeling that her mother knew more than she let on. She put the wand back in its box. "Alright."

Betty sank back against the armchair, bent her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees. She looked out the window again, thoughtful.

"Everything else all right with you?" Lucinda asked softly.

Betty hesitated, then said, "I thought I was upset. But it's somehow... more."

Lucinda stepped closer, also looking out. "Scared?"

Betty nodded slowly without taking her eyes from the clouds. Then she turned to her mother, voice low and fragile.

"I'm afraid I won't fit in anywhere."

Lucinda looked at her for a moment, then she said firmly, "Thinking that does not make it true. It only means you are concerned—and there is nothing wrong with that."

"But... what if the hat thinks it too?" Betty pulled at the hem of her sleeve. "What if I don't fit anywhere? I'm not especially brave, or ambitious, or particularly kind or clever. I'm a bit of everything—and nothing."

Lucinda's eyebrow lifted, her expression softening. "Betty, the Sorting Hat has been in use for over a thousand years. It has sorted children of every kind, I assure you. And you are far from nothing. You are... much. Perhaps too much for a neat little category—but never too little for Hogwarts." She lifted a hand as if to touch Betty's face, then stopped halfway and let it fall. "And you are entirely fine as you are."

Betty fell into her mother's arms. Lucinda hugged her gently and brushed a hand through Betty's hair. It was a rare moment of closeness. Betty remained silent for a moment, gathering herself.

"I wish it was tomorrow morning," she murmured.

Lucinda smiled softly. "That's what you're wishing for today. And tomorrow morning, you'll wish you had five more minutes of sleep."

Betty twisted her mouth into a half-smile. Then she stood up, stretched, and returned the box to the shelf.

"I'll pack everything again," she said, "just to be sure."

Lucinda nodded. "I'll help you in a minute. But first—drink your tea. Your second one today. And warm this time."

Betty rolled her eyes but obeyed. Up in her bedroom, she went through her suitcase once more. This was unlike her. Normally, she left packing to the last minute, then rushed around the flat cursing missing socks or forgotten books, hastily stuffing everything in before the deadline. This time was different.

Every item was folded carefully and checked: the school uniform, the cloaks, even the socks Lucinda had bought new a week ago. Betty ran her fingers over the label on one of the robes, neatly embroidered with her name in narrow silver letters on black fabric.

The small jar of ink, wrapped carefully in cloth, rested at the bottom of the case beside new quills and fresh schoolbooks.

Time seemed to speed up. Minutes passed while Betty folded clothes again, read a book, and tried to organise thoughts that slipped away from her. She thought about the levitation spell and Hogwarts, though without any clear expectations. It grew late, and Lucinda reminded her she should be asleep.

She lay down, set the alarm, and turned onto her side. The blanket felt too heavy, the pillow's fabric too rough. She couldn't find a comfortable position, tossing and turning, closing her eyes only to open them again. Her thoughts remained restless, jumping from one image to the next. Eventually, she slipped into a light sleep.

In the morning, the house was unusually quiet. Betty rose before the alarm went off. The light was pale, the sky grey. Sounds within the house like footsteps, a cupboard closing, were muffled. She didn't feel rested, but neither tired. Instead, a tense pressure squeezed inside her chest. No hunger, no fear, just excitement.

Lucinda said they would leave around quarter to eleven. Betty thought that early but did not argue. She got dressed, tied her hair back roughly, and folded the last of her clothes. As she moved to close the suitcase, Lucinda stepped beside her. Without a word, she drew her wand, flicked it once, and the suitcase shrank to a third of its size. Now it looked slim and light.

"It's easier to carry this way—for both of us," Lucinda said quietly.

Mimi was already waiting downstairs in the corridor. She was dressed in her usual clean apron, a slightly crooked bow collar, and her eyes flicked nervously between Lucinda and Betty. When she reached Betty, she stepped close so Lucinda could barely hear.

"Miss Betty," she whispered, her long fingers reaching out as if to straighten something that wasn't crooked. "If Miss Betty needs me, just say Mimi's name. Mimi will hear right away and know where to go, yes Miss?"

Betty nodded, too moved to speak. Mimi stepped back, bowed slightly, her eyes wide and shining, then slipped quietly into the kitchen.

Lucinda put a hand on Betty's arm. Her fingers were warm, her grip light but firm.

A sharp crack. The jolt of apparition. The familiar tightness as if her body was compressed for a moment, then hurled in a different direction.

They landed hard on uneven stone.

The room was small and gloomy, filled with the smell of damp, dust, and old smoke. The plaster on the walls was cracked and missing in places. The floor consisted of rough stones, some damp and stained. A single gas lamp hung from the ceiling, magically stabilized to give a dim but steady light.

A heavy steel door stood before them. Its faded red paint peeled away in large flakes. When Lucinda opened the door just a crack, a shimmering sign appeared. In cracked letters, it read: No trespassing.

Below, invisible to Muggles, the words said: "Apparation arrival Kings Cross—authorised magical travellers only."

Behind the door, the noise hit Betty—a piercing whistle, the screech of brakes, muffled announcements over a loudspeaker, the chatter of voices, echoing footsteps, and the squeak of a luggage trolley. Lucinda glanced outside, pushed back the latch, and opened the door fully.

"Ready?" she asked without looking at Betty, stepping out first.

They were on a narrow, remote maintenance track, enclosed by high walls. No one paid them any attention. Between the bricks, a narrow passage led toward the main station hall.

They moved forward without speaking. Betty carried the suitcase in her left hand, the handle pressing into her fingers despite the light weight. The background noise grew louder as they entered the hall. People squeezed past each other. Children ran across paths, adults stareing at departure boards, dragged bags behind them. Above the main entrance, the large station clock read 10:47 a.m. Amid the chaos, Lucinda stayed close to Betty. They moved swiftly but without haste.

They reached the platforms nine and ten. A massive barrier divided the two. In front of it, a father pushed his daughter's suitcase as she looked around nervously. Two Muggle policemen stood a few metres away, not paying attention to them.

Lucinda glanced around briefly, then she nodded to Betty.

Betty took a breath and began to walk towards rhe barrier between both platforms. One step, then another—and she was through. The big red Hogwarts Express stretched in front of her.

A man bumped into her as he passed by, and Betty stumbled a few steps forward.

“Watch where you're going,” he called out in a low voice. Startled, Betty stepped aside so as not to get in anyone's way. The air was warm and air thick. The entire station was noisy, confusing and crowded. More people pushed past her.

Lucinda passed through the barrier behind her. She didn't say anything. Betty squinted against the dim light streaming through the glass panes of the hall.

Every movement, every conversation, every feeling of the others seemed to touch her. The anticipation of the children, the crowds, the restlessness—everything was overwhelming. It was as if every look, every sound, every emotion had a direct effect on her. Betty held the suitcase tighter.

"Betty?"

Lucinda's voice was calm but firm, and she put a hand on Betty's shoulder as if to comfort her. Her gaze was alert, but reassuring.

"Don't forget to write to send me an owl," she said. "I want to know how you're doing."

Betty hesitated. Her eyes glanced over the other students who were already walking to the train. The uneasy feeling in her stomach grew stronger, panic growing inside of her.

"I... I hardly know anyone there. Except for Tonks. But she doesn't want to hang out with a kid all the time."

Betty had never had many friends. Like most pureblood children, she had been homeschooled in various subjects and rarely had the chance to meet peers her own age.

Lucinda replied evenly, "But you know the Weasleys. Fred and George are in their second year."

Betty blinked. For a moment, she had completely forgotten. Fred and George Weasley. She hadn't seen them in years—not since the incident with Percy that had frightened her too much to dare to go back. But it's been year, they certainly had forgotten, Betty hoped.

But with Fred and George had always been different. They never judged her or shunned her. On the contrary, they were the only ones who could make her laugh when no one else could.

Betty sighed, a faint smile flickering across her face at the thought of the twins.

"Yeah," she murmured.

"You see? There's always someone," Lucinda said, gently squeezing her hand. "You'll make plenty of new friends soon."

But Betty could still feel the tide of emotions swirling around her, influenced by the flood of impressions around her. Lucinda noticed immediately.

"It'll be all right," she said. "Remember what Zuberi taught you. Take a deep breath, focus, and let it go."

Betty closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, just as she had learned. In her mind, she separated herself from the strange sensations, refusing to let them draw any nearer. It took a moment, but then the feeling eased a little bit.

She opened her eyes and gave a small nod.

Lucinda smiled and brushed her cheek lightly. "Love you."

Betty turned to her mother, hugged her quickly, then climbed the stairs to the train. Her heart beat faster as she turned away. Inside, the noise was even louder. Children called out as they searched for compartments. Betty pushed through, eyes scanning for an empty one. After a few steps, she found one. The door stood half open. No one was inside.

Relieved, she stepped in, closed the door, and sat down. After a moment, she opened her eyes and pulled a book from her bag. An old potions book that once belonged to her mother. The pages were worn, the ink smudged in places, but the clear layout of the recipes brought her comfort. She opened a page and began to read as the train gradually gained speed. She knew Prpfeasor Snape — her potions professor — will be strict. She wanted to be prepared.

The whistle blew to mark the departure, and the training began to move. The quiet rattle of the wheels carried through the carriage, the windowpanes vibrated slightly. Betty took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly. It felt good to simply sit still.

The door opened. A tall boy with blond, messy hair and slightly tanned skin went inside before Betty could answer. He carried himself with confidence, a slightly exaggerated smile on his face. His blue eyes briefly studied her.

"Hi, I'm Cormac—Cormac McLaggen," he said as if that should mean something. "Is this seat free?"

"Yes," she replied curtly, straightening in her seat.

Cormac sank down as though it were the most natural thing. "I'm hoping to get into Gryffindor. Like my parents. What about you? First time here as well?"

Betty nodded and reached for her book again. But when their eyes met, she felt it.

Eventhough she had learnt not to look into other people's minds, the moment was unplanned, but something about him caught her attention. His gaze held hers a little too long.

Before she could stop it, something inside her reacted. His gaze lingered on hers, and she sensed his silent fascination. Then his gaze drifted slowly over her face, pausing briefly on her lips. His thoughts revealed his interest in her and how he might win her attention.

Betty quickly looked away, down on the page in front of her. It was uncomfortable to realise so clearly how someone was examining you. She turned the page, even though she hadn't read it.

"Oh, and are your parents wizards too? I suppose they both went to Hogwarts, right? Where are you from?"

His voice was overly cheerful, but the rapid questions felt intrusive. He kept talking as if trying to impress her, and it annoyed her. She had hoped for a moment of peace to read. Instead, his words flowed relentlessly.

"Yes, my mum is a witch, too," she replied calmly, keeping her tone neutral. "But that's not really important, is it?"

"Ah. Is your father a Mug—"

The door opened before he could finish. Two boys pushed into the compartment, grinning widely—red-haired, face covered in freckles and identical down to the tips of their hair.

"Hope we're not intruding," said one, looking from Betty to Cormac with a cheeky smile.

"I'm Fred, and this is George," added the other, offering Betty a warm smile.

Betty, relieved by the interruption, gave a small, shy smile. "Hi."

"Betty?" Fred said with a broad grin. "Merlin, it's been ages! I almost didn't recognise you."

"Indeed," George added in surprise, letting his eyes wander over her, "you've grown up."

Betty hesitated. It had been a long time, and a lot had changed. Those afternoons in the garden with the Weasleys during her childhood felt distant now. Yet the familiar smiles of Fred and George brought back a flicker of warmth. She caught George's gaze briefly and found herself smiling more easily; a quiet sense of comfort settled in.

"Mhh, how are you both?" she asked.

Fred and George exchanged a quick look before grinning together.

"We're still the same old mess," Fred replied with a sparkle in his eye. "And you?"

Betty smiled at them both. It was good to see them again. 

Before Betty could answer, Cormac jumped in, clearly trying not to lose the spotlight. "We were just having an interesting chat about the Hogwarts houses. I'm Cormac McLaggen, by the way."

Fred shook his head theatrically. "Well, then it's obvious Gryffindor's the best house, isn't it?"

"Sure, it's ours too," George said at once. "But I think you're more a Slytherin if you talk that much, don't you?"

Cormac scowled. "Slytherins are all evil, everyone knows that."

Betty froze. Her eyes widened, a flash of surprise and indignation crossing her face.

"That's not true!" she burst out before thinking better of it. "My mum was in Slytherin, and she's anything but evil. Just like my Aunt Andromeda."

Cormac shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Well, I was just saying... most Slytherins aren't exactly... friendly."

Betty fixed her gaze on him. Her words seemed to have caught him off guard for a moment. There was a silent, ingrained prejudice in his eyes. Then his gaze flickered back to hers, as if searching for a reaction. There was a tense curiosity there, a challenge, testing whether she'd be put off by it.

Betty met his gaze without hesitation. Even though it did feel uncomfortable, it was nothing new to her. After all, she had spent years enduring Severus Snape's cold, penetrating stare during Occlumency lessons.

Seconds passed in silence. She noticed his initial confidence waver just slightly.

Cormac's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing. She could sense his discomfort, as if her unwavering gaze was cutting through his carefully maintained façade. In the end, it was he who looked away first, his eyes darting off into the distance to escape the intensity. He slid back in his seat, his posture stiffening, showing his growing unease.

Betty leaned back, quietly pleased.

Fred and George exchanged a glance. This time with a knowing sparkle. George's grin widened, and he gave Betty a brief, mischievous wink, then glanced at Cormac with clear amusement.

"You'd better watch what you say to Betty. Don't piss her off," he said with a broad grin.

"Exactly," Fred added, waving his arms dramatically. "When our dear brother Percy once riled Betty up, she nearly tore the whole house apart!"

Betty hesitated. "It was an accident," she said eventually. That had not forgotten about it. "I really didn't mean to hurt him!"

"Sure," Fred said with a smirk, then turned back to Cormac, who was looking uncertainly between Betty and the twins. "Still, you'd better watch what you say to Betty now. What do you reckon she's capable of now, being older, huh?"

George cleared his throat, glanced at Betty briefly, then shifted the subject. "Anyway... Slytherin?" His tone softened. "Your mum was always nice, but her brother's still a bit of a git."

Fred chuckled. "By the way, Dad's always amazed how someone like Betty's mum can be the sister of a bloke like Lucius Malfoy." He pulled a mocking face. "They couldn't be more different, which makes for... interesting family reunions, I imagine."

Betty shrugged, now grinning herself. "We don't do family reunions. Unofficially, we're not part of that family."

George nodded. "Better that way. And I doubt you'll end up in Slytherin anyway. After all, you're the daughter of blood traitors who don't buy into that silly pureblood nonsense."

"Just like us," Fred added with a grin. "Welcome to the club."

A subtle smile appeared on Betty's face.

Cormac cleared his throat, forcing on a confident smile as he leaned forward. "Well, my father doesn't much like Lucius Malfoy either. Says he's far too proud and thinks he's better than everyone else. Always trouble with him." He shot Betty a look that said, I know what I'm doing. "Luckily, I've learnt how to deal with people like that."

He eyed Betty as if to see if that had made an impression and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Well, don't worry, you're in good company."

"Well," Betty said slowly. "The sorting hat will make the right decision, won't it? At least no one's been sent home yet, my cousin said."

Cormac asked, clearly eager to change the subject. "Do you like Quidditch? Shame, first years aren't allowed to try out for the house team or bring their own broom yet... I've been flying on a broom since I was four, you know. I'm really good at it."

Betty started looking out of the window, not really being interested in participation, watchting the blur of the passing countryside.

Fred noticed Betty wasn't paying much attention and nudged George. "McLaggen thinks he's going to impress her? Good luck, mate," he whispered.

Cormac, still lost in his endless talk about Quidditch, didn't seem to realise no one was listening.

George caught Fred's glance, grinned, and whispered back, "Should we help him out or let him walk into an open trap? Hm... trap."

Betty supressed giggle by quickly bitting her lip.

Realising she had tuned out, Cormac said quickly, "So, are you looking forward to your first flying lesson? I can't wait. I could show you a few tricks after if you like."

Betty looked at him, warily. "We'll see."

Fred looked up with amusement at Cormac, who kept trying to win Betty's attention.

"So, Betty," Fred broke the silence, leaning slightly towards her with an easy smile, "fancy a little bet?"

"What's it about?" she asked, sceptical.

"We're betting you'll get sorted into Gryffindor," George said, nodding at Fred. "And if you don't... we owe you a packet of chocolate frogs."

Betty raised an eyebrow. "And if I do get into Gryffindor?"

Fred grinned broadly. "Then we'll still owe you a packet, because we guessed right."

She couldn't help but giggle. "Sounds like a pretty one sided bet."

"We're being generous," George said with a cocky smile.

Cormac rolled his eyes. "I don't think you two are taking any of this seriously."

"Oh, we take many things seriously," said Fred with a serious expression on his face. He leaned back slightly and winked at Betty.

"But what's the point in worrying now? We'll find out soon enough," George added with a shrug.

Betty leaned back and looked out the window. She closed her eyes trying to block out the chatter around her. For the first time in a while, she felt like it would be all right. Soon, they would finally arrive Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

The train ride passed more quickly than Betty expected. The twins had fallen into a long debate with Cormac, which left her in relative peace to return to her book. At one point she slipped away to the train loo to change into her uniform. She had chosen the skirt, dressed quickly, and used the charm her mother had shown her the night before to make the tie perfectly straight. Betty noticed the care her mother had put into it, but she didn't care much for such fuss—it worked well enough, and that was enough for her. At least her mother had been right about one thing—with the shirt under her jumper, the wool didn't itch.

When she returned, a boy with dark skin and neat dreadlocks was now sitting with them, talking at an unstoppable pace to Fred and George about Quidditch. Do boys ever have another topic? Fred, perhaps sensing her impatience, cut him off mid-sentence with an exaggerated sweep of his hand.

"Lee, this is Betty—our new partner in crime. Betty, this is Lee—our dorm mate and best friend."

Her heart skipped at Fred's choice of words. Partner in crime. That was not a title she disliked.

"Hi," Lee said brightly, jumping to his feet and offering his hand. Betty shook it, a little hesitant. Over by the window, Cormac kept his face turned toward the blur of trees, his expression close to a pout.

Betty's eyes drifted back to the twins. Their uniforms were a mess—ties hanging crooked, shirts half untucked, cloaks slipping from their shoulders. Compared to them, she looked painfully proper.

Fred leaned closer with a sly grin. "Looking rather proper there, Betty. Off to a reception with Dumbledore, are you?"

Betty stuck out her tongue and dipped into an exaggerated curtsey. "Maybe I am." The boys broke into loud laughter—even Cormac showed a small grin.

"We were just talking about trying out for the house team," George said.

"And our chances are looking good," Fred added, grinning wider.

Lee rolled his eyes, though his smile betrayed him. "Unfair. Your big brother happens to be the captain of the Gryffindor team."

"Hey, we've got talent to back it up!" the twins protested in near perfect unison. Betty caught Cormac's eyes rolling this time.

Around midday the trolley witch rattled past their compartment, her cart filled with sweets and pastries. Betty bought a pumpkin pasty and a packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, planning to share them later. Then she pulled out the lunch her mother had packed so carefully that morning. Lee, in contrast, picked up a Cauldron Cake and a Fizzing Whizbee, sliding the sweets toward him with a grin, clearly content with just enough sugar to keep him awake.

Cormac had gone straight for five packs of Chocolate Frogs, along with a pasty and a couple of Cauldron Cakes. Fred and George unwrapped the sandwiches their mother had made, adding a pack of Chocolate Frogs—destined for Betty later—and a liquorice wand each.

Cormac tore open his first box immediately. One frog leapt straight from his lap and vanished under the seat, but he barely seemed to notice; his eyes were fixed on the card inside.

"Not Merlin again," he muttered, clearly unimpressed. He held the card up briefly before passing it to Betty. "You can have it if you want. I've got over five hundred in total at home."

Betty took it while glancing at the picture. Merlin lifted his wand in greeting, just as he always did. "Thanks, but I've already got him. Four times, actually." Before Betty could slip it into her bag—more for politeness than actual interest—Lee leaned forward.

"Can I have that one, Betty?"

Cormac blinked, clearly surprised. "You don't have Merlin?" His eyebrows shot up. "He's one of the most common cards—along with Dumbledore, of course."

Lee smiled faintly, tilting his head. "I do have Merlin, but I'm making up a card game with those."

Cormac shrugged and ripped open another box, then another. At least he'd stopped talking about Quidditch. None of the new cards impressed him, and he shoved a frog into his mouth, chewing with faint irritation.

Betty turned a page in her book, then paused at a familiar name. "Agrippa?" she said lightly. "May I have that one? I'm missing it."

Cormac looked up. "Sure." His mood lifted slightly as he passed the card over. Betty slid it carefully between two pages, keeping it flat.

"You know who he was, right?" Cormac leaned forward. "Most people think he was just some theoretician, but he was one of the earliest modern defensive magic inventors. Without him, a lot of curses couldn't even be contained properly. Gets overlooked all the time."

"I preferred his essays on magical responsibility," Betty said quietly. "Especially his work on ethics."

Cormac waved a hand, a little impatient. "Yeah, they mention that sometimes, but that's secondary. The real achievement was his analysis of spell structure. If you ever want to study it properly, I can show you a few things. My whole collection's organised by topic."

Betty let him talk, listening half attentively. His voice grew louder as he warmed to the subject, explaining how the first anti boggart incantation had been built on Agrippa's theories. Lee leaned back, nibbling at his Cauldron cake, eyes flicking between Betty and Cormac with an amused smile.

George coughed lightly. Fred murmured under his breath, "Here comes the know-it-all speech."

Cormac didn't notice. "It's complex, sure, but once you understand, it makes sense. Not everyone's into that sort of thing though."

"Huh," mumbled Betty, offering only a brief look.

Cormac didn't notice. "I could show you my list at Hogwarts. I've even got Salazar Slytherin—pretty rare. I've got a spare, but—"

"Do you trade rare cards as well," Betty asked evenly, "or only duplicates?"

He blinked. "Depends. But with you, I'd trade fair."

She nodded once. "Good."

She reopened her book, eyes falling to the last line she'd been reading. For her, the conversation was over.

Lee, meanwhile, leaned back in his seat, watching the exchange. After a moment, he tilted his head.

"So Betty," he said finally, "you think Agrippa would've approved of these cards being traded instead of studied?"

Betty gave a faint smile. "Probably not. He'd say it trivialises the work."

Cormac blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth, hesitated, muttered, "Well... I suppose in a sense—" Words faltered as he tried to respond.

Fred snorted. George let out a low chuckle, clearly amused at Cormac being flustered. Lee grinned, leaning back, clearly enjoying the moment. Betty's lips twitched at the corner, resisting a full smile. Cormac ran a hand through his hair, muttering something about "Seriously, who asks that?" but the faint flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

"Betty Brains strikes again," Fred murmured. George laughed quietly. Betty said nothing, but this time she didn't bother to hide her smile.

Occasionally, students popped their heads into the compartment to exchange a few words with the twins and Lee. However, Betty remained seated with her eyes fixed on the page in front of her her, though it was difficult to stay focused. It was a recipe for a calming draught, and she traced her mother's neat, precise handwriting—Lucinda always adjusted the ingredients to enhance the desired effect. When a dark haired girl suddenly knocked on the compartment door and began chatting loudly, Betty wished she had one of those potions to hand.

Outside, the sky was shading to a deeper grey. As the train slowed, it gave a gentle jolt and the tension among the students became noticeable. Voices rose and more children pressed against the corridor windows, trying to catch a look of their new home. An uneasy blend of curiosity, excitement and nerves filled the air, pressing against her chest.

"We're here!" Fred called out, and jumped to his feet. George followed suit and grinned at Betty.

"So, ready for the big adventure?"

Betty nodded, even though she felt anything but ready. The excitement grew with every minute. Her hands gripped the handle of her suitcase more firmly as she stood up.

"No need to take it. Just leave it here, they'll put them in front of your bed."

Hesitent and not wanting to leave her belongings behind she followed them.

As soon as she stepped onto solid ground, a deep, friendly voice echoed across the platform.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere!"

Betty looked up and spotted a huge man with a wild beard that fluttered slightly in the breeze. His face radiated warmth, and despite his impressive size, there was something oddly comforting about him.

"That must be Hagrid," she murmured to herself.

Hagrid waved them forward. "C'mon, ye'll be crossin' the lake with me! Four ter a boat, mind yer!"

Betty waved goodbye to the twins and followed the moving first years. The air was clear, but cold; the night sky was scattered with stars. Along the edge of the black lake, several small boats bobbed quietly on the water. One by one, a girl climbed in first, then Betty, followed by two boys. She sat next to the girl with long brown hair and light brown, curious eyes.

"No rowers?" asked one of the two boys, surprised. He introduced himself as Eddie Carmichael.

"Looks like the boats steer themselves," Betty replied, her gaze drifting over the dark water.

Her breath caught as the castle finally came into view. Hogwarts rose from the rocky outcrop, massive and luminous against the dark sky. Its spires stretched skywards, windows flickering with warm light like countless scattered lanterns. For a moment, everything felt suspended, as if time itself had paused to let the sight sink in.

"Quite impressive, isn't it?" the girl beside her asked excitedly.

Betty nodded, lips twitching into a faint smile. "Yes. Kind of... surreal."

The girl leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. "I've heard about Hogwarts a thousand times by my dad, but seeing it... it's something else entirely."

Betty watched the castle grow larger with each stroke. "It's bigger than I imagined," she said, voice quiet but steady.

The girl grinned at her. "I'm Katie. Katie Bell."

"Betty... Black," she replied, surprised at how naturally Katie had started the conversation.

"Black?" Katie's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Like the Black family?"

A brief flutter struck Betty's stomach. She had expected curiosity, maybe suspicion.

"Something like that," Betty said cautiously.

Katie shrugged, a half-smile tugging at her lips but Katie's gaze was open, free of judgement.

"Well, as long as you're not one of those pureblood snobs, I think we'll get on just fine." 

Betty giggled softly, keeping her smile measured. "No, I'm not."

As the boat cut silently through the black water, Katie spoke almost without pause. She told Betty about her four sisters, the twins still at home, and the difficulty of leaving them behind. Her eyes sparkled, her words carrying a mixture of homesickness and excitement. Betty listened, fingers tracing a loose fibre at the boat's edge, letting the conversation wash over her.

Katie shifted closer, lowering her voice slightly. "Are you a Quidditch fan? Do you have a favourite team?"

Betty shrugged. "Not really. No favourite team. I did watch the Scotland vs. England quarter final. I imagine flying myself would be more fun than watching anyone else do it."

Katie's hands snapped together, eyes sparkling. "That's brilliant! Shame England lost, though." She leaned slightly closer, frowning as she studied Betty with sudden, appraising intensity. "Have you ever flown before?"

Betty twisted a loose strand of hair around her finger, biting her lip. "A little. My cousin—she enjoys flying—and I've been on her broom a few times. Went well enough, I suppose. But we were never allowed to go high or far, not where Muggles could spot us."

Katie nodded slowly, eyes still bright with curiosity. "Makes sense. There aren't many Muggles around there, so I can get away with it. But I can't wait for lessons. Maybe try out for the house team in second year."

A pause settled between them, brief but charged. Katie tilted her head. "So...how was it back then? The quarter final, I mean."

Betty's face softened into a faint smile. "Lovely. Norway itself is breathtaking—the wind, the cool air, magical lights flickering over the stadium. And the displays... so many, all spectacular. The match was thrilling, very long and a bit dragging, though."

Katie's mouth opened in surprise. "How did you even get tickets? They must be impossible to get."

Betty lifted her head and blushed. "Mum works for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. She went with the English team and brought me along."

Katie stared for a moment, her mouth dropping slightly, before grinning widely. "You're joking. That's... just brilliant!"

She leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is it true the 1994 final will be here, in Britain?"

Betty glanced at the boys in their boat, both busy with their own conversation and not paying any attention. She gave a quick nod.

"That's brilliant," Katie whispered, her voice dropping lower. "I hope we can go as a family. Dad's a huge Quidditch fan too, though he cheers for a different team. We get into arguments a lot when theirs plays ours."

Betty watched her, noting the restless energy in every movement, from the way she tilted her head to the way she flicked her fingers. This energy swirled around Katie—it was oddly comforting and a little contagious.

The quiet was broken by voices from behind them, causing them to turn around.

"Give it here! You said you didn't want it anymore!"

"I had it first!"

In the boat next to theirs, two boys fought over something neither of them would let go, each gripping with stubborn strength; Cormac's jaw was rigid, his eyes flashing with irritation, while the smaller boy matched him blow for blow, knuckles pale and tense as he refused to yield.

"Let go! That's mine!"

"You dropped it, so it's mine now!"

"No, it's—!"

A sudden tug sent the smaller boy off balance, his arms flailing as he tried desperately to stay upright, before he pitched forward with a loud splash that broke the calm of the water.

Other students who had witnessed the incident shouted through the crowd. Hagrid spun around quickly, his eyes widening.

"Wha' was tha'?"

The boy thrashed helplessly, his face disappearing under the water again and again. His soaked cloak clung heavily to his body, each movement more tiring than the last. Betty's chest tightend as she realised that he couldn't swim.

Katie leaned over the edge of their boat, shouting urgently. "He can't swim!" She waved wildly toward the larger boat. "Hagrid! Over here!"

Her shout, however, was lost in the noise of the other children; and no one moved. Hagrid began to move his boat toward them, but far too slowly to reach the boy in time.

Betty stayed frozen for a moment, shock still tightening her throat. Around her, the other children seemed stuck in place, eyes fixed helplessly on the struggling boy in the water. Only quiet, nervous murmurs came from their boat. Every second made it more obvious that the boy was losing strength fast.

Katie's voice cut through the tense silence again, louder this time, turning halfway toward Betty.

"He's drowning!"

Betty forced herself to act. She slipped off her cloak and tossed it into Katie's lap, which she caught instinctively. Katie moved aside, now looking at Betty.

"Betty, what are you—" The words stopped as Betty dove headfirst into the lake. The cold water hit sharply against her face, her body flinching at the sudden shock, yet she made smooth, practiced movements through the dark water in long strokes. Screams rose from some of the children, and Hagrid's voice boomed across the night, but all Betty heard was a muffled sound in her ears.

She reached the boy quickly, slipping her arms securely under his from behind. His body jerked in surprise, yet Betty held him steady. Using control over the water, she calmed the waves around them, giving steady support as she pulled him closer toward the boat.

"Pull him up!" she called urgently.

Two children hurried to the edge, grabbing the soaked boy and lifting him aboard. He collapsed onto the planks, coughing and gasping for air, while Cormac just watched, frozen and speechless.

Betty let go at last, drew in a long breath, and pushed herself back toward her own boat with steady, powerful strokes.

Katie and Eddie leaned forward quickly to seize her hands. She was trembling, clothes dragging her down, water streaming from her hair and sleeves, and when they pulled her up she collapsed onto the bench, heart pounding so hard she could hear it echoing in her ears.

"You alright?" Katie asked, still breathless, eyes fixed on her. "Merlin, Betty, that was incredible."

Betty only nodded. Her pulse refused to slow, a cold shiver ran through her arms and legs, and a faint tremor lingered in her fingers. Relief pressed against her chest, but behind it came the dull weight of shock. She had saved the boy—but the moment clung like the water in her clothes.

Hagrid's boat reached them, lantern light sliding across the dark ripples.

"What's goin' on 'ere?" His rough voice carried easily over the water.

"One of them fell in. Betty pulled him out," Katie called back.

Hagrid's gaze found Betty. He gave a slow nod, heavy and deliberate, and something like recognition flickered in his eyes.

"Tha' was brave, tha' was. Real brave."

Betty looked away. The praise slid off her. Her thoughts were still focused on the shock of the cold water and the empty silence that followed when no one else had moved.

By the time they reached the shore, Hagrid was already helping the children one by one out of the boats. Betty's teeth chattered, her hands felt numb, and her uniform clung in heavy folds that dragged with every step.

Hagrid reached for his coat, clearly torn between her and the boy still shivering beside her. Betty shook her head quickly, insisting he give it to the boy instead. She tried to recall the drying charm, but her mind felt empty. So she only stood there, shivering, stamping her feet against the ground to shake the water from her shoes.

Lantern in one hand, umbrella in the other, Hagrid moved ahead, calling for them to follow. The children hurried along the stone embankment and began climbing a wide set of steps. At last, they reached the enormous doors. They swung open with a slow, deep groan to reveal a tall witch in an emerald cloak standing in the torchlight. Her face was stern, lips pressed tight, but there was no cruelty in her expression. Behind her squared glasses, her eyes scanned the group sharply, as if judging not only who they were, but also what they might become.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said. He leaned closer, murmured something in her ear, and gave a small gesture toward Betty and the boy, who was bundled in Hagrid's coat that hung far too large on him. McGonagall listened quietly, then gave a short nod before turning back to the line of dripping children.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I shall take it from here."

The entrance hall stretched before them, large and echoing, torches casting shadows across the stone. Voices stirred somewhere in the distance, drifting through the high, arched Entrance Hall. Although a wide marble staircase led upwards, Professor McGonagall directed them into a smaller side chamber instead.

The room was narrow and crowded, far too small for the number of nervous children who were pressing in, and the air was thickened quickly with a mix of excitement and unease. Betty's breathing remained shallow and her fingertips prickled. It wasn't exactly fear — though some of that was there, too — but rather the overwhelming realisation that this was the beginning. And yet, the cold still crept stubbornly through her bones.

Professor McGonagall stepped forward with her chin elevated and her posture showing authority. One glance from her seemed to have everyone stand straighter, and most of them did.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. Her voice was clear and measured, "My name is Professor McGonagall. I am Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. The opening feast will begin shortly, but before you may take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into one of four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. Each has its own values, its history, its expectations. Yet every student here belongs equally to the school."

Her gaze scanned the room again, pausing briefly as if she was remembering her own first night there. For an instant, something softened her face, before it returned to its stern composure.

Betty studied her closely. There was something familiar about her — she had the same steady presence as her mother. Strict, yes, but never insincere. Sincere and dependable. She was a woman whose trust you would earn, but never cheaply. Betty felt a spark of quiet admiration. She liked her at once, perhaps because of her severity.

"Your house will be your home—your community, and your responsibility. By achieving good results, you earn points for your house. Breaking rules, however, will result in point deductions. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will be awarded the House Cup—a great honour."

Betty's heart skipped. She had heard of the cup before; her mother had once pursued it in Slytherin and treated winning it as inevitable. For Betty, though, the words carried a different weight. Not honour. Not pride. Family. Something given, something chosen, something yet uncertain.

"The ceremony will begin shortly," Professor McGonagall continued. "I suggest you prepare yourselves and remember this—each of you carries something unique, something no one else has. Perhaps you will discover it this very evening."

A soft murmur rippled through the group. Katie edged closer, voice low. "Well then, time to find our family."

"Straighten your cloaks, walk properly—you will soon be led into the Great Hall."

Betty swallowed hard. Her clothes still clung to her in wet, heavy folds; water seeped from her sleeves and pooled in her shoes. Each step left dark prints on the stone floor, the cold fabric pressing against her skin. McGonagall seemed untouched by the chill. Without a word, she turned and led the way. The children followed through a tall archway, down wide corridors lined with living portraits that watched curiously, some whispering among themselves in quiet excitement.

A hush fell as they stepped through the wide doors. Betty caught her breath, almost without thinking, and felt the weight of all those eyes on her at once.

The Great Hall stretched before them; four long tables ran its length, one for each house, and hundreds of floating candles drifted overhead, casting flickering shadows across the older students' faces. Above, the enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky outside—dark clouds drifting slowly, stars just beginning to prick through the dusk.

Around her, children whispered and pointed, eyes wide, lips moving in quiet awe.

Katie murmured. "Isn't it brilliant?"

The older students were already seated at their tables. Some had turned to watch the newcomers, whispering, scrutinising, while others simply looked bored.

The first years moved in a narrow line between the two central tables, McGonagall at the head. Betty noticed how easily she could see over most of the smaller students. Her height set her apart, along with Katie, Cormac, and a blond boy with glasses. Her wet shoes squeaked softly, the cloak sticking to her legs, and she could feel the curious eyes on her from every side. Every glance made her shiver slightly—not just from the cold, but from the sudden awareness of being watched.

Her gaze flicked to the Hufflepuff table. Tonks sat there, her hair lime green today. When their eyes met, her expression froze into a silent, exaggerated "What happened?!" Betty just shrugged slightly in return.

The group came closer. Before the staff table stood a chair topped by an old patched hat. The Sorting Hat, which would soon sort the students into their houses. The group came to a halt in front of it.

At the Gryffindor table, Fred and George were easy to spot. George lifted a hand, giving her a brief wave. Betty returned it with no more than a slight nod, her attention already moving on. A few seats away, Percy Weasley, his red hair catching the torchlight, watched her and the boy beside her with a mixture of sternness and scepticism. She met his gaze for a heartbeat, then turned away.

Her attention wandered to the staff table, where the professors sat in quiet authority. At the far end of the room, Professor Snape was seated in his black cloak, almost merging with the shadows cast by the candlelight. His face remained impassive, but his dark eyes scanned the first years with an almost physical intensity. When they reached Betty, they lingered. Nothing in his expression gave it away, but she knew him well enough not to feel the weight of his judgment before his gaze moved on.

A small man with streaks of silver in his hair sat further along, his sparkling eyes darting from student to student, wand twirling between his fingers as if the motion itself sharpened his focus. Despite his small stature, he possessed an energy that made the room feel warmer and more alive.

At the other end of the table, a little witch with short, grey, wavy hair and a patched, battered hat spoke quietly with a man in a deep blue robe. His robes were neat, cut in an old fashioned, slightly theatrical style. When he smiled, it lingered a bit too long, drawing eyes and a subtle unease.

Albus Dumbledore sat in the centre, his bright blue eyes warm and attentively scanning the newly arrived students. When he rose and spread his arms, his long cloak—almost the same colour as his eyes—shimmered in the candlelight, and his smile offered a reassurance. Betty remembered meeting him the previous summer at Zuberi's, where he had visited for official matters. Even then, he had shown a surprisingly close attention to her, lingering on her abilities with a kind, almost probing interest that she hadn't registered at the time.

"Welcome, my dear new students! And to the older students, welcome to another year at Hogwarts!"

His voice carried clearly through the hall, and a hush fell over the crowd.

"Before we turn our attention to the upcoming feast—which I assure you will be most enjoyable—there are a few important matters to discuss. Hogwarts is not merely a school; it is a place of learning, of community, and of magic. But with magic comes responsibility."

He raised a hand, and for a moment his expression became sharper, more solemn.

"Entering the Forbidden Forest—and the name alone should serve as warning—is strictly forbidden. It is home to creatures that could make even the bravest wizard think twice."

A murmur rippled through the first years. Betty noticed the occasional glances towards the tall windows. Beyond them, darkness lingered thickly and uninvitingly, as though the forest itself were watching them.

"Likewise, it is forbidden to cast spells in the corridors between lessons or after bedtime unless it is for a very important reason and authorised by us. Rest assured such exceptions are exceedingly rare."

His eyes swept over the students before his tone lightened somewhat. "Of course, there are many other rules which our esteemed caretaker, Argus Filch, would be delighted to share with you—likely in a lengthy speech." Muffled laughter went around the older students. "But I will not keep you in suspense any longer. Before we eat, there is one final task to complete—sorting you into your houses."

He gestured theatrically to an old, battered wizard's hat resting on a stool at the front of the hall.

"Our good old friend here will assist you. So lean back, open your ears—and prepare for the next chapter of your lives."

No sooner had Dumbledore finished than the Sorting Hat stirred. Its seams, shaped like a mouth, parted, and in a deep, melodic voice it began to sing. Betty caught the tune, the swell of its melody brushing over her mind, but the words slipped, meaningless in the mix of sound and sensation. Her heart pounded so loudly that she could hear it echo in her ears, and her thoughts swirled with all the new impressions.

A sharp voice cut through the haze. Professor McGonagall. Betty realised, rather late, that the hat had fallen silent. The ceremony had began. The deputy headmistress stepped forward, unrolling a parchment scroll, her voice clear and precise as she announced the first name.

"Ashford, Mira!"

A small girl with long, dark hair and dark skin moved gracefully to the chair.

"Gryffindor!"

Mira's smile lit up her face in relief as she jumped down and joined the cheering Gryffindors, her tie instantly shifting to the scarlet and gold of her new house.

"Belby, Marcus!"

A blond pale boy with a slightly nervous frown stepped forward and settled onto the stool. The Sorting Hat slid over his head, murmuring briefly before announcing, "Ravenclaw!"

Loud cheers erupted from the Ravenclaw table as he hurried to join his housemates, his tie transforming to match the colours.

"Bell, Katherine!"

Katie stepped forward almost on instinct, sliding onto the stool, and the hat hesitated only for a moment before calling out, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted, cheers echoing across the hall as she took her seat.

"Black, Elizabeth!"

Betty stepped forward, her cloak still heavy and dripping from the earlier swim. Students' eyes flicked over her, curiosity and surprise clear, but she ignored them, drew in a slow, steady breath, squared her shoulders, and settled onto the chair.

The Sorting Hat slid over her eyes, pressing gently, and a soft, whispering voice filled her mind.

"Hmmm... most intriguing. A clever mind, quick, sharp, analytical... you see more than most, understand more than you show. Ravenclaw would suit you. A place for wisdom, for learning..."

Betty's heart raced. Ravenclaw sounded rewarding. But a stirring deep inside her made her hesitate, tugging at her certainty.

"But there is more. You do not merely understand, you plan. You watch, consider, move carefully. You have a gift—subtle, quiet, the ability to guide others, to influence without them realising. Slytherin could nurture that skill, help you gain power, wield influence, mask your strengths... yes, you could achieve much there..."

She shook her head slightly. Power for its own sake? That was not her. Then again, it used to be the house of her mother. And her aunt.

"Oh? Certain? Perhaps Hufflepuff then. Loyalty, duty, deep caring for others... a safe home, a place where you belong. Yet... you do not crave only comfort, do you?"

Betty's eyes flicked almost involuntarily toward the Hufflepuff table. Tonks sat there, beaming at Betty with warm eyes. Julian and Frankie were next to her, smiling widely, and the sight made Betty's chest tighten slightly.

The Hat seemed to chuckle softly, a quiet sound in her mind.

"Ah... yes. Then there is Gryffindor. Strength, courage, fire held behind measured restraint. You are brave, even if you hide it. Courage for yourself, for others. A fire waiting to break free... passion, determination, courage. You could belong there."

Her eyes moved slightly to the Gryffindor table. Fred and George watched her with sly grins, while Lee and Katie followed every move. She could feel the energy of the Gryffindor table drawing at her, full of laughter, warmth, and reckless enthusiasm. The thought made her chest tighten with longing; she wanted to be among them. But at the same time, she was overcome with doubt. Could she match that fire? Could she keep up without losing herself in their chaos? The pull was strong, but frightening, and a flicker of panic stirred within her.

The Sorting Hat murmured again, its voice patient and lingering in her mind.

"You would do well in Gryffindor, but you are more than a single house. Clever enough for Ravenclaw, thoughtful enough for Slytherin, loyal enough for Hufflepuff. You carry all of it, and yet only one can be your home tonight. I see the fire within you, the courage, the loyalty, the mind that watches and plans. You are ready... almost."

Betty's heart was hammering in her ears and her pulse was racing. She couldn't answer or respond. She remembered what Tonks had said—that the hat had never sent anyone home—and her mother's words: 'It has sorted children for thousands of years.'

Logically, she knew she would be fine. Yet this did little to stop the pounding in her heart and the fear that the hat might not be able to match her to a house at all.

The world around her blurred. The glances of her new friends and strangers merged into one. Somewhere in that blur, she sensed the hat moving. Yet the final decision—where she truly belonged—remained just out of her reach. For a moment, panic flared up again. What if she was wrong? What if the Hat couldn't choose at all?

Chapter Text

Finally, the Sorting Hat called out, "Gryffindor!"

Betty's thoughts were still racing, her fingers clenching the edge of the chair like she could hold herself together by sheer force. She barely registered McGonagall removing the hat, and it took a clearing of the throat to pull her from the trance. The Sorting Hat had made its decision. A murmur ran through the rows of students at the large tables. It had taken the Sorting Hat what felt like an eternity to make its decision, which, judging by the murmurs, was a rather rare occurrence at Hogwarts. Immediately after Betty jumped off the chair, thunderous applause broke out at the Gryffindor table. A feeling of relief spread through her. Smiling, Betty sat down next to Katie, who immediately made room for her and looked at her with a beaming smile.

"That was a proper performance," Katie whispered, her voice bubbling with excitement. "You nearly gave the Hat a heart attack!"

Betty felt relief rolling through her chest was stronger than the tremor in her fingers. Her cloak steamed slightly, clinging to her damp hair and skin. The cold from the stone floor had begun to seep in and creep through her bones. She silently wished for a towel. Or for someone to lead her to the dormitory. If only she could remember that drying charm.

"Welcome to Gryffindor, Elizabeth," a voice said not far from her.

Percy Weasley, impeccably straight-backed and precise, cast a brief, measured look in her direction.

"A Hatstall, then," he added, adjusting his glasses. "Very rare. They say Professor McGonagall was the last one."

Her stomach tightened. Percy. After all these years, there he was, only a few seats away, every inch as formal and exacting as she remembered. She frowned at the sound of her full name—Elizabeth. Only her mother ever called her that, and only when she was angry. Before she could stop herself, her mouth opened.

"Hello, Percival."

The words came out too quickly, too sharply, and regret rose up immediately. Fred and George, just a few seats down, exchanged amused, barely concealed glances, and Betty's chest tightened in embarrassment.

Percy pressed his lips into a thin line, eyebrows twitching as if weighing whether to correct her or let it pass, but he didn't seem bothered. If anything, a faint glimmer of pleasure flickered across his expression. Somewhere across the hall, McGonagall's sharp voice pierced the murmurs: "Carmichael, Eddie!" The Hat had barely finished before applause erupted from the Ravenclaw table.

"Percy will do."

Betty forced a nervous, uneven smile avoiding looking him directly into his eyes.

"And I go by Betty—please."

"Chang, Cho!" McGonagall's voice cut through the awkward tension, though Betty barely registered it. For a moment, Percy's sternness softened and a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. He gave a tiny nod, as if to concede a truce, and sat up straighter.

Fred muttered under his breath, "Merlin's beard."

George snorted, and ducked his head and his shoulders shook with laughter, while Fred pressed his lips together in mock seriousness.

Percy glanced at them, his gaze steady and unflinching.

"Betty was just being polite," he said evenly, his voice carrying firmly across the table.

Fred's snort turned into a grin, tugging at the corners of his lips.

"No, she mocked you, Perce."

Betty's eyes widened and she felt a flicker of panic rise. She pressed her lips together, forcing her face into a neutral expression,and shook her head quickly.

Then Fred leaned forward, grinning widely. "Oi, Betty! Word is you've already pulled off your first heroic deed. Saved a poor boy from drowning, was it?"

Betty glanced up slightly and returned his grin with a faint smile.

"It was nothing," she muttered, shrugging. "If I hadn't done it, someone else would have." 

George pretended to be offended. "But you did it. And you ruined your cloak in the process. That counts double."

Katie chuckled next to her, and Betty shook her head and looked down at her wet hands. In the warm glow of the hall, everything appeared golden and festive—everything except her. The sudden attention made Betty uneasy. She felt Percy's gaze piercing into her, and although she initially tried to look away, something inside her compelled her to lift her head, and their eyes met.

For a moment, it felt as if time itself had frozen. She saw a memory flashing in his mind: a gust of wind tearing through a child's bedroom, stuffed toys thrown into the air, a poster fluttering against the wall, the sound of Percy's body hitting it, his voice distorted by panic, and her own face, frozen in shock.

Instinctively, Betty looked away, her gaze dropping to her hands, which were beginning to take on a faint bluish colour, yet it was nothing compared to the weight that had settled heavily on her chest.

So he had not forgotten—not how she had nearly made the room erupt, not what she had done to him back then — and though she knew she had been only a child, acting out of fear and pain, the old shame rose inside her, pressing her lips together as she realized that, despite everything, Percy remembered, and suddenly she felt like that small, uncertain child again, unsure how to handle all the magic and all the fury swirling inside her.

Just as she tried to swallow the shame, a voice cut through the noise of the Great Hall.

"Siccare."

Confused, she looked up to see Percy leaning over, and he gave her a small, encouraging nod while he pointed at her wet clothes.

Startled, Betty blinked and reached for her wand, which was tucked into her cloak pocket. She pulled it out, closed her eyes briefly, and murmured carefully, "Siccare."

At first, nothing happened, and then Percy's voice reached her again, almost lost in the hustle and noise of the hall.

"Think about warmth. Focus."

This time, she tried again with determination. She imagined the warmth he had suggested and felt a faint tingling run down her back as she slowly traced her wand along her body and down her legs. The fabric of her robe lightened and the cold began to fade.

Betty exhaled softly in relief. "Thank you," she whispered, meeting Percy's gaze, a tentative smile tugging at her lips.

Percy returned her look briefly, then gave a small nod and straightened in his seat.

Betty turned forward again, her heart beating softly against her ribs. It felt lighter than before and she realised that a small part of the burden she carried had just lifted. She was relieved that even though Percy remembered, he had somewhat forgiven her. Her mood shifted subtly, just enough to make her feel calmer. She glanced over to the twins.

"You owe me a box of Chocolate Frogs," she said with a wink.

Fred and George pulled faces, then rolled their eyes, though their expressions shone with amusement.

"So... Betty," Fred began with a wide grin, "got any big plans for your first year? Maybe a few legendary pranks? We could certainly use your help. Like in good old times."

Percy sighed audibly and turned back to Betty. "I hope you do not let those two lead you too far astray, Betty. They have caused enough chaos already."

Betty flinched slightly and murmured, "I—I don't know." She fiddled nervously with the hem of her sleeve.

Fred snorted. "Oh come on, Percy, we are the best role models she could ask for. You're just scared we might get on your nerves again."

Percy made a slight grimace but said nothing more. Instead, he started talking to an older boy next to him as if the conversation were over. Betty couldn't help but grin, and some of the tension she had felt during the Sorting process eased. She no longer felt like an outsider, and that meant more to her than anything else.

Betty turned to watch the sorting.

"Davies, Finnley!" A tall boy with blond curls and glasses sitting slightly askew on his nose stepped forward hesitantly.

"Hufflepuff!"

"Dunbar, Fay!"

Fay, a confident looking girl with long dark braids, sat on the stool. The hat touched her head almost immediately and then called out decisively, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table cheered once more as Fay joined them, sitting opposite Betty. She immediately began chatting with Katie, who seemed to have already met her on the train.

"Edgecombe, Marietta!" A seemingly shy girl with curly, reddish blonde hair. stepped forward. No sooner had the hat touched her head than it called out, "Ravenclaw!"

"Flint, Celeste!"

Celeste stepped forward with an almost aristocratic poise, as if she already knew exactly where she belonged. Her black hair gleamed in the candlelight. The hat wasted no time before sharply declaring, "Slytherin!"

"Hopkins, Carl!"

Carl, who seemed a little shy, sat on the stool. The hat was almost instant in its decision, "Gryffindor!"

Relieved and surprised, Carl joined Fay, who immediately involved him in conversation. He nodded shyly.

Cormac was called next, and the hat loudly declared, "Gryffindor!" The Gryffindor table erupted in applause again, but Cormac hesitated slightly before sitting down. Betty noticed the shadow in his eyes, a pride he seemed to be pushing aside for the moment.

Fred and George leaned in close, whispering and giggling quietly. Fred smirked mockingly.

"Well, no surprise he ends up in Gryffindor. Though... after that incident by the lake... he should've been a Slytherin."

George added, "Throwing the boy into the water like that doesn't go unnoticed, McLaggen."

Cormac swallowed and glanced away briefly. His confident expression from the train ride was gone. "It wasn't on purpose," he muttered, more to himself than to the twins.

Fred let out a dry laugh and leaned towards Betty. "Well, looks like you won't be getting rid of him anytime soon." He gave her an amused look. Betty managed a small smile, nodded quietly, and watched as Cormac tried to hide his uncertainty.

Betty barely noticed the rest of the first years being called by McGonagall as more children took their seats at the Gryffindor table.

"Rosier, Adrian!"

Adrian stepped forward with the air of someone confident in his fate. The hat left no doubt and declared, "Slytherin!"

Applause broke out once again at the Slytherin table, and Adrian joined them with an almost triumphant smile.

Finally, McGonagall called, "Wood, Garreth!"

Garreth strode forward, and the Sorting Hat barely hesitated before shouting, "Gryffindor!"

One final cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table. One older boy, more exuberant than the others, jumped to his feet, clapping loudly and moving to make space for Garreth.

"Well, now that everyone has found their place," Dumbledore said slowly with a wink, "I invite you all to a delicious feast! May it strengthen you and mark the beginning of a wonderful year at Hogwarts."

No sooner had he said the word feast than a lavish banquet appeared on the tables. The first years stared with wide eyes and open mouthed at the tables as the food appeared almost magically. The variety was overwhelming—golden roast chicken legs, steaming stews, fresh fruit bowls, and tempting desserts. Most threw themselves onto the food immediately, while others, like Betty, took a moment just to marvel at the abundance before them. Betty felt her stomach rumble and reached for one of the bowls of roast potatoes that had appeared in front of her. She took a bite and let her eyes wander through the crowd.

As she ate, she overheard Percy telling Holly Gallagher—a first year Muggleborn with blonde curls and bright blue eyes that had immediately caught Betty's attention—about the school ghosts.

"Each house has its own ghost," Percy began. "Gryffindor has Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, also known as Nearly Headless Nick. Slytherin has the Bloody Baron, Hufflepuff the Fat Friar, and Ravenclaw the Grey Lady."

Just as Holly was about to ask a question, a faint rattling sound came from one of the plates, and Nearly Headless Nick emerged. Holly froze and let out a startled sound at the sight.

Nick, in an almost friendly tone, said, "Good evening, my dear children!"

"There he is," said Percy with a brief nod towards the ghost. "He loves to give people a fright, but don't worry—he is actually harmless."

Betty turned away from Fred and George and caught sight of Cormac, who was now sitting upright again. His expression had regained its usual confidence, but there was a flicker of tension in his eyes that she didn't miss. When their gazes met, he grinned, speaking with a mixture of defiance and uncertainty.

"Not a Slytherin after all, then."

Betty gave a small shrug, keeping her tone cool. "Obviously not."

Cormac held her gaze for a fraction longer, as though waiting for a different reaction, but eventually forced a smile that seemed too deliberate. Betty could tell the bravado was more show than truth and turned back to her meal without further comment.

Once the feast was over, Betty let her eyes wander around the Great Hall. Between the tables she spotted Tonks, sitting with Julian and Frankie at Hufflepuff. All three waved at her. Tonks pointed towards the boy who had been dripping wet earlier. He was now dry, his hair slightly rumpled. "Well done," Tonks mouthed with a both thumbs up.

Two older students—a boy and a girl—with silver "V" badges on their robes led the first years from the Great Hall. The group followed them through long, dim corridors, passing high stone walls and narrow side passages that hinted at the castle's secrets. As they approached a set of staircases, one of the prefects glanced back at the first years.

"Be careful," the girl warned. "These stairs shift without warning. Stay together, and don't get lost—or you'll find yourself somewhere you didn't intend to be."

Katie and Betty exchanged a quick glance, then fell in step beside Garreth Wood. He murmured that he was glad to be in the same house as his older brother. The girls kept their voices low and glanced back often, making sure no one lagged behind. The portraits watched them silently, seemingly assessing them as they passed.

Finally, they arrived a plump lady's portrait hung. The prefect spoke the password "Valentia", and with a soft click, the painting swung aside to reveal the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

"Come on, in you go," the prefect said warmly, stepping through first.

The Gryffindor common room glowed with firelight. Well worn armchairs clustered around the hearth, and portraits of former Gryffindors lined the walls. The space felt open yet comfortable, low wooden tables scattered throughout, candles flickering gently.

The girl prefect pointed to the right. "Girls' dormitory is up there. Each year has its own floor. Bathrooms are in the middle, with shared showers and toilets," she explained, smiling. "No one should wander out at night."

Then she gestured left. "Boys' dormitories are upstairs on the left. There's plenty of space, and the beds are large and comfortable. You'll settle in quickly enough."

Betty followed the other first year girls up the winding stone staircase. At the top, they paused for a moment, unsure which bed to choose. The room was simple yet homely—five large, four poster beds were arranged in a semi-circle around a small stone fireplace. Tapestries depicting lions and gold stars adorned the walls, and a narrow shelf was fixed above each bed to hold personal belongings. Betty spotted her suitcase at the foot of a bed; someone had collected her belongings from the train and placed them neatly there. She set down her cloak, took a deep breath and let the warm glow of the fire and the quiet order of the room sink in. All girls went to their beds with their luggage in front of it, starting to unpack them.

Katie, whose bed was directly next to Betty's, walked over to her, turned around quickly, and put her arms around her. Betty froze, her muscles tightening as she felt the sudden contact. The hug was warm, but also unexpected. She stood still, unsure whether to pull away or stay put in order to avoid offending her new friend. Katie noticed immediately and stepped back, her cheeks flushed.

"O! I'm sorry—I am just so excited. I hope I didn't startle you or anything."

Betty forced a small smile, giving a short nod.

"It is alright."

Inside, she hoped that Katie wouldn't feel the need to hug her again any time soon. There was something in Katie's enthusiasm that was both comforting and unsettling—a kind of fearless openness. Betty wasn't used to people reaching out so quickly.

"I just can't believe we are actually here," Katie went on, her voice bright. "It is going to be brilliant. I am glad we are in the same house."

Betty gave another small nod and smiled. She did like Katie even if the sudden hug had been too much. There was something about her energy that felt oddly reassuring, like she might be someone worth keeping close in a place full of strangers. She turned to her bed, laid her pyjamas on the mattress, and set the alarm clock she had pulled from her suitcase. The other girls behind her began to talk.

"I am Holly Gallagher," said a light, lilting voice. "From Ireland. East coast. My parents are Muggles."

"Oh, really!" said the other girl, her tone high and full of energy. Her Scottish accent was impossible to miss. "What did they say when the letter came? I'm Fay Dunbar."

Holly laughed quietly. "They thought it was a joke. My dad is a hairdresser, my mum is a painter. We had nothing to do with magic." She paused for a moment. "Dumbledore came to see us. Introduced himself, explained everything. Then a woman from the Ministry took us to Diagon Alley to get everything I needed."

"Wow," a girl with dark hair said softly. "Did that even work? I mean—Diagon Alley with Muggles?"

"It was—strange. But somehow it worked," Holly replied, her voice steady yet carrying a trace of pride. "My parents were impressed. My mum said it was like one of her dreams. Only with more weirdly dressed people."

Katie laughed, and Fay joined in. Betty sank into the mattress, which was softer than she had expected. The smooth cover felt cool beneath her fingers. The windows opposite were framed by heavy curtains, deep red trimmed with gold. Between them, a gap wide enough to see the sky. Beyond the glass, the dark branches of the Forbidden Forest rustled gently in the distance, while the lake sparkled in the moonlight.

Fay leaned forward slightly, her expression sharper now. „Both my parents are wizards. I think some great-grandmother or something was Muggleborn, but I am not exactly sure."

Katie grinned. „I am Katie Bell. My parents are wizards too."

Betty rolled over her new bed. „I am Betty Black," she murmured as the girls turned their curious gazes towards her.

Fay raised an eyebrow and looked at Betty sharply. „Black? As in the Black family? You know, those pureblood fanatics? And you ended up in Gryffindor?" She let out a half-spoiling, half-disbelieving laugh. "I bet quite a few Blacks are turning in their graves right now."

Holly glanced between them uncertainly. She frowned but stayed silent. Fay lowered her voice a little and leaned closer to Holly.

„The Blacks have a reputation, you know. Dark magic, blood purity, following You-Know-Who."

Holly's eyes widened in surprise. „Who is You-Know-Who?"

"One of the worst Dark wizards in history," Fay said. "Killed loads of people, tried to take over everything. And those blood fanatics in families like the Blacks don't want Muggleborns in Hogwarts at all. They think it's all about keeping the bloodlines pure."

Holly froze, her fingers stilling on the clasp of her trunk. "They—don't?"

The words hung in the air. Betty shifted uncomfortably on her bed. It was strange, having them argue about her like she wasn't there.

Katie shot Fay a sharp look, her voice rising with challenge.

"Oh, really? Betty was the only one who jumped into the lake to saved that boy. Where were you then, huh? Maybe you should think twice before throwing accusations around."

Fay opened her mouth to reply but Katie was quick to continue, eyes fierce. "Betty saved a life. That is what matters. Not her name."

A small, unwanted warmth curled in Betty's chest all the same at Katie's defence.

"My family's marked as blood traitors," Betty said quietly but firmly. "My uncle is a Muggleborn. My mother works in the Ministry and advocates for Muggleborn rights." Betty glanced toward Holly and spoke softly, "I don't believe in those old traditions, if that helps."

Holly nodded and showed a small smile.

The other girl, who had been sorted into Gryffindor and had been watching the argument while holding a book, looked up with interest. "Lucinda Malfoy is your mother, isn't she?"

Betty nodded, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. She hadn't expected anyone to know.

The girl smiled faintly. "My uncle mentioned your mother the other day... said she was sending a daughter to Hogwarts this year. Thought it might be you. By the way—I'm Mira Ashford."

Fay blinked. „A Malfoy?"

Katie glanced at her, tone low but loaded. "Just shut it!"

Mira, still sitting cross-legged with her book, glanced up. "Yeah—a Malfoy advocating for the rights of Muggleborns. Not that hard to believe if you've met her."

Fay held up her hands. "Hey—no offence. It's not just—very common."

Betty gave a slight nod. She rolled onto her side and began unpacking her school books, stacking them on the shelf above her bed. The other girls had opened their trunks by now, pulling out bits and pieces. Fay sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping through a notebook. Katie draped one leg over the edge of her bed and pinned a Quidditch poster above her headboard. Holly stood nearby, her brow furrowed slightly.

She quietly closed her trunk and glanced towards Katie's Quidditch poster. "Does that really move? Or am I imagining things?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

"Of course it does moive," Katie grinned. "That's Quidditch! You don't know it? Oh well—no, obviously you don't."

Betty watched as Holly blushed faintly. It was curiosity, not embarrassment; her eyes shone with genuine interest.

"I overheard some boys talking about it on the train," Holly said, sitting up a little straighter. "One said his brother scored four goals last season? Or balls? I don't really know—I didn't quite get it."

Katie laughed, leaning back on her elbows with a relaxed air. "Okay, so—Quidditch is the best sport in the world. You've got seven players on each side, three Chasers, two Beaters, a Keeper, and the Seeker who hunts the Golden Snitch. The Quaffle is for scoring, Bludgers try to knock you off, and the Snitch ends the game—whoever teams catches it gets a ton of points."

"Ah, that's sound," Holly said, eyes wide.

"It definitely is," Katie said immediately, grinning.

Fay scooted closer. "You play Quidditch?"

"Since I was six," said Katie proudly, and further explained to Holly. "I can't wait to try out for the House team next year. Each house has its own team and there are matches throughout the year. The house that scores the most wins the Quidditch Cup."

"I play Camogie back home," Holly said. "It's like Hurling, but for girls."

Fay frowned. "What's Hurling?"

"It's an Irish sport," Holly explained. "You play with a stick that looks a bit like a wide wooden sword, and you hit a small leather ball called a sliotar. It's fast, fairly physical, but you're not allowed to just carry the ball. You have to balance it on the stick or strike it."

Mira looked up. "Sounds like Quidditch. Only without broomsticks."

"And on the ground," Holly added giggling. "And without flying balls trying to knock you out." She grinned. "Still pretty intense though. I nearly broke my ankle last year."

Katie gave an approving nod. "Alright, that does sound impressive. I always thought Muggles only played things like—uhh—"

"Footbal? They do," Holly said dryly. "But Ireland has other priorities."

Betty watched as Fay flopped onto her pillow, stretching lazily before pulling her pyjamas from the trunk with an air of habit. Mira had already tucked her clothes neatly onto her shelf and was now pinning a small photograph to the inside of her bed. Around her, the voices grew louder. Katie was describing a Bludger that had nearly knocked her unconscious. Holly listened with her mouth slightly open, half horrified, half fascinated. Mira had curled up on her bed, writing in a small notebook. She seemed more inclined to watch than to join in.

Betty lay back with her arms behind her head, staring at the canopy. It didn't feel unfamiliar, even though everything was new. It sharing a dorm didn't seem to be that bad.

"You have an Aberdeen accent," Katie said to Fay. "Are you from there?"

Fay shook her head. "Not exactly. I'm from near Inverness."

Holly tilted her head. "Did you take the Hogwarts Express too? I mean—Inverness isn't all that far from here. Couldn't you have just gone straight to Hogsmeade?"

Fay gave a shrug. "Aye, that would have been easier, but I wanted to do the train journey. How often do you get the chance to ride a magic train across the country?"

The conversation wandered on. Holly, now sitting on her bed, was sorting through a pile of socks when she looked up. "How did you lot get to London then? We flew from Dublin."

Betty turned her head slightly, listening more closely.

"Flew?" Fay raised an eyebrow. "Oh, you mean in one of those flying cars?"

"Airplane," Holly said with a small laugh.

Fay grinned. "Right. Well, we travelled by Floo Powder to the Leaky Cauldron and then walked to the station."

"What's Floo Powder?" Holly asked at once.

Katie turned from where she was adjusting her poster. "It's a network of connected fireplaces. You throw the powder into the fire, say your destination clearly, and you travel through the flames to get there."

Holly's eyes widened. "That's sound. We have a fireplace at home. So I could just step in and end up in London?"

Mira shook her head. "Not quite. The fireplace has to be linked to the Floo Network."

Betty noticed the slight furrow of Holly's brow. She struck Betty as someone who immediately sorted new information, fitting it into place. Betty liked that.

"So why can't you just come to Hogwarts by fireplace then?" Holly asked.

"Hogwarts isn't connected to the network for safety reasons," Mira said simply.

Betty agreed inwardly. Her mother had once told her that Hogwarts was more than just a school; it was a fortress, and nothing entered without Dumbledore's knowledge.

She glanced at the others. Fay yawned. Katie was still fussing with her poster. Holly sat swinging her legs, a bundle of socks in her hands. Mira had gone quiet, looking out at the night through the gap in the curtains. For a while, no one spoke. Not the silence of discomfort, but the kind that lingers because there is no need to fill it. Soon all girls had changed into their pyjamas.

It had been a long day, and Betty could feel her eyelids becoming heavy. She slid under the blanket, rested her head on the soft pillow and closed her eyes. She considered having a shower to wash the lake off her, but her mind and body felt too heavy to get up.

Just as she began drifting off to sleep, she heard a faint sound from somewhere across the dorm. It was barely audible, but it made her open her eyes just enough to see a shadow moving behind the curtains. Before she could take a closer look, her eyes closed again, with a soft exhale she finally fell asleep.

Chapter Text

3rd September 1990, Hogwarts.

Betty woke early in the Gryffindor dormitory. The first night at Hogwarts had felt unfamiliar—the quiet breathing of the other girls, the occasional rustle of sheets—yet oddly reassuring. Despite her excitement, she had slept better than expected and now found herself awake before most of the others. Lessons would begin today, and a restless mix of anticipation and nerves stirred in her stomach. She turned once in her bed, glanced at the girls still sleeping, then let her gaze drift to the window where the sky was growing lighter. The first proper day at Hogwarts. Betty could hardly wait.

She slipped in her dressing gown and went up the spiral staircase to the washrooms. The faint smell of the lake still clung to her hair, and she was determined to be rid of it before classes. From down the corridor came the chatter and laughter of the girls already getting ready. One door led to the shared showers, another to the toilets. Betty hesitated at the entrance, watching how easily the others moved about—exchanging the newest gossip, chatting about the holidays while undressing without fuss, and washing as though it were the most natural thing in the world. So Betty dropped her gown and stepped under a shower. Hot water rushed over her, steam rising as the lake smell vanished. She scrubbed herself quickly, focused more on finishing than enjoying it.

Back in the dormitory, Betty slipped into her school robes and laced her shoes. She flicked her wand, muttering the drying charm she'd learned yesterday, and warm air ruffled through her hair until it was completely dry. She tied it back in a messy bun, then shoved her quill, parchment, and books into her bag with quick movements before heading downstairs. Katie was already waiting in the common room, a grin stretched across her face that showed her being as excited as Betty.

"First day! I can't wait to see what we actually do in lessons." Katie bounced slightly on her toes, unable to keep still.

Betty gave a short nod. "We'll find out sooner or later."

Together, they headed for the Great Hall, only to find the corridors far less straightforward without the prefects to guide them. At least twice they ended up back in front of the same portrait of a couple of witches in old fashioned gowns, sipping tea under a tree and watching them with amusement, while midway, a staircase shifted, forcing them to turn back.

Katie frowned at the moving steps. "How is anyone supposed to find their way around?"

Betty shrugged. "We'll get used to it. Everyone does."

A portrait of a lady in a dark purple gown leaned slightly forward, nodding toward a narrow passage and murmuring the correct way. Following her directions, the smell of bacon and toast finally reached them, and they knew they were on track for the Great Hall. Inside, the tables were filling quickly with students who already chattered excitedly about the day ahead. At the Gryffindor table Cormac and a handful of boys leaned together, discussing upcoming classes. Katie rolled her eyes at Cormac, when he confidently told the other how he'd already done magic and how he would master charms and transfirguration in the first lesson.

Katie and Betty sat down next to Fay, Holly and Mira. Katie immediately piled scrambled eggs and bacon onto her plate, while Betty chose porridge and a slice of toast. Katie fell straight into conversation with the girls. Betty noticed Holly, who was watching in awe as owls flew above their heads delivering the morning post. She had just begun eating, when Professor McGonagall made her way towards the first year students, with quick and purposeful movement, holding a collection of timetables in her hand.

"This morning you will have Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology," she announced, with clear voice. "After lunch you proceed to Potions. Be on time, keep to your schedule, and ensure you bring the correct materials." She moved on without further ado, handing out timetables as she went.

Betty accepted hers and skimmed the neat columns of lessons. She was just about to add jam to her porridge when someone appeared from the Hufflepuff table. Tonks, her hair today a dark turquoise, dropped herself beside Betty.

"Oi kiddo, my little heroine," she said with a grin.

Betty rolled her eyes. "Stop it."

"Half the school's talking about it." Tonks reached shamelessly across the table and took a slice of toast from Betty's plate.

"You're exaggerating."

"Maybe. But they should be."

Betty's shoulders tensed. She stirred the porridge without eating it. For her, the incident was already done with. It hadn't been heroism. It had been instinct. A boy nearly drowned, so she had jumped. That was all. She disliked the way others tried to turn it into something grand. Especially so early in the day over breakfast.

"I only did what was needed," she muttered. Then she glanced up, suddenly knowing how to change subject, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. "And what about your Saturday night in London? Anything exciting? Or did you just spend it snogging?" She lowered her voice. "Or perhaps a bit more—?"

Tonks almost choked on the toast, eyes widening.

"Betty!"

"What?" Betty's expression was all mock innocence. "I was supposed to snoop around for you, remember? Least you can do is tell me what's going on."

But the faint flush creeping across Tonks' cheeks was answer enough.

She eyed Betty, one brow arched. "Aren't you bit young to know this stuff?"

Betty set down her spoon for a moment. "Mum told me. How it works. How to avoid it. Then I did the maths." She looked up toward the ceiling, lips pressing together as she calculated quickly in her head. "I was born in December. She graduated in June. Which means she must've been pregnant during her last term here." She pushed the empty bowl away. "Apparently, that's not to be repeated."

Tonks starred at Betty, blinked and eventually burst out laughing. Betty tilted her head and her eyes widened in horror.

"You mean you didn't know? You did take precautions, right?"

Tonks spluttered with laughter, though a trace of colour still lingered on her face.

"Of course we did! But I wasn't eleven when I learnt it." She shook her head, half amused, half incredulous. "Honestly — who'd have thought the eleven-year-old would be giving the seventeen-year-old the Fairy-and-Moonflower talk."

Betty only shrugged. "That's just how it is. It's not like it want to try it myself." She pulled a face in disgust.

Tonks laughed again, reached out and gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. "Better that way. Still — good on you for knowing."

Betty shrugged once more, though the faintest smile showed on her lips as Tonks stood, wished her luck for the day, and left.

After breakfast, Katie and Betty made their way to the classroom where their first Transfiguration lesson along with the Ravenclaws would be held. The room, with its neat rows of desks, suited the teacher who entered moments later. Professor McGonagall, upright and precise, let her sharp gaze sweep across the students before taking her place at the front. All chatters stopped immediately.

Then, without warning, she transformed into a cat. The class was filled with astonished gasps as the animal darted briskly across the room before abruptly shifting back into the professor. Betty stared, her mouth half-open. She knew exactly how the Professor achieved this, but witnessing the transfiguration with her own eyes was different. Something inside her tightened in excitement—this was exactly what she wanted to master one day.

"Transfiguration is one of the most demanding magical disciplines," McGonagall explained. "It requires precision, control, and a strong connection to one's own magic. Who can tell me what I have just performed?"

Betty's hand shot up. At a nod, she said quickly, "You're an Animagus, Professor."

Zuberi had once explained that almost every student at Uagadou was trained in becoming an Animagi.

"Correct," McGonagall replied, with the briefest inclination of her head. "Five points to Gryffindor."

Katie beamed at Betty, who felt a sudden surge of pride.

"Animagi represent one of the most advanced branches of Transfiguration. Registration is required, and the training may take years. Now — quills, parchment, ink."

Betty fumbled in her bag, grabbing quill and parchment, but something was missing.

"Could I use your ink, please?" She whispered to Katie, cheeks burning. "I must've left mine in the trunk."

Without hesitation Katie moved her ink between them. "Sure."

By then, McGonagall had neat lines of theoretical basics of Transfiguration appear on the board, explaining the different types-Transformation, Switching, Vanishment, Conjuration, and even Untransfiguration and how each affected the form and appearance of an object, animal, or person. The class bent their heads, copying as she spoke of substance, intent, and the shaping of material. The professor then waved her wand and made a matchstick appear in front of each student.

"Today you will attempt to transform these into silver needles. Watch closely." With one precise flick and one firm incantation — "Argentacus" — and her matchstick lengthened, transforming into a flawless needle.

"Do not expect immediate success," she added. "It is not force that matters, but the discipline of detail. Concentrate on the transformation, not merely the outcome."

Betty took a deep breath, focused on the matchstick, and whispered, "Argentacus."

Nothing. She tried again.

The matchstick twitched, glimmered faintly, then thickened awkwardly into a stub. Still far from a needle. Frustrated, Betty pressed her lips together.

Professor McGonagall's sharp voice cut through the quiet. "Remember, students, the success of a transfiguration depends not only on intent but on understanding the material itself — what it is made of and how it responds to magic. And pronunciation matters. Emphasize the second syllable."

Betty bit her upper lip and nodded. To her right, Katie's matchstick remained stubbornly unchanged, though her brow furrowed in fierce concentration. Cormac muttered a curse under his breath as yet another attempt fizzled.

From the front row, a Ravenclaw girl lowered her wand. Her matchstick had taken on a proper silver sheen, though it retained its wooden form.

McGonagall stopped beside her desk. "A sound attempt, Miss Chang. You've achieved material change, which is already more than most first attempts manage. Now focus on precision of the image. Think less of the finished result, more of the transition from one state to another."

Betty's stomach tightened. A sharp, unwelcome sense of jealousy washed over her, yet it pushed her to work harder. If that girl could manage it, then so could she.

Katie leaned over, whispering, "Didn't expect the first lesson to be this hard."

Betty said nothing, eyes still fixed on the black-haired Ravenclaw.

By the end of the lesson, Betty's matchstick shone faintly silver. Most others hadn't changed at all, but the sting of someone doing it better stayed with her. McGonagall handed out their first essay: twelve inches on the difficulties of Transfiguration into another material. A low murmur filled the room. Betty exhaled softly, overwhelmed already by the thought of finding the right words to start.

The second lesson, Charms, was a complete contrast to the first. The classroom was bright, the walls lined with shelves gleaming with wands and curious magical objects. At its centre stood Professor Flitwick, Ravenclaws head, a tiny, energetic wizard, perched on a high stack of books to see over the desks. His glasses caught the light and his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he turned towards them.

"Today we shall learn how to levitate a feather with Wingardium Leviosa!" he announced, spreading his arms in welcome. His voice was high and full of excitement, his hands moving in small, almost theatrical gestures.

Betty watched intently as he demonstrated the charm, wand flicking neatly, the feather rising from the desk as though it was weightless. She studied every movement, her expression focused, almost absorbed. A faint smile touched her lips. That one, she knew she could do.

"Now, everyone — no wands yet, just the incantation! Join me!" Flitwick's voice rang cheerfully. "Wingardium... Leviosa!" The students imitated him. "Excellent! Very good. Now it's your turn."

Betty took her wand in her hand, moved it in the now familiar way and murmured the spell. The feather lifted softly. Her breathing quickened slightly, her satisfaction evident despite her attempts to hide it.

Flitwick clapped his hands, eyes alight with delight. "Excellent, Miss Black! Precise control — very well done indeed!"

The praise made her forget the sting of failure from earlier lessons, if only for a moment.

Katie sat beside her, wand trembling in her grip. Her feather twitched, stubbornly refusing to rise. She glanced at Betty, a mix of admiration and frustration in her gaze. "How do you... make it look so easy?" she whispered.

Betty tilted her head, remembering how she herself had struggled with the spell just a few days ago.

"I don't know... I just picture it in my head," she murmured. "And I... I practised it at the weekend."

Katie rolled her eyes but grinned, leaning closer. "Swot."

"Imagine the feather floating, and keep the hand steady," Betty explained.

Katie inhaled sharply and tried again, muttering the incantation. The feather quivered but refused to rise fully. "Am I saying it wrong?"

Betty listened, then tilted her head. "You're stressing the last syllable too much... try the second last. Wingardium Leviosa."

Katie adjusted her pronunciation. The feather trembled, lifted shakily, then floated steadily. Her eyes widened, and she laughed. "I did it! I actually did!"

Around them, more feathers began to float, laughter and whispers filling the room. Only Cormac looked increasingly irritable. Jaw clenched, brow furrowed, he hacked the air with his wand. His feather barely stirred. He gave an impatient snort. "Why won't it work?" he muttered to himself.

Katie nudged Betty with her elbow, her eyes gleaming with malicious delight. "Look at McLaggen," she whispered. "Not quite so sure of himself now."

Betty's mouth twitched as she tried to suppress a laugh until Cormac's gaze shot up and met hers. For a moment, his eyes locked on hers, sharp and penetrating. His grip on his wand whitened, and his expression was a mixture of anger and unease. But also frustration simmering beneath. Something in his look made her pause, and against her will she felt something like sympathy for him.

She leant closer. "Don't worry, Cormac," she said quietly. "It'll come. You'll manage it."

He turned his head to her in surprise and looked at her, she felt the hope in him rising. His voice dropped. "Could you... show me? Please?"

Betty nodded and, a little hesitantly, set her hand over his, fingers guiding the wand.

"You're moving your hand too hastily. More like this." She spoke the words softly, moving their hands with care. "And say it more like — Wingardium Leviosa."

The feather stirred, rose an inch. Yet Cormac's eyes were not on it. They were fixed on her. The frustration had been replaced by something warmer, softer. Directed at her. A sharp unease ran through her, and for a moment she didn't know what to do, and she quickly pulled her hand back.

"Something like that," she said quickly, eyes down and turning forward.

Cormac cleared his throat, tried again the way she'd shown him, and this time the feather lifted. Betty stayed almost frozen, still feeling the weight of his attention, feeling uneasy after seeing what was in his mind. It left her uncertain how to handle this, so she forced herself to keep looking forward and ignore him for the rest of the class.

After Charms, they went outside to the greenhouses for Herbology. The morning's blue, cloudless sky had turned grey, and the air felt damp, as if it was about to rain. They joined the Hufflepuffs in the greenhouse, where their head of house, a friendly woman — Professor Sprout — explained how to repot a Mimbulus Mimbletonia. The plant had to be handled carefully, or it would spray a foul-smelling fluid.

Katie, who had been paired with Cormac, soon began arguing with him over who should hold the plant. Apparently, Cormac being humbled the lesson before had already faded. The argument ended with Cormac gripping the plant too tightly, and Katie was promptly covered in the stinking spray. Professor Sprout shook her head, scolding him for being far too rough, while Betty and the others couldn't help but stifle smiles at the chaos.

By the time they left, the greenhouse was aired out, and laughter still lingered over Katie claiming she was the "plant whisperer."

They walked back to the castle for lunch. In the Great Hall, Betty and Katie took their seats. Moments later, the Weasley twins arrived, Fred plopping onto the bench with a cheeky grin.

"Turned into animals yet?" he asked, eyes narrowing in mock mischief.

"Not yet, but McLaggen covered me with stinky juice," Katie said sharply, still annoyed, telling the Herbology disaster. At the far end of the table, Cormac glared at them, when Fred half-voiced said "McLaggen being McLaggen". Betty noticed some of the Gryffindor boys and Mira leaning toward him, speaking quietly. Soft giggles rippled around the table anyway, and Betty kept her smile measured, observing rather than joining in.

George raised his brows. "What's after lunch, then?"

"Potions," Katie muttered, "With Professor Snape."

George rolled his eyes, leaning towards her. "Brilliant. Almost as bad as a dragon bite. One look from that greasepot, and you feel like you've made the worst mistake of your life."

Betty chuckled softly, though a hint of unease remained. She knew Snape was strict, but the stories she had heard from the twins, along with what Lee had said, made Potions class seem unpredictable. She didn't say out loud that they might have brought it on themselves, as she knew how much trouble they could get into. She straightened her robes, brushed a crumb from her sleeve, and stood up. Together with the other girls, she made her way towards the dungeons.

When they arrived, it was cold and dark as Betty and the other students filled the classroom. The walls seemed to swallow the flicker of the torches, and the air was heavy, tinged with the smell of old herbs, which felt oddly familiar to Betty. It reminded her of her mother's cellar, where she had watched her mother brewing potions and elixirs over the years — a contradictory sensation given the strictness that seemed to hang over the room.

Professor Snape stood at the front of his desk, arms crossed. His gaze was sharp, piercing, as though he would rather be anywhere else. The air hummed with a subtle tension from the latent threat radiating off him.

"Potions require precision," he began, his deep, quiet voice brooking no contradiction. "A single mistake — no matter how small — can result in the entire potion becoming useless." He let the words linger, his eyes scanning the students as though to demand their full attention.

Then he asked questions no first-year could answer: the rare reactions of Acromantula venom when mixed with dragon's blood, or the precise properties of mandrake juice at different stages of growth. Betty silently scolded herself for not studying her mother's potion book more carefully.

Except for a two Slytherins — Adrian Rosier, a dark haired boy and Celeste Flint, a blonde girl — who raised their hand with a self-satisfied grin, the classroom remained still.

When Snape eventually asked a question, what answer Betty knew to, she immediately answered without hesitation. "What is the principal ingredient in a calming drought that ensures its efficacy?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

"Lavender, crocodile heart and peppermint, Professor." Betty replied without hesitation.

Snape paused. His eyes drilled into hers, and for a moment he stared, expressionless. The intensity of his gaze cut into her like a blade. She knew this look well. Yet she did not flinch.

"Incomplete," Snape said finally, eyes narrowing. “Miss Black, do not answer unless called upon." He cast a brief, sharp glance over the class before turning to Adrian Rosier, whose hand remained raised calmly and Snape nodded in his direction.

"Three leaves of peppermint, Professor," Rosier replied immediately. "Dried and grounded."

"Correct, Mr. Rosier. Five points for Slytherin. And—" Snape said coolly, glancing at the students who had watched the scene. "—why is no one taking notes?" Hastily, the students grabbed their quills and began copying down the answers.

A low murmur ran through the Gryffindor benches after Betty's answer was dismissed. Some whispered that Snape was unfair; others muttered at the obviousness that she had received no recognition. Before the unrest could grow, Snape whipped around, his dark eyes flashing.

“Silence!" His voice cut through the room like a blade, and instantly the students stiffened. “Five points from Gryffindor for disruption."

Anger flared in Betty, her hands clenching under the desk. She had not been wrong — Snape had asked only for the ingredients, not the quantities. She drew a deep breath, forcing calm, and focused on the recipe Snape had hastily scrawled on the board: a stimulating potion.

"Your task is to combine the ingredients and ensure the potion achieves its intended effect," Snape continued. "This is a stimulant. It sharpens concentration and energy, yet brewed incorrectly, it will have the opposite effect, inducing paralysis or even fatal sleep."

Betty set to work, carefully preparing her ingredients and following the instructions on the board. When she ground the ginseng, the motion felt so familiar she barely had to think. Without pausing, she ground the ginger too. She stirred three times counterclockwise, and the potion shifted into the deep violet the board described. Relief loosened her chest as she reached for the snake's blood, to be added next.

"Black! Why are you grinding the ginger?" Snape's voice cut across the dungeon, sudden and cold. "Focus!"

Betty flinched, nearly spilling the phial of snake's blood — she had been so intent on her work she hadn't heard him approach. She forced her expression blank at once and looked up quickly, meeting his eyes. "Professor, I—"

"No ‘I'," he cut her icily. "The recipe specifies precisely how the ingredients are to be prepared. To ignore it is carelessness."

Betty lifted her head, meeting his eyes. "But — but the potion has turned out exactly as it should."

A tense silence followed. Snape's gaze narrowed, sharp as a blade. "A coincidence," he said. "Do not rely on coincidences, Miss Black. You are to follow the recipe."

Betty lowered her eyes, cheeks flushing. She had done it automatically, just as her mother had shown her years ago — not sliced, but crushed to release the full potency. An instinctive reflex, second nature. Anger rose, not at him this time, but at herself. She hadn't meant to disobey, yet it looked like she had been careless.

With her heart still pounding after the scolding, she added the snake's blood too early, and instead of deep red, the potion turned dark green. Panic shot through her. She tried to recall her mother's lessons, or anything she had read, forcing herself to stay calm. She couldn't remember whether to raise or lower the heat. Eventually she decided to raising the heat, she watched the colour shift — finally settling into a reddish-purple. She sighed in relief. Not perfect, but passable. At least she wouldn't be scolded again.

Beside her, Holly struggled to decipher the writing, while Fay tried to help her. Katie glanced over at Betty, attempting to follow her technique, but now she chopped the ginger instead of grinding it. Cormac rushed through his work, and it showed. His potion was too thick, the colour had turned wrong — a bright pink. Frowning, he stared into his cauldron.

Snape moved slowly down the rows, his steps echoing in the tense silence. When he passed Betty's table, he glanced briefly at her cauldron. The potion looked almost flawless — not perfect but good enough for a first attempt. Her heart quickened at his proximity. He said nothing: no word, no nod, nothing that could be taken for praise. Only a fleeting, unreadable glance, then he moved on to Cormac.

He scowled at Cormac's potion. "Another mistake, Mr. McLaggen. Would it not be wiser to prioritize precision over speed?" He scanned the Gryffindor benches, darkly amused. "Five points from Gryffindor. Apparently, none of you are capable of the simplest potions." Some Slytherins giggled. Betty and Katie exchanged angry looks.

A few rows over, a Slytherin's cauldron foamed and emitted a sour smell. Snape frowned, then returned his attention to Cormac. Betty felt a surge of injustice. Quietly but firmly, she said, "It's not fair."

Snape turned slowly, eyes boring into hers. He stepped closer, presence oppressive. Betty met his gaze, refusing to look away.

"What did you say?"

"It's unfair to take away points. His potion isn't nearly as bad as that one," she said, nodding toward the bubbling Slytherin cauldron.

"What is fair, Miss Black, I decide. Not you. Or do you wish to dictate how I conduct my lessons?"

"No, sir." Betty bit her lip, forcing herself to meet his gaze without flinching. She wouldn't back down, but she wouldn't give him another reason to mock her either.

"Good. Then ensure your own potion is flawless before commenting on my instruction."

He drifted to Adrian Rosier. His gaze remained sharp, inspecting, and when he observed Rosier's potion, a faint, almost mocking smile touched his lips — a subtle acknowledgment that a Slytherin had followed the rules.

"Sufficient, Mr. Rosier," he said coldly, almost like praise, and Slytherin earned five points for the "successful" potion. The other Slytherins exchanged small, triumphant glances. Even so, the Gryffindor potions — Betty's and also Fay's — had turned a similar shade like Rosier's, not perfect but it was close enough to that violet colour that shimmered evenly in the candlelight.

"That was utterly unfair," Katie murmured, as she, Betty, and Cormac made for the dungeon door.

"Not a word," Cormac replied sharply, voice rough with frustration. "Snape's a bloody git." He glanced at Betty, searching her face for her reaction.

"A greasy git", Katie added.

Betty remained silent. She straightened her shoulders slightly, hands relaxed at her sides, determined not to let the frustration show.

"I don't think he likes anyone from Gryffindor," Katie said with a shrug, "But that was unfair. Your potion was better than Rosier's. Much better." She shot Betty an approving glance.

"Potions are simply horrid," Holly interjected from just behind, voice slightly sharp. "And Snape? He's terrifying. I don't know how anyone can look at him without being scared."

Fay nodded as she walked beside Holly. "I would have run off long before he said a word." She eyed Betty uncertainly. "Impressive how you stood your ground."

Betty replied quietly, with a trace of tension, "If I'd looked away, I'd have done him a favour." She rubbed her forehead, as if trying to wipe the thoughts aside. She didn't want anyone to know how many private lessons she'd had with Snape.

Cormac nodded, voice low. "Yes, you're right. But that was really impressive." He turned to the girls. "I've seen it before. I reckon Black wins every staring contest." A laugh escaped him.

Betty grinned faintly and said dryly, "Well, we could always try."

When she turned to face him, Cormac's eyes lingered on hers for longer than necessary — the same look he had given her in Charms, now more subtle, but unmistakable.

"Thanks for standing up for me," Cormac said suddenly, his tone serious this time. Betty didn't respond immediately. It felt right — no more, no less. She knew he read more into it than she would acknowledge.

She swallowed, lowered her gaze, and said plainly, "One should always stand up against injustice." Raising her head, her voice stayed calm and steady. "No matter who it involves."

Chapter Text

Mid September 1990, Hogwarts.

Betty knew better than to expect praise from Snape. In Occlumency lessons, he had acknowledged her in his own ways—a nod, a measured silence, or demanding she repeat a task until she felt like breaking. He had scolded her before, in the early years when her discipline had been gragile, but not like this. Not so sharp. Not in front of everyone. His words left her feeling exposed, the weight in her chest pressing down until it hurt to breathe. Even as she walked away from the dungeon, the heaviness refused to lift. She felt foolish for letting it linger—Snape had treated Cormac far worse, and from what she'd overheard, other students had endured cruelties harsher than hers. He had scolded her, yes, but it wasn't as if he had singled her out. Still, the sting clung to her. She told herself it was ridiculous to have expected anything different, let alone special treatment. She knew him well enough. And yet, knowing didn't stop her from feeling heavy. But right now she couldn't help it. She reminded herself, as Zuberi had often, that burying feelings did nothing, but despite that knowledge, the anger refused to fade.

The morning of the second day passed quickly, and in History of Magic, Professor Binns—a professor that was actually a ghost— gave a monotonous lecture on the Goblin Wars of the Middle Ages. His voice made the lesson seem longer than it was; only Cormac and Mira seemed to be paying attention. Cormac frowning in concentration or confusion, whispering a comment now and then that made Mira stifle a quiet giggle behind her hand. Betty's attention driffted causing her to unwarily whirling around objects such as a Hufflepuff girl's feather as she fidgeted with her fingers. Only when the girl looked around in surprise Betty abruptle stopped. Katie leaned over to Betty, murmuring "You think Binns's old enough to have witnessed the Goblin Wars?" and both girls giggled.

Betty found the afternoon astronomy lesson slightly more engaging, though her thoughts kept drifting back to the midnight lesson promised for Thursday, pulling her focus away in small, insistent waves that she struggled to ignore. By then the corridors were alive with talk about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts. "He studied dark magic — like actually studied it," Lee whispered during lunch, and Fred claimed he collected cursed objects. Some students laughed at the stories, dismissing them as exaggeration or gossip, but not only Betty's curiosity grew, when she and Katie were looking for the right classroom. When Professor Nightshade finally appeared, the room fell silent almost immediately. He arrived a few minutes late, the door swinging open without a sound as he moved in with an almost gliding step. He paused in the middle of the room, surveying the class for a long moment before taking another step forward.

"My name is Professor Jasper Nightshade," he said smoothly, his voice calm but carrying an energy that seemed to pull the room toward him. "I have been asked to teach you Defence against the Dark Arts. But remember this: you cannot fight what you do not understand—to resist the Dark, you must first know it."

Betty's mouth opened slightly, the words reminding her of something her mother often said. Dark magic wasn't evil on its own; it was a tool, shaped by those who wielded it. She found herself nodding, almost unconsciously, acknowledging the truth in his statement. Nightshade's voice had a strange charm, a fascinating shimmer in his eyes, and when he asked, "Who believes dark magic is nothing more than the tool of wicked wizards?" hands shot up almost instinctively. His smile widened in response, a small, precise movement that seemed both calculated and natural. As if he had expected this answer.

"No," he said, letting each word land slowly, deliberately. "It is knowledge. And it is a test. Underestimate it, and you end weak—or dead."

Several students leaned forward, drawn in by the force of his presence and the clarity of his words. Katie, scribbling quickly on her parchment, whispered to Betty, "Finally, something worth listening to. Better than Binns by a mile."

Then, with deliberate care, Nightshade drew a plain, mottled iron dagger with a dull edge from beneath his desk and placed it on the surface before them. The room seemed to hold its breath.

"This was found in a churchyard in York," he said softly, each word measured, "cursed. Full of malice. No one touches it. Ever."

Though his warning was clear, the faint glow in his eyes as he spoke made Betty shift slightly in her seat, uneasy despite agreeing entirely with what he said. Despite the truth of his words, there was something about the way he regarded the object that unsettled her. Some students whispered nervously. Katie leaned forward, her eyes bright with fascination. Betty watched quietly, torn between admiration for his insight and discomfort at how intense he seemed to be about the subject. She was uncertain whether he was merely passionate or if he was secretly taking pleasure in the danger itself.

With flying lessons not starting until the following week, the afternoon was free for the first-years. Katie and a few others had gathered in the common room to do their homework together. Betty joined them at first, unrolling her parchment and trying to get started. However, the chatter, back-and-forth, laughter and whispering unsettled her more than she had expected. She lost her focus quickly and found writing the essay boring. At last, she stood up, muttering that she was going to the library. She packed her things and left the Gryffindor Tower. But that wasn't where she intended to go.

Instead, she chose to wander through the castle. The heavy stone walls and the scent of old stone had a calming effect on her. As she passed through the corridors, she let her fingers slide along the stone walls. The corridors were filled with life, though she also found quieter corners here and there. On her way, she passed several Hogwarts ghosts. Nearly Headless Nick drifted silently down a passageway while a female ghost slowly faded into a wall. Betty gave them a short nod without stopping to talk. She paused now and again to study the old suits of armour set in the alcoves in the walls, her gaze flicking over the faded crests and banners hanging from the ceiling. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch her from within their frames, but stayed silent.

As she turned around the corner, she saw a cat moving silently towards her. Her face lit up—she liked cats. It had appeared from nowhere and was now standing in the middle of the corridor. Its dust-coloured fur seemed dull in the dim light and its yellow lamp-like eyes were fixed on her. Its bushy tail flicked nervously. Betty crouched down, hoping to greet it, but the cat hissed sharply. It must be Mrs Norris, Mr Filch's cat. Fred and George had warned her about her. Mrs Norris patrolled the castle for Filch and missed nothing. They had also told her that Filch depended on her to catch students in the act and that she seemed to know where they were before anyone else did. Yet she wouldn't let this unsettle her.

Betty held the cat's gaze steadily and said,

"I'm not going to harm you, Mrs Norris."

The cat responded with a low hiss. Betty stood her ground, and the cat neither moved forward nor slinked away. After a moment, Betty continued walking. Mrs Norris didn't follow her, but nor did she disappear from the corridor.

Still searching for a room where she could be completely alone, Betty wandered downstairs and along the corridors. She pressed her ear against the first wooden door she came to, but could hear nothing. Carefully, she turned the handle and stepped inside. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating the dust motes drifting slowly through the air. The quiet was exactly what she had been looking for. She gently closed the door, took a deep breath and allowed the cool, still air to settle around her. She put her bag on the desk, took out her Transfiguration book and took a small matchbox out of her bag. She placed a match on the book, sat cross-legged on the desk and opened it to the relevant page. Betty studied the drawings and instructions carefully. Reviewing the movement again, she muttered the correct pronunciation to herself. Saying the spell aloud felt strange, almost uncomfortable—the floating spell had been easier, this one was trickier.She drew her wand, closed her eyes and sought the focus and inner calm needed to cast the spell. With a flick of her wrist, she performed the movement, visualising the material transition in her mind exactly.

"Argentacus!"

The result was again not what she hoped for. The match turned silver again, its surface smoother than in class, but still not a perfect needle. Betty let out a quiet sigh and tried again. This time she concentrated harder, but frustration rose, and the spell worked worse than before. Why was it so difficult? Professor McGonagall had called it a simple exercise. Then she remembered what she had been taught. Calm the mind. Push anger to the background. Don't let your feelings guide you.

She took a second match, as she didn't yet know the counter-spell. First this one, then the other, she thought. Betty closed her eyes again, breathing deeply. She tried to detach from everything. Slowly and deliberately, she spoke the spell as if she had said it a thousand times: "Argentacus."

The match glowed, began to shift, shrink and shimmer, until it finally took the form of small silver stick. It wasn't yet a needle, but much better than she'd expected. Betty stared at the not nearly perfect result, yet she felt the excitement rising.

Her fingers trembling slightly with excitement, she drew another match from the box. She felt that she had begun to find her rhythm. This time it felt different—more precise and focused. "Argentacus," she said again, watching as the match finally turned into shimmering needle. A wide smile spread across her face. She could hardly believe it. It had worked, and she exhaled with a relief she couldn't explain. She grabbed for another match, and again it transformed into a perfect needle. Before she could even gather herself, she jumped from the table and bounced up and down, grinning, her excitement barely contained.

"I did it!" she screamed, though her joy threatened to spill into the room. What if I can turn the needle back into a match? She grabbed the needle, sat down again, and braced herself to try once more, flipping quickly through her book until she found the spell she needed. She drew a deep breath and spoke the words — this time to the needle.

"Reverto."

Her focus sharpened as if something inside her had clicked, and as the words left her lips, it happened. The needle began to change slowly, stretching, thickening, losing its glow until it finally reverted to a simple match. She stared, stunned, unable to believe what she had accomplished, her heart pounding with exhilaration and her mind empty of everything else. Her fingers felt light as she held the match — perfect as before — and a happy, almost disbelieving smile spread across her face as she lifted the matchbox and let it slide back inside.

"Little overachiever," a rough voice said from behind, low and teasing. "It took me months to get that transfiguration right."

Startled, Betty jumped from the desk and turned sharply, and there he was: George, leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed.

"Merlin—George! What are you doing here?"

George chuckled, shoved his hands in his pockets, and shrugged. "Hiding from Lee, he wants me to test all his stuff from Zonko's. Spent three hours blowing pink bubbles yesterday." His eyes flicked to her transfiguration book, the needles, and the match.

"You've always been good at this stuff," he said simply, shrugging again.

"Well, I tried hard enough," she replied, brushing off the praise.

George grinned suddenly, leaning a little closer. "Remember how you used to make the cookies from the top shelf appear for us? Mum thought she was losing it, because she had no idea how we got them."

Betty smiled briefly, a warm glow rising in her chest. Years ago, she had spent an entire summer at the Burrow; Mrs Weasley's cookies were always perfect — sweet, but not too sweet, and delightfully soft and chewy. She could almost taste the chocolate and cinnamon melting on her tongue

"Or when you solved that puzzle and it assembled itself just by you looking at it? Percy's outburst of frustration was brilliant." 

She smiled again, the memory vivid. Then George's voice shifted, his grin faded and he looked at her seriously, almost sad. "You never came back," he said. "Not after the accident with Percy."

Betty met his gaze and stayed silent, her fingers drumming lightly along the desk edge. She felt the old knot in her stomach tighten, a familiar weight she had tried to push aside for years. "I was afraid it might happen again." Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, throwing dusty streaks across the floor, and she added quietly, "And I thought... you didn't want to see me again. I scared you all. Especially Ron and Ginny."

George shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I wasn't scared of you. It was just an accident. Percy only had a broken arm — nothing Mum couldn't fix."

She hesitated, tracing the edge of the desk with a fingertip. "No," she said quietly. "I... I wanted him to stop. I was... angry. And then—"

"What he said—that was really mean," George said, shaking his head slightly, his voice gentle now.

Betty raised an eyebrow, the memory still pricking her. "We weren't exactly kind to him either. Remember when Fred turned his toy into a spider?"

George snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That was Ron's toy. Ever since, he's been terrified of spiders."

Betty bit her lip, guilt curling in her chest. "See? We weren't exactly well behaved."

George grinned wide, a spark of mischief returning. "Never were."

They lapsed into silence again. Betty felt the sunlight warm her shoulders and the quiet settle in her mind. When George looked up, his expression was serious, but not heavy. "He still shouldn't have said it," he added, concern threading his tone.

Betty gave a small nod, the tension in her shoulders losen just a fraction. Her chest felt lighter, as if the words had lifted some of the weight she'd carried.

"I... we... we really missed you, you know," he added, and she felt the words land in her chest. She met his gaze, and for the first time in the conversation, her look was unguarded.

"I missed you too," she whispered, playing with the matchbox in her hand, the smooth wood grounding her as she spoke.

The silence stretched, and it might have become awkward if George had not broken it first. He gestured towards the match.

"Show me what you've got. Maybe I can learn something," he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as if he was already plotting how he could put it to use.

Betty held her wand carefully, lined the match up and cast the spell. Effortlessly, it turned into a perfect, shimmering needle. She beamed with quiet pride, a feeling she rarely allowed herself to experience.

George leaned forward, studying it, shaking his head slowly. "You need to put your skills to use for us. Help us with pranks. Like in the good old times." His grin widened, becoming more amused.

Betty leaned back, a trace of caution in her posture, looking at him frowned. "I can't risk detention in the first week."

George grinned crookedly. "We just can't get caught! Besides—Fred and I are already in detention. A whole week. With Snape."

Betty blinked at him in disbelief. "Excuse me? What did you do?"

He shrugged innocently, a grin tugging at his lips. "Uhm, recommended him a hair care set."

Betty said nothing for a moment, just staring at him with her mouth open. "You did not," she murmured, holding her hand to her mouth trying not to laugh.

George held her gaze for just a moment, mischief dancing in his eyes, before bursting out laughing.

"Merlin's beard," she finally said, shaking her head. "What exactly did you say?"

George wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek, still chuckling. "Fred left a note on his desk before class. ‘For smooth, healthy hair—personally recommended by Madam Rosmerta.' With a sample bottle. Snape didn't even read it."

Betty laughed. She shook her head, warmth rising in her chest. The little tension that had been left drained away, leaving her feeling lighter. "You're bonkers."

George leaned closer, a mischievous spark in his eye. "Exactly why you need us. So you get to have some fun too."

Betty grabbed her book, hesitating for a moment. Before she could say anything, he added quickly, "Would never make you do something you didn't want to."

A small, genuine smile lifted her face. At that moment, the door opened. Fred poked his head in, hair tousled, collar half undone. He glanced back as if shaking someone off, then slipped fully into the classroom, closing the door softly behind him. He took a few steps toward Betty and George.

"Well, what's going on here? Secret spell club?" Without waiting for an answer, he dropped onto the empty chair beside George.

His eyes fell on the needle. "Oi. Perfect transfiguration. And you're not using that for us?"

Betty raised an eyebrow. "For what exactly?"

"Pranks, of course," Fred said, as if it were obvious. "Would be a shame to waste it on homework."

"I'd rather not risk detention in the first week," Betty replied. Her tone was calm, not dismissive, but firm.

Fred didn't seem fazed. "By the way, you owe us one. Don't forget."

Betty looked at him, puzzled. "I don't owe you anything."

"Yes, you do," Fred insisted. "For starters, because we saved you from Dad when you stole Charlie's wand. The beginning of your criminal career." He winked at her.

Betty blinked answering slowly. "Fred. You encouraged me to take an Unbreakable Vow from Ron. You remember that."

Fred grinned crookedly. "Oh yes. True. I've never seen Dad lose it like that again. I thought he might kill us." He chuckled.

A quiet moment followed. Betty remembered well—how Mr Weasley had first scolded the twins, furious they had dared such a thing and dragged her along, then had turned to her, voice firm, explaining how dangerous an Unbreakable Vow was. And how her mother had explained the consequences. She had cried for days, thinking she could've actually put Ron in mortal danger.

Fred seemed to push the memory aside. "However," he continued, "we don't tolerate backtalk. That's tradition."

Betty raised another eyebrow. "The Weasley twins and their democracy."

"Exactly. Two voices, one opinion—and you're outvoted. We're team trouble, you forgot?"

George laughed softly. Betty shook her head, though a brief smile tugged at her lips. The door opened again. Lee appeared in the frame, slightly out of breath, clutching a small paper bag.

"There you are. I've been looking for you the whole time!"

Fred and George exchanged a quick glance.

"We had something to do," George said quickly.

Lee came closer. "I brought something from Zonko's. New chewy sweets. Zonko's Wonder Bangs! They make you mute for three minutes. Or turn your face green. No one knows what happens first. Or something else wild. Want to try them? At dinner?"

Fred hesitated for a moment, then sprang up. "Let's see. Betty, you coming? And it's still the deal—you help us, right?"

Betty paused, then said dryly, "Can I wait a few weeks, until Professor McGonagall writes to my mum about my misbehaviour?"

Fred grinned widely. "As long as you promise to help eventually?"

Betty looked at him, then nodded with a grin. "Deal."

"Deal," Fred and George said in unison. All three high-fived.

Lee gave them an impatient look. "Come on, then."

Together, they left the classroom and strolled through the castle corridors. Shadows stretched long, and the warm light of the late afternoon sun fell through the tall windows. Their destination was the Great Hall for dinner. They exchanged quiet remarks along the way, but the atmosphere was relaxed, almost like a small breather after a busy day.

In the hall, Betty spotted Katie, Fay and Holly at the Gryffindor table and made her way to them. As they ate, she watched Fred, George, and Lee test Zonko's Wonder Bangs. Lee's tongue turned a vivid green, George laughed until he doubled over, and Fred's ears hissed like a steam engine. Katie and Fay laughed along, caught up in the chaos, while Holly watched with wide eyes, still trying to take it all in.

Betty hadn't felt this happy and fulfilled in a long time. She was on the edge of it all, observing rather than joining in, and a sense of relief settled in her chest. Tomorrow, in Transfiguration, she would impress by turning the match into a needle and back again.

The next morning, Betty jumped out of bed, feeling a sense of urgency in her chest. The first rays of sunlight shone through the window and painted the room golden. She moved quickly to get dressed and pack her stuff. Today she had Herbology and Potions, but her second Transfiguration lesson came first. She felt the pressure to prove herself, yet she was also excited at the possibility of succeeding this time. Entering the classroom, she felt a subtle tension coiled under her ribs. The room was already filling, students murmuring quietly as they settled. Betty smiled faintly, set her bag down, and took her seat next to Katie. She couldn't wait to show what she'd practised. The whispers died the moment Professor McGonagall entered, her upright, commanding posture alone enough to quiet the room. She moved forward without pause, wand raised to collect the students' parchments, leaving no space for chatter.

Betty froze. The essay. She had been so focused on turning the match into a needle that she had completely forgotten the assigned homework. She straightened, resting her hands on the desk, but the unease in her chest didn't go away. Professor McGonagall's gaze settled on her empty desk. The silence stretched heavily.

"Miss Black," Professor McGonagall said evenly. "Your homework?"

Betty swallowed hard, knowing that any excuse she gave would be easily disproven. She looked down, trying to steady her fingers.

"I... I forgot it, Professor," she admitted whispering, trying to avoid looking directly into Professor McGonagall eyes.

The professor held her gaze with controlled disappointment, letting Betty feel the weight of her failure to meet expectations. "That is a mistake, Miss Black. Homework is mandatory. This must not happen again. I will deduct five points."

Betty nodded ashamed, her cheeks warming, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Professor. It won't happen again." Inside, she scolded herself to focus harder; she wouldn't let this happen a second time.

Professor McGonagall's gaze stayed for a moment longer, as if judging the truth in Betty's voice. "Good. I expect more discipline. If this happens again, you will receive extra work."

As she returned to her desk, Betty turned toward the window, biting her lip. Her eyes felt hot, but she kept them focused on the glass, holding back the tears.

The class continued, and Professor McGonagall once again handed out matches, instructing the students to continue practising their transformations, reminding them carefully to focus on the subtle shift in materials that made the difference between success and failure. Most students struggled, as their matches didn't bend to their will without deliberate precision and steady control. After her mistake with the homework, Betty felt a quiet urgency to prove herself, to show Professor McGonagall that she wasn't careless or incapable. She raised her wand, held her breath, and focused exactly as she had done the day before. With a clean flick, the match transformed into a flawless silver needle that gleamed against the desk. Betty caught a few glances—admiring, curious, and tinged with envy—and the sight sent a thrill through her chest. Katie, sitting beside her, stared in disbelief before grinning wide, unable to hide her excitement.

She was the only student whose transfiguration succeeded on the first attempt. Some Ravenclaws managed silvery sticks rather than true needles, their progress clear but incomplete. Cho Chang, who had been the best among them last time, improved steadily yet didn't reach Betty's precision. While Professor McGonagall moved between the rows, correcting wand movements and guiding unsteady hands with a steady voice, Betty sat perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the needle in front of her. She remained like this until Professor McGonagall returned her gaze to the table and acknowledged the transformation.

"Very good, Miss Black," Professor McGonagall said calmly, approving but composed. "You seem to have grasped the principle. Now attempt the reverse — turn the needle back into a match."

Betty lifted her wand, whispered "Reverto", and the needle shrank and reshaped itself into a match. The weight of the class's attention pressed on her shoulders and her chest tightened slightly, but she forced herself to remain composed. Her focus was singular, her hand steady, her thoughts solely on the spell.

Professor McGonagall gave a small, restrained but unmistakable nod of approval, and Betty allowed herself the faintest exhale.

"Very neat, Miss Black. You can perform both the transformation and the reversal. Five points to Gryffindor — for execution and for reversal."

Betty inclined her head in return, feeling a quiet sense of pride and gratitude swelling in her chest; the points she had lost earlier were now restored.

Katie nudged her elbow with a grin. "You got your priorities, huh?"

Betty answered with a brief but sincere grin.

Before she left, Professor McGonagall approached her again. Her gaze was sharp, but not unkind.

"Miss Black, your progress is remarkable. You have talent. But talent alone is insufficient — you need both knowledge and persistence. And persistence, I see, you do not lack. But channel it wisely, Miss Black." Her eyes sharpened further. "However, practical success alone is not enough. Transfiguration requires not only precise movements and correct pronunciation, but also a firm grasp of theory. Magic follows rules beyond what you see immediately." She paused deliberately, allowing her words to sink in. Her silence was as meaningful as her speech. "Homework is part of the learning process. I expect today's mistake not to repeat."

Heat rose in Betty's cheeks. "It won't, Professor."

"Good. I hope you continue with discipline." The professor's gaze softenend as she continued encouraging. "Don't let challenges distract you."

"Understood, Professor," she said quietly, finally lifting her eyes to meet Professor McGonagall's.

"Very well. Off you go — you'll be late for your next class."

Betty nodded, picked up her bag and turned to leave. Her cheeks still burned from the scolding, but beneath the sting she felt a quiet satisfaction. Professor McGonagall's words had hurt, yes, but they had also confirmed what Betty craved most: she had been noticed.

By Thursday night, just before midnight, Astronomy began. The air was sharp, almost biting, the kind of cold that made one more awake than tired. Betty climbed up the tower with the first-years, the stars stretched above, clear and bright, glittering against the deep black sky. Professor Sinistra stood by a large chart, her voice calm as she explained the task: constellations were to be marked on the prepared charts, precision required, patience expected.

Betty's chest lifted at the sight. The stars pulled her back to summers in Kenya. A small, quiet smile touched her lips as she traced Orion without needing to think.

Mira leaned back beside her, eyes wide, not speaking but utterly mesmerised. Then, in a hushed voice, "This is the best lesson ever. That — over there — is Capella, right?"

Betty nodded, quill moving lightly over her chart, with calm and steady motions. Fay and Holly still struggled, Katie yawning now and then, stifling it into her sleeve.

"Is that the Plough?" Fay asked, pointing hopefully, but in the wrong place.

"No," Mira said, gentle but firm. "Cassiopeia. The Plough's over there — the four stars form the rectangle, three for the handle."

Holly narrowed her eyes, muttering. "I just see... sparkling dots."

"Connect them in your mind," Mira replied with a encouraging voice. "Once you see the pattern, you'll never unsee it."

A low murmur caught their attention. Cormac stamped his foot impatiently, arms crossed, clouds of breath rising from his mouth. Carl glanced nervously at his chart, his pencil still but uncertain. Garreth barely noticed, scribbling quickly as if trying to keep up. Mira moved over to guide them, correcting their positions and pointing out constellations. Betty let Katie copy her chart and noted the small, grateful smile that appeared on her face.

Her eyes lifted to Orion's Belt. Zuberi's words were in her mind, When you feel far from home, just find those three stars in a row. She didn't feel far from home now. Having found Katie as her new friend and thinking of her first week, she imagined Hogwarts becoming her new home, she felt comfort.

Katie leaned closer and whispered, "This is interesting—but why at this hour?"

Betty raised an eyebrow and said wryly. "It's hard to see the stars in daylight."

Chapter Text

Mid September 1990, Hogwarts.

On Saturday morning Betty sat in the library, hoping the quiet would steady her thoughts. She unrolled her parchment, dipped her quill, and began her essay — only to stall halfway through a sentence. Her hand fidgeted more with the feathered tip than it wrote, ink blotted where it shouldn't, and her gaze drifted to the window. Birds wheeled high above the grounds. She wished, just for a moment, she could be one of them, instead of chained to parchment and the First Goblin War. With a sigh she bent back to the page, scribbling half-hearted lines, when a familiar voice cut across the silence.

"Oi, Betty! What are you still doing in here? It's perfect weather outside!" Katie grinned as she dropped her bag onto the table, casting a quick glance toward the door. Betty lifted her head.

"I was going to—" she began, but didn't get the chance to finish. Katie grabbed her wrist and pulled her upright. "No excuses. You've been here long enough. Come on!" Betty looked down at her parchment, something that wasn't worth to be called an essay, full of scratched-out lines.

"But I'm not done with—"

"Don't worry. I'll let you copy mine. Now move!"

Outside, the sun warmed her skin, the air clear, and the leaves rustling in a soft breeze. In spite of herself, she felt thankful for being pulled away. Together they wandered toward the lake, its surface glittering in a dark silver-blue. They settled on a flat rock by the shore. Katie tugged off her shoes and dipped her toes into the water, while Betty leaned back on her elbows, closing her eyes for a moment.

"I can't wait for Tuesday," Katie said suddenly. "Our first flying lesson! Finally!"

Betty didn't answer. A ladybird had landed on her robe, and she followed its slow crawl with her eyes, completely entranced. Katie chattered on, words bubbling over another, while she waded through the water, then she turned to Betty and broke off.

"Betty? Are you even listening to me?"

Betty blinked, realising Katie had spoken again. She nodded quickly, hiding her distraction.

"Yes. You sound almost too eager."

Katie narrowed her eyes, scanning Betty's face. "Of course. Aren't you?"

Betty shrugged. "Curious, maybe. I just hope I don't make a fool of myself." Her gaze drifted over the water again.

Flying fascinated her—not the broomstick itself, but the moment when the ground dropped away and the world widened beneath her. Her own flights had been careful ones, never really high or far, her mother's warnings always in her ears. Still, that brief slip of weightlessness had stayed with her, enough to keep her longing for more.

Katie waved it off. "Don't worry. If anyone's going to fall off first, it's McLaggen. He can't stop bragging about how good he is." She grimaced trying to imitate Cormac.

Betty let out a quick and genuine laugh. The thought of the lesson lingered, a knot of nerves mixed with real anticipation. Maybe flying was something she could actually be good at. By Tuesday morning, the Gryffindor table was buzzing. The first flying lessons loomed, and almost every first-year looked restless – some fidgeting, others pale with nerves. Betty stirred her porridge absently, her eyes on Katie, who was unusually quiet. Her toast remained untouched, her gaze unfocused.

"I barely slept," Katie muttered, rubbing her eyes. "Yesterday I couldn't wait. Now it feels like I'm — I'm going to embarrass myself in front of everyone."

Betty frowned. "But... I thought you were excited and couldn't wait?"

Katie shook her head. "What if I can't even get the broom off the ground? And everyone's watching."

Betty opened her mouth, then shut it again. It wasn't as though she felt calm herself. The thought of lifting off in front of everyone—or worse, not lifting off at all—made her stomach knot. She just wasn't about to say it out loud.

Katie stirred her porridge nervously, her voice dropping low. "I said I hoped McLaggen would be the one to fall, but... what if—what are the odds—that it's me who falls?" Betty shrugged, stirring her own porridge absentmindedly, still feeling the same knot in her stomach. "We're all first years. It won't be that bad."

Katie pulled a face. "Oh, that's helpful." She studied Betty's expression for a long moment, brow furrowed. "How can you be so calm?"

Betty stopped stirring and looked up at her. "I'm not... I'm nervous too." She pushed her porridge from one side of the bowl to the other.

Katie studied her for a moment, scanning her face as if trying to read her thoughts, and finally said, "No, you're not. You always look so composed, like nothing ever bothers you. You—McGonagall could scold you in front of the whole class for forgetting homework, Snape could be mean, and you just... you always look like things like that doesn't bother you at all."

Betty blinked, caught off guard. She did care. A lot. She hadn't thought about how others saw her, how effortless her calm seemed to them. She shrugged and met Katie's gaze evenly. "I'm just... good at hiding it."

Katie's gaze softened, scanning her face as if to make sure she wasn't joking. "Really?"

Betty gave a small, reluctant shrug, letting a fraction of her unease show. She hesitated, then muttered, "I... I guess forgetting my homework was actually the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me."

Katie held her eyes for a few more seconds, then broke into a lopsided, faint smile that somehow carried relief and understanding. Suddenly, Betty saw in the corner of her eye Fred leaning toward George, voice carrying across the table.

"Oh, today's the first-years' first flying lesson. How many do you reckon will fall off their brooms this year, Georgie?"

George tapped his chin, pretending to think. "Hmm, Freddie… at least two. Last year it was three."

Betty rolled her eyes. She knew they were only messing around with the younger students—she could sense the amusement under the surface of their words—but Katie didn't catch it. Wide-eyed, she stared at the twins, her fork clinking against the plate as her fingers fidgeted. Out of the corner of her eye, Betty spotted Fay and Holly not far away. Holly had apparently heard what the twins had said as she stopped eating, staring at Fred and George with the same horrified expression as Katie. Betty shook her head slightly, half amused, half annoyed.

"I won't," Cormac announced suddenly, loud enough so everyone turned their heads. He sat up smugly. "I'll show everyone how it's done. I'm that good I might even make into the Quidditch house team."

That snapped Katie out of her trance. She blinked at him and said, almost sharply, "First years aren't allowed."

"They'll make an exception," Cormac said with a confident wave, as if it were already settled.

George chuckled. "Oh, I don't think so." Fred leaned in with a grin. "Not when there are already new ones on the team." He winked at the girls. "We're the new Beaters."

"Oh, congrats." Betty said monotonously, then watched Katie again. Her friend had gone quiet, eyes fixed on a spot in the distance, her spoon still turning in restless circles on the bowl. Before leaving for class, George leaned over to Betty whispering, "You'll be alright", and gave her an encouraging smile.

Classes dragged on. With each passing hour Katie grew more restless, shooting Betty pointed looks and drumming her fingers on the desk. History of Magic was even duller than the week before. Professor Binns drifted through the classroom, his voice droning about wizarding laws of the early modern era, oblivious to the glazed eyes around him. Most students scribbled nonsense on their parchment or stared blankly ahead. When the bell finally rang, they rose sluggishly from their seats. But the moment they left the room, Cormac's voice cut through the hallway—louder than necessary.

“Honestly,” he began, swinging his bag over his shoulder a little too forcefully. “Binns got it wrong. Muggles weren't just stupid. Their fear of witches and wizards was real—of course it was. Strange things happening all around them, things they couldn't control. But the ones in power used that fear. They turned it into a tool to keep people in line. And Binns just goes on as if Muggles were nothing but clueless. That's not true.”

He spoke quickly, pressing his words forward as though someone might cut him off if he didn't hurry. His grin flickered once, checking if anyone was listening, before he carried on. Mira walked beside him, nodding along, agreeing on what he said. Katie rolled her eyes, muttered “Not again,” and pulled on Betty's sleeve. Betty, however, lingered for a moment, listening as they walked down the corridor. She would never tell Katie, but Cormac's determination and the certainty with which he argued took her by surprise. He had clearly thought about it more than most. Now he was on about the Wizengamot in the seventeenth century, insisting it had shaped Muggle ideas of magic far more than anyone realized. Betty shook her head faintly, then fell back into step with Katie.

On the Quidditch pitch, the Slytherins had already gathered in a group, casting mocking looks at the Gryffindors, as if to show who the better fliers would be. Adrian Rosier stood beside some other Slytherin boys, arms folded and smirking. Betty looked over the pitch; it was large, with grandstands forming a half-circle with seats set high. The sky was grey, and a crisp September breeze swept across the grass. When they stopped beside the Slytherines, rows of school brooms waited in front of them. The handles were cracked with age and the bristles were bent.

Then Madam Hooch walked onto the field. Her silver-grey hair caught the light and her hawk-yellow eyes swept sharply over the students. She gave a brief introduction of herself as their flying instructor and Hogwarts' Quidditch coach. "Stand properly beside your broomsticks!" Her voice carried authority and the students quickly fell into line.

"Place your right hand over your broom and say, ‘Up!'" she instructed with firm voice. "With conviction. Your broom will only respond if you order it with determination." A chorus of "Up!" filled the air. Around them, broomsticks responded in every possible way; some stayed stubbornly on the ground, others jumped about wildly, and a few rose exactly as intended. Fay groaned when hers didn't twitch an inch, while Cormac cursed loudly as his smacked him in the knee. Betty seemed to know instinctively what to do. She stretched her hand over the broom. "Up!" The broom shivered and then, with a sharp snap, sprang straight into her hand. Beside her, Katie's broom rose even faster. Betty shot her a look of recognition, which Katie returned with a quick grin.

Madam Hooch's eyes wandered over the students. "Good. Now, get on your brooms. Push off gently and float just above the ground. Keep your balance. No tricks. Above all, no accidents!"

Betty settled onto her broom cautiously, remembering she hadn't flown properly since she was nine, never allowed more than a few feet in the air.

"On my mark!" Madam Hooch called. "Three... two... one—now!"

Betty pushed off the ground. The broom trembled beneath her as if unsure whether to obey. She sat stiffly, gripping the handle with her knees pressed together, with her body tense, every movement focused on keeping her balance. Everything felt wrong—the sway, the awkward adjustments, the constant effort to stay upright. She noticed Katie above her, moving smoothly and confidently through the air above them all. Taking a deep breath, Betty let herself recall what Tonks had shown her the first time she had sat on a broom, the memory guiding her hands and posture. She slowly leaned forward, testing her balance against every gust of wind that threatened to knock her off. Her movements were still stiff, but gradually became smoother. Bit by bit she made small corrections, tentative turns, her thighs were soon burning, but she stayed in the air. Katie curved ahead with ease, her broom responding instantly to her commands. Betty could only watch in awe.

"Bell! Slow down, and no tight curves!" Madam Hooch's sharp voice rang out, not in anger but with a hint of surprise. "You have control, yes—but with caution, please!"

Katie eased back, drifting obediently into line. Betty felt her own tension start to ease as the broom steadied beneath her and the swaying gradually lessened. A rare silence settled in her mind, leaving no thoughts, no worries—only the sense of balance and the rhythm of her breath. Slowly, the feelings of freedom she had experienced back then returned. She felt as if she were becoming one with the broom, as if she were part of the air itself, moving more naturally and effortlessly. It was a liberating feeling, as if all the weight and pressure had been lifted, leaving only the simple, exhilarating sensation of flying.

Around her, a few other students hovered just above the ground: Mira and Holly floated carefully, their brooms swaying slightly with each gust, while another Slytherin girl followed Rosier's lead with tense precision. Fay now followed Cormac, struggling to keep up with him, but she persisted nonetheless.

Off to her other side, Cormac tried to climb higher, and though his flight was a bit jerky and his corrections constant, it was clear he was a good flyer indeed, even if not as steady or smooth as Katie; he shouted advice about knees and shoulders to anyone within earshot, though few paid attention. Above them, Rosier drew sharp, controlled circles, climbing higher than allowed, each movement precise and deliberate, as though he intended to stake his claim in the air. Garreth Wood, still hugging the ground, muttered, "I'll leave that to my brother."

Betty blocked everything out, now daring to fly higher, carefully matching Katie's pace as she met her in the air. Katie grinned at her and shouted, "Not bad, Black," then pointed with her chin toward the goal rings. Together, they navigated the rings in a cautious slalom, Betty thrilled by the rush of wind and the sense of flight, so caught up in the excitement that they completely forgot Madame Hooch's warning about avoiding tricks.

"Black! Bell! Down. Now!" Madam Hooch's voice cut trhough the pitch. Katie immediately pulled into a dive. Betty followed, slowing carefully before landing with a slight jolt. Her chest rose and fell fast, but the trembling was gone; the adrenaline was still humming in her veins. Katie landed nearby with a sweeping movement.

"Bell!" Madam Hooch barked. "What did I just say? This is not a playground, and not Quidditch tryouts. When I say land—you land. No detours!" Katie lowered her gaze, though relief still lingered on her face.

Madam Hooch surveyed them, arms crossed. Her eyes settled on Katie first. "Still... I rarely see first years so instinctive on a broom. Bell—you will try out next year. Seriously. That's an order, not a suggestion." Then her gaze shifted to Betty, and her hand gestured toward Cormac. "Black—you'll need a bit more time, but there's definite promise. McLaggen—same for you. Not raw beginners, either of you. With training, your house team will want new players next year. Rosier—the same goes for you."

Cormac straightened up instantly with his chin lifted, as though Madam Hooch had confirmed what he always knew. Katie nudged Betty with her elbow. "Did you hear that?"

"Yes," Betty said quietly, eyes still fixed on Madam Hooch. When she finally turned around, she caught Adrian Rosier watching Katie. His gaze was neither arrogant nor hostile, but assessing. His stare lingered for too long, as if he were measuring her up. Then he looked away, saying nothing. Betty glanced at Katie and smiled. This had been by far the best lesson of them all.

After dinner, Betty and Katie returned to the Gryffindor common room with the others. The fire in the hearth crackled quietly, filling the room with warmth, and the space buzzed with voices, laughter, and the soft rustle of parchment as some students still worked on homework. Betty felt her body ache more with each step, but she didn't mind.

She collapsed onto the soft sofa in front of the fire, while Katie made herself comfortable on the armrest. "That was pretty exciting today," Katie said, grinning.

Betty nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. The tingling in her fingers lingered, as if the wind from flying had imprinted itself on her skin.

"Did I hear that right?" a familiar voice suddenly called out. "A first-year impressing Madam Hooch so much she's already put you down for next year's Quidditch tryouts?"

Betty opened her eyes and saw Fred and George standing there, both wearing mischievous grins.

"I've got to say, respect," Fred said. "That's impressive. Usually, we have to stop first-years from blowing themselves off their brooms."

George nodded. "Apparently a natural. That doesn't come along often. Hooch already marked you for next year, right? Did I get that right?"

Katie lifted her chin. "She made it clear it wasn't a request." Her tone carried pride, but not arrogance—more like someone quietly surprised at her own skill.

Fred and George stood close together, sharing an almost conspiratorial smile. Fred glanced at Betty and gave her a wink.

"Then this comes at the perfect time," Fred said teasingly, "Charlie, our Seeker, and, Vicky, our Chaser are in their final year. If you're good—and from what we heard today, you are—this could be interesting for you."

Katie practically bounced on the armrest. "This is my chance!"

Betty leaned back, watching her friend with admiration.

George leaned forward slightly. "And you, Betty? How was it for you?"

Betty hesitated, then shrugged slowly. "Not bad. It was... freeing, somehow. Like my mind went completely still. And it felt... easy. Free."

Katie rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. "Miss-I'm-always-so-humble. But seriously, Betty, you were really good. For someone who's never flown properly. Even Madam Hooch said you have potential."

Fred whistled softly. "Well, if Hooch says it, that's more than polite praise. She doesn't give that out lightly."

Betty looked from one to the other, then back at Katie. Her heart still beat a little faster, but this time it wasn't adrenaline—it was anticipation, maybe even hope. She couldn't wait for the next lessons next week.

"Impressive. Really impressive," came a voice from the edge of the room. Cormac stood there, arms loosely crossed, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. "Maybe you just had a good day," he added, as if both downplaying and acknowledging their achievements at the same time. Betty looked at him but said nothing. Katie rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed.

"Interesting," Katie countered dryly. "Because Hooch said you're not exactly a complete beginner, and yet today you didn't get in anyone's way."

Cormac lifted his chin slightly, and for a brief moment there was a flicker of uncertainty in his expression before he stepped closer. "I didn't mean to steal the spotlight," he said with a shrug. "But if this counts as being a natural, then... I guess I'm not doing so badly either." His tone was half teasing, half challenging.

Katie snorted. "You're just annoyed because your praise came with a 'if you train hard' attached."

"And that's still more than most get," Betty said calmly, letting his words slide past without rising to the bait. Cormac met her gaze, and for a fleeting second there was no arrogance, just a quiet spark of respect.

"You weren't bad," he admitted. "If you like, I could give you a few tips. Might help you get faster and steadier."

Betty leaned back and frowned slightly. "Thanks, but I'll wait for the next lessons. I want to figure it out myself first."

Cormac nodded once, as if he had accepted her answer, though he had clearly hoped for more. "We'll see how it goes next time," he muttered, turning back to the group.

"Always the same McLaggen," George muttered, shaking his head as he watched him.

"He takes off before the broom even moves," Fred added with a grin.

After Cormac left with a pout and took his seat next to a group consisting of Garreth, Carl and Mira, Katie glanced toward Fred and George, raising an eyebrow, as if she suddenly remembered something. “Oh, and you two are the new Beaters?”

Fred grinned, leaning slightly forward. “Very true, Miss Bell.”

George smirked, adding, “We've definitely seen the new Gryffindor talent today. I mean, if you two keep at it… this could be an interesting season.”

Fred jabbed his shoulder lightly at George. “But soon, we'll be the ones keeping everyone in line on the pitch. So a little respect is in order.”

Katie rolled her eyes, laughing, while Betty watched them with quiet amusement. Eventually, she closed her eyes for a moment, feeling no rush, only a quiet certainty: she had flown. And she could do it again. A small grin tugged at her lips as she imagined the wind on her face, the broom steady beneath her.

***

By October, autumn had fully settled over the Hogwarts grounds; the trees glowed in deep shades of orange and red. Betty had become used to her new home over time. She often wandered around the castle after classes, exploring its corridors: which portraits were awake at which hour, where the staircases shifted, where the stone floor arched slightly. Hogwarts felt alive, and Betty enjoyed these quiet moments between lessons, homework, and the endless hum of voices.

That morning, the corridors were calm. Most students were already at breakfast, and from the Great Hall came the muffled sound of voices, the clatter of cutlery, and the tempting smell of fresh bread and bacon. Betty descended the wide staircase to the ground floor and stepped inside. She paused briefly, letting the light falling in long stripes through the tall windows wash over her, and watched the flickering candles above the house tables. It was a familiar sight, yet each time it impressed her anew. At the Gryffindor table, Fred and George were sitting with Lee. Their eyes caught hers as she approached, and as she took a seat, Fred grinned immediately.

"Betty," he whispered, "how about helping us with a little prank?"

"Just harmless fun," George added with a wink. "We could use a bit of chaos around here."

Betty chewed thoughtfully on her toast, glancing from one to the other. She had seen some of their antics before—some amusing, others outright risky. The thought of a little mischief was tempting, but...

"I don't know," she murmured, keeping her eyes on her tray. "I don't want to get into trouble."

Percy, sitting a few seats away, straightened immediately. "Leave her alone," he said sharply. "What are you planning this time? Do I have to write to Mum again? Not everyone cares about your rule-breaking."

Fred let out a theatrical sigh. "Here comes Percy, the human rulebook, once more."

George muttered dryly, "I hope he ends up in the Ministry. That's where he belongs."

The twins shrugged. Betty suppressed a smile, resting her hand on the table and looking at them. "Maybe... I promised, after all."

Fred and George exchanged a triumphant look, and George grinned. "Don't worry, it'll happen."

From across the table, Katie leaned toward Betty. "Later, we want to play ‘Snape Explodes' with the others in the common room," she said casually. "If you want to join."

Betty nodded vaguely. "I might come." Her voice was sincere but hesitant.

Instead of joining the others, Betty turned down a side corridor leading away from the bustle of the Great Hall. The passage was high and cool, with rough stone walls and windows letting in dim light. The sounds of the hall faded behind her, and silence fell like a heavy blanket.

Her steps echoed softly on the stone floor. She let her hand glide over the rough stone once more. In a niche, a crooked suit of armor leaned as if it had quietly shifted out of line to eavesdrop. Betty spotted a broad stone ledge beneath a tall window. Without hesitation, she climbed up and let her legs dangle. Outside, heavy clouds moved across the sky, the wind tugged at the treetops, and single colourful leaves drifted silently through the air. And even though the weather was dark grey and stormy, she found the scene surprisingly calming. There was something comforting about seeing the world from above. She drew a deep breath, letting her eyes follow the grey sky, and decided she would take a walk outside later. But before she could hop down from the ledge, a croaking laugh broke the quiet.

"Ooooooh, and what do we have here? A little first-year... all alone?"

A small, wiry figure hovered in the air, lanky and impossibly thin, with wild hair sticking out in every direction and eyes bright with mischief. His clothes were ragged and mismatched, patched in odd places, and from the moment he appeared, the air seemed to ripple with chaos. This was no ordinary ghost—this had to be Peeves, the poltergeist she'd been warned about. Before she could react, an inkpot flew past her head and splattered against the wall. Instinctively, she ducked as a second one zipped by even closer.

"What's the meaning of this?" she snapped and rose her arms in defense.

Peeves spun slowly in the air, his grin growing wider. "Morning exercise, huh? I throw, you dodge—good training for little first-years."

Betty stepped back, assessing him. Arguing was pointless. She was told, Peeves could be quiet annoying but he was mostly harmless.

"No thanks. Find someone else."

"I insist!" Peeves shrieked, preparing to launch another object.

But before the next one could reach her, a clear voice rang through the corridor: "Peeves! Stop this!"

Peeves froze and turned. At the end of the hall stood Tonks, her eyes narrowed and her wand already raised.

"Langlock!"

There was a dull thud, followed by a wet smacking sound. Peeves clutched his throat, desperately trying to make a sound. But he remained silent. He growled angrily, gave Betty an offended look, and disappeared through the wall, cursing.

Betty exhaled in relief, then turned around to Tonks. "Wow... that was surprisingly effective."

Tonks let a small smile tug at her lips. "Yeah, very practical. Remember it. Especially if you run into someone like Peeves often."

Betty brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, still settling upright. "I didn't think he'd be that easy to get rid of."

Tonks smiled faintly. "He isn't. But he knows when he's beaten. And he knows me now—I'm not exactly new here anymore." She glanced at Betty, her eyes softening. "So... how are you settling in?"

Betty shrugged, tucking a loose strand behind her ear, that kept falling into her forehead. She sighed. "I didn't expect so much homework. I mean, I knew there'd be some, but..." She trailed off with a small laugh. "it's so boring."

Tonks chuckled. "That'll be every day, kiddo. Until you'll eventually leave. But it's manageable."

Suddenly, Betty remembered something Katie had said a few weeks ago—how Betty always looked like she didn't care, always too calm, always too reserved. A flicker of curiosity rose up in her. "Tonks—Do you... do you think I seem too composed? Like I never really care about anything?"

Tonks narrowed her eyes slightly, tilting her head as she studied her. The moment stretched on, filled with deliberation and care before she nodded. "Yes, you are quite composed... for an eleven-year-old." Her voice softened. "But it's also unusual for someone your age to be... an Occlumens. But don't worry too much about it."

Betty blinked, taking in Tonks' words. Composed, yes... but maybe she didn't have to be like this all the time, she thought. She could try—little by little—to let more of what she really felt slip through. Not now, not recklessly, but someday. Someday, she might test it. "I... okay. I'll try."

Tonks allowed a faint grin to slip. "Good. You're not boring, I promise. And now—back to more fun stuff."

Betty looked at Tonks, still smiling from the exchange, as Peeves' earlier antics lingered in her mind. "That was... pretty cool. I mean what you did to Peeves. I didn't know that spell."

Tonks laughed. "Useful if you ever tangle with Peeves again. Or with stupid boys."

Betty grinned and giggled. "That was brilliant. I need to remember that charm."

"Absolutely," Tonks said with a wide grin. "Especially if you're sneaking around the castle at night."

Betty raised an eyebrow then she grinned mischievously. "Sneaking around at night? You're planting dangerous ideas in my head. Don't worry—I'd never actually do that."

"Of course, kiddo," Tonks replied dryly. "And I'm Slytherin Prefect, remember."

Betty's grin widened. "So you wander around when you're supposed to be asleep?"

"Sometimes," Tonks admitted with a shrug. "Last week, I almost got caught trying to rescue a pudding from the kitchen after curfew."

"And how did you manage that?"

"I turned into Professor Sprout and marched through the castle with a serious face. Just had to tuck a flowerpot under my arm and mumble a few plant names. For a moment, I almost believed I was her myself."

Betty's eyes went wide. "You transformed into Sprout? And it worked?"

"Of course. Flowerpot under the arm, plant names muttered—Filch let me through without a word."

Betty laughed outright. "You're completely nuts."

Tonks grinned, eyes sparkling. "Possibly. But with method. And you? You seem... well-behaved, but not boring."

Betty shrugged lightly. "I just haven't had the chance to be naughty yet. Even though Fred and George keep trying."

Tonks laughed. "Oh dear. Charlie's brothers... they really are something else. Poor Mrs. Weasley. I'm sure she's long given up trying to rein them in."

She winked at Betty. "Look after yourself. And if another inkpot flies at you—just call for me. Or for Langlock."

Betty waved goodbye and made her way down the corridors and stairs. The heavy front door swung shut behind her with a low creak. Outside, the wind was still blowing. It felt cool against her skin and tossed her curls into her face as she crossed the steps. Betty walked slowly, without purpose, over the grounds. Her gaze drifted back to the castle, its high towers standing almost peacefully under the gray sky. Most of all, it was the Forbidden Forest that drew her. Since her first day, she had found herself wondering what was hidden behind those dark trees. Instinctively, her steps drew her toward the Forbidden Forest. As she approached the tree line, she stopped. A faint rustle came from the bushes below. Betty frowned as she scanned the maze of roots, spotting something small, dark and fast moving. A Kneazle, perhaps? Or some other creature? She stepped forward cautiously. Just as she walked closer to the the edge of the forest, a deep, warning voice sounded behind her.

"Now, now, now, yehng lady! Where d'yer think yeh're goin'?"

Betty spun around. Hagrid stood there with his arms crossed and a serious but not angry look on his face. Beside him sat a massive, drooling dog, eyes squinting at the dark forest. When Hagrid stepped slightly toward the treeline, the dog whimpered and nudged closer, staying pressed to his legs.

"I just...," Betty hesitated, unable to think of a good enough excuse. "I wanted to see what's moving in the forest."

Hagrid snorted softly but firmly. "Don't get me wrong, I like it when someone's interested in magical creatures, really I do. Even grown wizards think twice ‘fore steppin' in there. It's called the Forbidden Forest for a reason."

Betty nodded slowly and glanced back at the edge of the forest. "But you go in often, don't you? And you know the creatures..."

"'course!" Hagrid said emphatically. "I know every beast in there. But I'm a bit bigger an' tougher than you lot, an' I know where it's smart not ter step.” He fixed her with a serious look. “The forest ain't a place ter wander around or fool about. Sometimes it's wiser ter watch from a distance."

Betty glanced at the dog, which was still pressed against Hagrid's side with its ears flat and its head low, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else but here. "Well, at least you're two, then."

Hagrid looked down at Fang, shaking his head slightly. "Fang? He's more scared o' the forest than all the students together. One branch snaps an' he's at the hut doort. But if ye really wanna learn more 'bout magical creatures—come by me hut sometime. I'll show ye some harmless ones, an' maybe tell ye 'bout the ones what live in the forest."

Betty's face brightened. "Really? You'd show me?"

"Of course!" Hagrid said. "But only if yeh promise me—yeh don' sneak off into the forest alone again, 'kay?"

"Promise," Betty nodded enthusiastically. "I really want to learn more about magical creatures."

Hagrid seemed satisfied, examining her more closely. Then he frowned. "Ehh, yeh the girl who saved the boy, ai? What's yer name exactly?"

"Betty Black," she answered calmly.

His face changed instantly. The friendly openness disappeared, replaced by a quiet, almost sad expression. "Black, huh? Little one of Sirius Black?"

Betty nodded, surprised that he had recognised the name immediately. "Yes. He's my father."

Hagrid's gaze darkened further. He lowered his head slightly, staring past her into the distance. Betty felt her chest tighten, a sudden weight settling in her.

"Tragic story...," he murmured. "ne'er thought he'd do somethin' like that. They were like brothers..."

Betty shivered, even though the air was mild. She knew it was about her father, though no one had ever explained exactly what had happened. Only hints, fragments. Her mother never spoke of it, and she herself had never dared to ask. Sometimes Betty clung to the thought that it had been a misunderstanding. That maybe her father wasn't guilty. That there was another explanation. But there were no answers. She felt the weight coming from Hagrid, pressing the air around her. He said nothing more. Only the wind moved the leaves at the forest's edge. Eventually, Hagrid cleared his throat and pulled himself together.

"Ah, nothin'... been a long time, yeh know. Sorry, that was a bit outta place."

Betty wanted to ask him something and probe further; she wanted to find out more about her father. However, she sensed that he wasn't going to reveal any more than other adults had. And Betty wouldn't push him.

"No problem," she said gently instead.

Hagrid nodded and shifted the conversation, but avoided looking at her directly. "Well, take care, Betty... an' remember, if ye're ever interested in magical creatures, come by, eh? Fang an' me, we're always happy t'see visitors."

"I will. Thanks, Hagrid," Betty waved once more at the dog, who wagged his tail in response — at least until another rustle in the forest caused him to duck behind Hagrid's legs again.

As she made her way along the gravel path, his words lingered in her mind—the invitation to learn more about magical creatures, the unexpected connection to someone who had known her father. It left a strange, comforting feeling, as though a small piece of home had suddenly become tangible. Betty felt her thoughts drift to her mother and family, so far away. A faint pang mixed with the desire to reach out, to show she was here, settled, and finding her place.

Suddenly she realized she hadn't written to her mother yet—though the first weeks had been exhausting and full of new experiences, she should have sent word already. Most likely her mother had even been waiting. Without hesitation, Betty ran back into the castle. The Gryffindor common room hummed with activity. The fire crackled in the fireplace, students bent over homework, playing Wizard's Chess, or speaking quietly.

Katie waved to her from a window seat. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah... I just need to finally write to my mum. I haven't written her yet."

Sitting beside Katie, Holly looked surprised. "What? Not at all? I write to my parents at least once a week. They're slowly even figuring out how the owls work."

Betty shrugged, but her expression darkened. She felt a small tug in her stomach, difficult to place—probably guilt. "I just... forgot," she murmured, biting her lower lip.

"Well, better late than never," Katie said encouragingly.

Betty nodded, pulling quill, ink, and parchment out of her bag, throwing herself into a chair. Then she took a deep breath and began to write about everything she'd experienced the past weeks; it was messy. Once finished, she rolled the letter carefully, tied it with a thin string, and left the common room. She climbed to the Owlery upward, and with each step, her conscience felt a little lighter. At the top, the air smelled of hay, bird droppings, and old stone. Betty approached the perches where a few owls from the school were resting. A brown and white tawny owl raised its head and watched her intently.

"Hey, can you take this to London?" she asked, holding out the letter and gently stroking the little owl's head.

The owl closed its eyes contentedly, as if enjoying the caress. The owl allowed the parchment to be tied to its leg, then launched into the sky with a powerful flap of wings. Betty watched until it disappeared into the slowly darkening sky. She returned to the common room and finally joined the girls for a round of Exploding Snap.

But suddenly, They were like brothers, Hagrid's words still lingering in her mind. I thought he'd never do something like that. What did he mean?

Chapter Text

31st October 1990, Hogwarts.

Autumn faded and October came to an end with Halloween arriving. More ghosts than usual drifted through the corridors, their dimmed chatter echoing off the stone walls. Even the portraits seemed in a festive mood, exchanging whispers and nods that made the castle feel subtly alive. The ghosts were in unusually high spirits—Nearly Headless Nick floated past humming a tune, while the Fat Friar offered what he called "spooky blessings" to passing students. She remembered the way she had celebrated this day the past years. Every year she'd stay at the Tonks' house, carving pumpkins together with Tonks. Ted had enchanted the sweets so they squeaked or hopped before being eaten, and Betty had loved every second of it.

Her mother had never joined them. I don't like Halloween, she would say, her voice firm but strangely tight. Betty had never pressed her, though she sometimes lay awake the night afterward. At the Tonks' house, laughter and magic spilled in every corner, and her own home felt always quieter somehow; particularly around Halloween. Andromeda never pressured her, but simply gave Lucinda a knowing look that was almost as sad as Lucinda's, and always said she would be welcome if she changed her mind. But Betty's mother never did. And Betty knew there was more to it her mother just wouldn't talk about.

At breakfast, Holly sat wide-eyed watching Hagrid carry a pumpkin inside the Great Hall that must've been bigger than any student.

"You celebrate Halloween?" she asked, her voice filled with astonishment.

Before anyone could answer, George dropped down on the bench next to Betty, with Fred sitting opposite him.

"'Course we do!" Fred said with a grin.

George added, "Tonight's feast will be even better—last year we had enchanted bats flying all over here."

Holly and Katie exchanged nervous glances, but Betty's eyes lit up with excitement. Fred leaned forward, nudging Betty.

"And don't forget, the first Quidditch match of the season—Gryffindor against Slytherin—is coming up soon. You'll be there to cheer us up, won't you?"

Betty nodded without hesitation. "Of course I will."

"Perfect," George said with a big grin, before the twins turned to Lee, who had just sat down next to Fred, accompanied by two girls, starting to wrap the twins into a conversation.

Holly, still processing what she had just learned, whispered in awe, "We... don't have anything like that. Just carved pumpkins."

Fay blinked at her in surprise. "Wait—hold on. Are you saying Muggles celebrate Halloween too?"

Holly leaned forward and her eyes sparkling with excitement. "In the Muggle world—especially in Ireland—Halloween is huge. It actually goes back to Samhain, an ancient Celtic festival. People believed the boundary between the living and the dead grew thin on that night."

Mira tilted her head slightly. "That festival... it wasn't actually a Muggle thing. Celtic witches and wizards celebrated it. Bonfires, feasts, protective charms—it was magical from the start."

Holly's eyes widened. "Really?"

Mira poured herself pumpkin juice. "Yes. The old runes—Gaelic, Nordic, and Germanic—say the stars align tonight, and magic flows stronger. Those witches and wizards marked the night with feasts, bonfires, and protective spells. Maybe the Muggles remembered more than they realized—and adapted it into something they could keep."

All the girls looked at Mira in surprise. Betty had never thought this way, but it made perfect sense.

"Wow," Katie frowned in curiosity while smearing jam on her toast. "But how do you celebrate? No floating pumpkins, no bewitched bats... what's left?"

"Plenty! Children dress up as witches, skeletons, vampires—" Holly made dramatic clawing gestures with her hands "—to blend in with the spirits and not be taken by them. And they go from house to house, collecting sweets."

Fay blinked, frowning. "Witches? Muggles dress up as witches? I thought... they don't know about us."

Holly shook her head, laughing. "Not that kind. I mean the ones with crooked noses, brooms, and a black cat. Just costumes—fun, spooky, nothing real. They don't really believe they're real. I didn't until the letter arrived."

The girls all laughed at Holly's words. Betty chuckled at Holly's description, picturing Muggle children in costumes running door to door. She'd known from Uncle Ted that Muggles celebrated Halloween, but never knew the origins. Listening to Holly and Mira, she realized the festival had magical roots cleverly adapted over centuries.

Mira raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. "Of course, the restrictions on revealing magic to Muggles have only grown stricter over the centuries. The International Confederation of Wizards wants to keep the magical world hidden, and... well, apparently some traditions stuck with the Muggles not knowing their origins."

Fay stood up, wiping the crumbs of toast off her mouth with the sleeve of her robe. "You're such a nerd, Mira."

Mira shrugged but smiled faintly. "Better a nerd than clueless," she replied, her eyes twinkling.

With a sigh, the girls gathered their things and headed off to classes. The two months at Hogwarts had confronted Betty with a mixture of excitement and unexpected challenges. The thrill of studying magic had slowly changed into frustration. Most lessons were often more theoretical than she had hoped—not just History of Magic.

Even Defence Against the Dark Arts, which had started so promisingly under Professor Nightshade, had begun to lose its charm. At first, he had been enthusiastic, a little eccentric, explaining spells vividly and allowing students to discuss dangerous magic in theory, always emphasizing, "We mustn't be blind." But gradually, Betty noticed subtle changes. The professor became irritable when anyone asked whether he had ever used such magic himself. He appeared distracted, often glancing over his shoulder, forgetting materials, and showing the signs of sleeplessness. Even the lively discussions had lost some of their energy. Most of the other students didn't seem to notice—they would just laugh at his quirks. Katie just brushed it off when Betty mentioned her observations, waving a hand dismissively. "You're overthinking it," she said.

Potions were its own challenge. While Betty brewed every potion with attentive care, not repeating the mistake she had done in the first lessons; her potions had almost always the wanted colour, yet Professor Snape would never acknowledge her efforts. Praise was only reserved for Slytherins, with Gryffindors—if anything—always being criticised. Holly once muttered, when leaving the dungeons, "At least he ignores you. I wish he'd do the same with me", leaving Betty feeling guilty and ashamed. She knew Holly was often targeted by Snape, and that whenever other Gryffindors stood up to him, it usually only made things worse.

In contrast, Betty truly thrived during practical lessons. She had eventually adapted to using her wand—saying the incantations aloud still made her stumble— also plant care and even charting the stars came naturally; her movements were steady and precise, and the rare nods or words of encouragement from her professors kept her motivated. But the moment essays and reports were due, she stumbled. Nearly every lesson ended with another task for the following week. Often she pushed homework aside to test new spells or sneaked away with Fred, George and Lee to explore hidden corners of the castle. The hours she lost had to be reclaimed late at night or over the weekend. More and more, she found herself hunched over unfinished essays, staring at lines that stubbornly refused to take shape.

That lunch break, Betty and Katie sat at one of the desks in the common room, quills in hand, though Betty's mind often drifted as usual. Hagrid's words about her father had lingered with her for weeks, making her wonder what her father could possibly have done to his brother. One afternoon, she had visited Hagrid in his hut, drinking tea and watching him show her small creatures—flobberworms—that she fed with lettuce leaves. She had wanted to ask him what he meant that other day, but the words had caught in her throat. They were like brothers. She hadn't dared to ask him directly even though she had wanted to know so badly. Sometimes, she had tried to glimpse Hagrid's thoughts, but they leapt and twisted too quickly for her to find answers. She didn't dare look deeper—too afraid to find something she couldn't undone—but also searching through Hagrid's memories felt intrusive.

Asking her own mother felt pointless; Betty knew her mother wouldn't tell her anything. When she was younger, Betty had often asked her mother about her father, but she would just stare into the distance, unmoving and silent. Betty could sense the sadness and anger beneath her mother's façade, but not getting any answers, she stopped asking questions all together. Yet the thought of a secret being kept from her made her chest tighten.

The only time during the week when her thoughts stopped spiralling was during flying lessons. On the broomstick, the rest of the world disappeared for a moment, and for that time she could let go of her worries – her questions, the burden of the secrets that the adults kept from her. She loved the freedom up in the air, the wind rushing past her, the way she was getting better with every lesson. Katie's enthusiasm was infectious; she hoped that both of them would be accepted onto the Quidditch team in their second year. Betty, however, was unsure whether she was really good enough at flying to actually make it onto the house team.

"You're distracted—again," Katie said, breaking her from spiralling thoughts.

Betty flinched slightly and looked up to her.

"Sometimes... I'd really like to know what's going on in your head," Katie continued, shaking her head amusedly. "But I'm sure you're just thinking about which spells you can practise to impress Flitwick or McGonagall."

"Mhhh," Betty muttered quickly, not wanting to speak about what made her restless, so she pointed toward her parchment. "I just don't think I can keep up."

Katie glanced up, trying to cheer her. "Don't worry. You're brilliant at Charms and Transfiguration—everyone sees it."

"That won't finish my essays," Betty sighed. "Remember what Professor McGonagall told me? Theory is just as important as wand work."

Without another word, Katie pushed her own essay toward her. Betty looked at her questioningly.

"I'm just going to the loo. Just copy it. Then we'll leave for next class?" Katie asked.

Betty glanced at the essay, wanting to finish it but feeling guilty for not being able to get it done on her own. When Katie pushed the parchment further, she hesitantly took it and nodded gratefully. "Thank you." She copied quickly, quill scratching across the page, when someone nearby cleared their throat.

"Hey, Betty," Cormac began with a grin, "I saw you're struggling a bit. I could help you with the homework—if you help me with Transfiguration in return. You just act like it's your work. Easy for you, right?"

Betty looked at him, puzzled. It wasn't just cheeky—it was obvious what he was trying to do.

"No, thanks," she replied sharply, shaking her head. "I can't imagine copying from you. I might help you practice the exercises, but I will not cheat for you."

Cormac glanced over, noticing Katie's essay, and realizing Betty was about to copy. "But copying Bell's homework is different?"

"That's different. I'm not cheating for Katie. We're helping each other," Betty said firmly.

Cormac shrugged. "Oh, come on, Betty," he said, grinning, though it didn't quite carry his usual confidence. "I was only trying to help—no need to be so dismissive. But fine, you want to do it all alone. Suit yourself."

Betty took a deep breath, steadying her thoughts. "I can help you practice the exercises, or explain the spells. I won't cheat, though. I hope you understand that."

"Okay, okay," he finally said with a slight shrug, rejecting her offer.

"And I offered to help in return," Betty added quietly. "It's you who won't accept my offer."

"Ugh, no, that's boring," he muttered, casting one last glance to her before leaving before turning and walking back to the table where his friends were sitting.

Betty stood up and followed Katie, who had just come downstairs from the girls' tower. Both left for their next Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Ten minutes dragged by—long enough for some students to wonder if they should check his office—before he finally came in. Then the door opened, and he stepped in. His robes were rumpled, his eyes rimmed red, and he leaned on his desk as if steadying himself. Even Katie gave her a quick glance, as if she'd noticed it too this time. Without a greeting, Nightshade kept his gaze fixed on the book in his hands and began speaking about Doxies—their bites, their nests, and how to get rid of them.

"This is unbearable," Katie muttered after a long while. "Why is he giving us tips for housekeeping?"

Betty giggled, and they started exchanging little whispers and glances, silently mocking the monotony of the lecture. Then Katie began tearing off small pieces of her parchment and rolling them into balls. She aimed them at Cormac, who was sitting two rows in front of them. However, the paper projectile missed its target and landed on the floor next to him. Betty imitated her, rolled a ball and skilfully flicked it towards Cormac's head. With a small movement of her hand, she guided the paper ball unnoticed into the right lane, also helping it gain speed.

"Hit," Betty giggled as the ball hit Cormac in the back of the head.

Cormac cried softly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "Ouch!"

Irritated, he turned around and scanned the crowd. Katie and Betty stared innocently ahead, their heads resting on their hands, Katie covering her mouth with her hand to suppress a giggle. Puzzled, Cormac turned back around.

Katie giggled and whispered. "Or we leave him a love note. Something to confuse him even more."

Betty raised an eyebrow. "A love note? Do you think he'd fall for that?"

Katie nodded, eyes sparkling. "Imagine him thinking it's a secret admirer."

Betty chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be fun." She scribbled: I admire you from afar, and folded it into a paper ball.

"There," she whispered, now dropping it onto Cormac's desk with the same ease.

Katie stifled a laugh as she watched him pick it up, puzzled. "Will you tell him what it means?"

"No," Betty said with a sly grin. "He must figure it out on his own."

Cormac read the note and frowned. He muttered something and looked around again, but no one paid any attention to him.

Katie whispered to her what else she should write on the paper: The answer to everything lies in your heart. She sent it skillfully to Cormac's desk.

Cormac unrolled the second note and read it; a smile tugged at his lips. He turned back around, and his and Betty's eyes met for a moment. He murmured something, nodding knowingly at her.

Betty leaned over to Katie and whispered, "Oops, I think he's suspecting us."

Katie's eyes glinted mischievously. "One last note," she murmured, scribbling quickly: Your wonderful blue eyes... they look like the sky. She chuckled softly. "Only on a rainy day, though."

As Cormac turned back forward, Katie flicked the paper ball toward his desk. But it sailed a way too far—and landed squarely on Professor Nightshade's forehead. The professor flinched violently and slapped his hand to his forehead.

"WHO WAS THAT?!"

The whole class immediately flinched, surprised by the professor's sudden outburst. He scanned the students with angry, narrowed eyes, searching for the cause of the interruption. Betty's heart was racing. She didn't dare move. After an intense moment, Nightshade's expression softened and he shook his head as if he had imagined it all.

"I'm... I'm Sorry!" he muttered quickly, "I'm just..." Then he straightened and continued as if nothing had happened. "Now, back to doxies..."

Betty's heart was still racing. She exchanged a quick glance with Katie—no more pranks today. The lesson continued as monotonously as before, but the tension from the brief interruption lingered.

Later that afternoon, as Betty and Katie sat in the common room trying to finish their homework, Betty rummaged through her bag. Her quill had vanished again; it was the third one that week. She let out a frustrated sigh, muttered a curse, and pulled out—of course—another crumpled bundle of parchment instead. Katie, already watching her, slid a quill across the table with a shake of her head.

"Here. You'll never get anything done if you keep losing everything," she said with a crooked grin.

"Thanks," Betty muttered when she accepted Katie's with burning cheeks.

"I hope that's the last one this week," Katie said with a mocking voice.

Betty nodded guiltily, dipped her pen in the ink and bent over her essay. She only looked up when she heard hesitant footsteps stop right in front of her—Cormac. His usual self-confidence was overshadowed by something else. He nervously fiddled with his sleeve and tapped his feet. Betty looked at him questioningly.

"I know it was you," he said with great hope.

Betty put on an innocent face. "What are you talking about?"

"You are my secret admirer."

Betty blinked once, slowly, then let a hint of confusion crease her forehead. "I am... what?"

"You sent me these messages. In class. I'm sure it's your handwriting!"

"No," she said flatly, clenching her teeth together and shook her head with pretended confusion and slowly leaned over her parchment, so Cormac couldn't have a closer look to study her handwriting. "Let me see."

Cormac laid the messages on the table. Betty's stomach gave a little twist—because of course he was right. She had sent them. But she met his gaze without flinching. "Not me."
His confidence faltered. For a second he looked like he doubted his own memory. His initial hope slowly faded; Betty quickly looked down, a wave of regret washing over her.

"But I was sure—"

"You shouldn't be." Katie leaned forward, her tone as grave as she could manage. Only Betty caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Next time, ask before you leap."

Cormac raked a hand through his hair, thrown off balance and swallowed. "Maybe I read too much into it. But admit it—it felt mysterious."

Katie had already turned back to her parchment, hiding her broad grin. "If that's mysterious to you," she said dryly, "life's going to be very confusing."

He stood there, awkward, then managed a lopsided smile and retreated.

The moment he was gone, Katie pressed her fist to her mouth, giggling. "You didn't even blink. He was convinced you're some tragic secret admirer."

Betty bit her lower lip, still regretting their earlier pranks. "Don't you think we went a little to far?"

Katie leaned close, her eyes gleaming. "Well... He's in love with you, and now he's got high hopes. Maybe... yeah."

Betty rolled her eyes. "If that's true, he should stop showing off and just be nice."

Katie snorted, shaking her head. "Fair. But good luck teaching Cormac McLaggen that lesson."

Soon it was time for the feast. Together with Holly and Fay, Betty made her way down through the corridors, their footsteps echoing against the stone floors.

By now, Hogwarts had transformed. Over the course of the day, the castle had dressed itself in Halloween's strange magic. Enormous pumpkins—some taller than the first-years—lined the corridors, their carved faces glowing with flickering, mischievous smiles. In the darker corners, the light caught just enough to make the shadows twitch. Ghosts slipped in and out of walls more frequently than usual, startling shrieks out of unsuspecting students. Peeves swooped overhead, bellowing distorted Halloween songs that made several Ravenclaws flinch and duck.

Betty's eyes trailed over the grinning pumpkins, but her thoughts had wandered elsewhere. She wondered how her mother had spent the day—whether Lucinda had managed without her. Did the grief weigh heavier, now that Betty wasn't there? A wave of guilt pressed down on her chest so suddenly she stumbled. She felt guilty for not being there, guilty for enjoying the decorations and chatter when her mother was likely alone.

When they entered the Great Hall, her breath was caught. The enchanted ceiling was pitch-black, dotted with stars, the waxing half-moon casting silver across the hall. Thousands of bats darted just below the ceiling, weaving in and out of the floating candles that spilled their golden light over the long tables. Loud laughter and chatter echoed off the Great Hall's stone walls. At the high table, Dumbledore sat in his deep purple robes, his gaze sweeping across the room with a warm smile; he met Betty's gaze and winked. McGonagall chattered quietly with Professor Sprout; Hagrid laughed heartily alongside Flitwick, who looked far too small beside him. At the far end, Professor Snape sat stiffly in his chair, looking as if he would have preferred to vanish entirely; but there was something else she couldn't quite name. Professor Nightshade’s seat stayed empty, and some students murmured that he had locked himself in his office, too nervous to appear. 

The girls took their seats at the Gryffindor table, and with a collective gasp the feast appeared. Platters upon platters spread across the tables—roast beef, turkey, different kinds of potatoes, carrots glazed in honey, rich gravy steaming in silver boats. Betty's stomach growled at the sight, and she piled her plate high.

The sight made her think of other feasts—of Andromeda's kitchen covered with delicious and mouth watering smells. Pumpkin-stuffed roast, cranberry sauce, and her pumpkin pie, spiced so perfectly. Yet even there, laughter sometimes cracked. Betty remembered how Andromeda would drift away mid-conversation, her smile faltering, only to pull herself back together and brighten the room for the girls again. Once, Betty had accidentally slipped into Ted's mind. She hadn't meant to, but there it was—a flash of a younger Andromeda, laughing beside a dark-haired boy slightly older than Betty herself playing with toddler Tonks, followed by another memory of Andromeda, her face crumpled as she whispered—or maybe screamed—"No, no not Sirius. He would never—" Betty had pulled away immediately, shaken about the memories and the feeling that had come with them. Something about it had made her too afraid to look further, too afraid to uncover more she couldn't undone.

Fay nudged a slice of roasted beef toward Holly. "Here, try some—it's delicious!"

Holly shook her head and pressed her lips pressed in a thin line. "I don't eat meat, thanks."

Katie looked up from her plate, blinked and looked at Holly, confused. "But why? It's... food."

"They were living creatures once," Holly said softly, her voice was calm but firm. "I just couldn't. I couldn't eat them knowing that it used to have eyes... and feelings."

Betty froze mid-bite, looking down at her own plate—roast beef, chicken wings, beans wrapped in bacon. Fay rolled her eyes, clearly used to this conversation, shoving mashed potatoes and chicken wings into her mouth.

"It's just pork. Who cares?"

"Pigs are very intelligent animals," Holly replied, then turning slightly to meet Betty's gaze. "Sensitive too. They feel fear... pain. I've read about it."

Betty stared at her own plate. For a moment, she imagined the cow in the field, how pigs wallowed in the mud and little piglets snuggled up to their mother. She had always loved animals, healing injured birds with healing spells as she had learned, and protecting frogs in the garden from being trampled. But she had never looked at the meat on her plate in the same way. How could she eat creatures she had protected her whole life? It felt odd, thinking of those animals als food. Her stomach churned, but it wasn't just nausea—the realization shocked Betty. What had she been thinking all this time? She had always known that living creatures felt fear and pain, but somehow, she had drawn an invisible line when it came to meals. Her chest tightened. What had she expected meat to be? Just pieces of food, devoid of life? How naive—and careless—had she been?

Slowly, she pushed her plate aside, feeling a mix of guilt and nausea. Her appetite had vanished. Betty glanced at Holly, who met her eyes with a small, understanding smile.

Katie frowned, eyebrows knitting together. "You're not eating it either?"

Betty shook her head, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I'm not hungry."

Fay shrugged, unimpressed. "More for us then." She picked up Betty's half eaten slide of roasted meat with her fork.

Holly's eyes softened giving Betty a knowing look. "It's alright. Not everyone understands yet."

Betty nodded, feeling a strange warmth toward Holly. Katie shrugged and went back to her food, Fay picked at her pork with mild disgust at Holly's "strangeness," but Betty didn't move her fork again. A few seats away, Mira sat with Cormac, Carl Hopkins, and Garreth Wood, caught up in a lively discussion that caught Betty's attention when she heard a name dropped.

"Harry Potter fought him," Cormac said loudly, almost bragging. Betty's ears perked up at the name, and she started listening.

"He was just a baby," Mira rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, a baby that somehow survived the killing curse," Garreth insisted, shrugging.

Carl leaned forward. "There's no counter spell. It's impossible to survive it."

Cormac smirked. "If it wasn't baby Potter, then there must've been someone else. I'd reckon there was someone hiding in his nursery and attacked you-know-who from behind."

Betty's let her goblet hovered mid-air. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. They're treating a tragedy like a game. Her stomach twisted.  Her shoulders pressed up toward her ears. The clatter of plates and chatter around her seemed louder all at once. She tapped her fingers against the table. Do they even think about the lives lost?

Holly who had been listening to the same conversation leaned over to Fay, nudging her. "What are they talking about?"

Fay, still chewing her pork, shrugged. "Huh?"

Holly pressed. "These lads are talking about a baby who fought that Dark Wizard? Wait... what was his name? And why does no say it?"

Fay began, hesitating. "Actually, no one—"

"It's Voldemort." It slipped out of Betty a little too loudly.

Everyone within earshot froze, some flinched. Some heads turned towards Betty, some of the conversations around her fell silent. Katie had been frozen mid-bite, still staring at Betty wide-eyed. Betty lowered her gaze, aware of the tension she'd stirred.  Her jaw tightened, and she pressed her fingertips into the palms of her hands, then let them rest in her lap, twisting a corner of her robe instead. She'd known that the name was still feared; she herself didn't quite understand. It was just a name; it wasn't like saying his name would bring him back. Her mother had told her to not say his name, just out of respect to other wizards and witches, and Betty mostly obeyed—though she had never expected to trigger such a reaction.

Holly's eyes lingered on Betty for a moment, then drifted around at the others at the table, as if she understood why no one mentioned that name and what it triggered. She leaned in to Fay as if get the attention away from Betty.

"Uhmm, and... he tried to kill a baby? Why would anyone do that?", she whispered.

Fay who still stared at Betty for a moment, then gave a resigned shrug. "Oh, ai... he tried, but he failed. That's why they call Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived. He's got a scar on his forehead," she added, almost as if she were repeating a story she'd told countless times.

Holly's eyes widened. "And... how?"

Fay waved a hand vaguely. "No one really knows. Some say it was a rebounding curse, others say his mother knew ancient protective magic. And why... Doesn't matter. The important thing is—we got rid of him."

Betty's goblet slid trhough her fingers, and fell onto the table with a loud clatter. Her chest felt tight; the muscles along her back ached from how tense she'd been holding herself together. Heads turned again, this time with more curiosity than alarm.

"Doesn't matter? On that day, Harry's parents died!"

A silence fell. Fay blinked at Betty, confused. "Yes, but... that was nearly ten years ago. You're acting like you lost them yourself."

Betty's heart raced. She remembered going to the Potters' grave in Godric's Hollow every Halloween, laying flowers onto their grave. Her mother never showed much emotion, but Betty could feel the weight of her grief. She would let her mother hold her hand tightly, feeling the pressure of her fingers pressing back—sometimes so hard it hurt—but Betty never said a word. She barely remembered Lily and James Potter herself, only the very few stories she had been told. Afterward, her mother would leave her at the Tonks' house and disappear for the rest of the day. No one knew what she did, and as always Betty never dared to ask.

Then it hit her even harder; a long lost memory, something that Harry had told her when she first met him years ago—Harry Potter whose mother died while protecting him—thought his parents died in a car accident. Betty thought of how little Harry must know about his own parents, and how the wizarding world must know more about him than he himself did.

The thought made her throat tighten, her shoulders tensing further, fingers clenching lightly, then releasing. The noise of cutlery scraping on plates, the smacking sounds of students eating, the chatter around her—everything seemed to become louder, the noise pressing against her ears.

Katie leaned over, noticing Betty staring into nothing. "Betty? You okay?"

Betty gathered herself, her fingers still clenching on her robes, then turned directly to Fay, her voice as steady as she could make it.

"Because... they were my family."

Betty could barely see Fay's expression turned to shock. Without waiting for questions, Betty stood and walked out of the Great Hall, her steps echoing as she climbed the grand staircase towards the Gryffindor tower. The noises from the Hall faded, but the tension in her body didn't ease. She wasn't hungry anyway. But she was tired. So incredibly tired.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Lucinda Malfoy Black was a truly remarkable woman; her extraordinary beauty and aristocratic bearing were impossible to overlook. Her pale blonde hair, shimmering like light gold, fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her fair, flawless skin made her light green, piercing eyes seem even sharper. Her upright posture, and her gaze could be soothing or terrifying—depending on her intent. She knew very well how others perceived her, and had learned exactly how to use her beauty to her advantage. It was one of the few traits she was glad to have inherited from her otherwise cruel father. She couldn't deny that there were moments where she even enjoyed the power that came with making others uneasy; control had long been her armour—and sometimes even her indulgence. Her clothing was always perfectly tailored to her figure, emphasising both elegance and quiet authority. She was a Malfoy through and through.

Decades ago, when she was still aligned with her family, she had often worn dark shades—emerald, burgundy, and black—in the traditional style of the Malfoys. Now, she deliberately chose lighter tones such as sage and lavender. Those soft colours not only complemented her fair complexion but also set her apart from the sombre appearance of her relatives. As a member of a family built on pride, tradition, and an unyielding belief in blood purity, Lucinda had early learned that emotions were seen as weakness, that the family name had to be carried with dignity, and that loyalty came above all else. Yet even as a child, she began to question those rules, and the cruelty they concealed. She had seen how too often how pride turned into malice, and how power was twisted into arrogance. While her older brother Lucius—once very close to her—embraced the family's ideology and joined the Dark Lord's circle, Lucinda quietly distanced herself from it, and stopped mistaking fear for respect.

Lucinda's greatest wish was to keep her daughter safe—from pain, from the world, from her own past, or even from their own relatives. But the world hadn't make that easy.

It had been an afternoon in spring, together with her five year old daughter Lucinda had walked the streets of Diagon Alley, having promised Betty to go to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, after buying the necessities they needed. They had just left the Apothecary when they almost bumped into a tall, elegant woman, dressed in the typical style of a noble family, whose now grey hair was tied back in a strict bun. Her stern features had instantly transformed into a sneering grin, her grey-brown eyes fixed on Lucinda. The older woman walked up to Lucinda with a cold, amused tilt of her head.

"Well, well," the woman said, her voice sharp with laughter."Long time no see, Lucinda."

"Walburga," Lucinda replied, nodding with pretended politeness. Of all people it had to be Walburga Black, whom they had bumped into. "I'm sorry for your loss. I heard that your son and your husband—"

"Oh, girl, spare me the polite niceties," Walburga cut her off, with her head held high and a sneering smirk. "I know exactly why you've been hiding. Your late father father tried so desperately to cover it up. You really embarrassed him, the old fool. Always so private, but not with this one. Abraxas always tried so hard to present himself as the perfect Malfoy. Scolding me for having raised a blood traitor. And then his seemingly perfect daughter runs away herself, carrying someone's unworthy child."

She had chuckled clearly amused, then she tilted her head to scan Betty, who stand beside Lucinda, holding onto her mother's hand. Her grip tightened around Betty's, guiding her slightly behind her. 

"We share completly different values, Walburga," Lucinda said as calm as possible, not letting her drawn into the tone, "I don't see how my life concerns you in the slightest."

Walburga didn't respond to what had been said; instead, she pointed at Betty. "Is that the breed? May I guess who's the father? A filthy mudblood?"

Lucinda's jaw stiffened, her heartbeat quickening, and she forced herself to breath evenly. "That's none of your concern."

But Walburga couldn't look away. Her eyes lingered on the child—the pale skin, the light brown hair, much darker than Lucinda's, though not quite as dark as Sirius', and the dark green eyes that seemed far too sharp for a five year old's face, yet had the exact shape of his. The older Betty grew, the more she resembled her father. Walburga's frown deepened; recogniction flickered in her eyes. Lucinda's breath shallowed, but she kept her posture steady, giving nothing away. She took Betty's hand tighter and moved to walk past Walburga.

"May I?"

"She looks... like a Black," Walburga hissed, incredulity creeping into her voice. Lucinda had turned her back, gently pushing Betty behind her. She swallowed, her heart began to beat faster.

"Don't tell me she is the blood traitor's child," Walburga spit.

Lucinda froze. That was exactly what she had feared. Walburgas eyes widened in realisation—and her voice rose with fury.

"You ran off with my son?" she yelled, stepping closer, her face twisting with rage. People passing by started to look at them, some even stood and watched the scene. "YOU RAN OF WITH THAT TRAITOR?! And this child—this breed of a traitor—YOU BROUGHT HER INTO THE WORLD?"

She hesitated, then suddenly changed her voice, as if she had realised who stood in front of her. With the eldest behind bars and the youngest dead, Betty was the only heir left.

"But still, she is a Black," she yelled louder. "HOW DARE YOU—how dare you keep a Black from me? You think you can hide her from me? SHE CARRIES OUR BLOOD. MY BLOOD. SHE IS RIGHTFULLY MINE."

Something inside Lucinda had snapped. The words weren't just insults anymore—they were a claim. A claim to her daughter she had wanted to protect so badly. She felt her pulse hammer in her ears, her whole body rigid; a cold rage flared in Lucinda's chest. Betty's small hand squeezed hers painfully. She stepped closer to Walburga, now steadying her gaze, speaking directly to the woman whose face would've been beautiful if it hadn't been twisted into a hateful grimace.

"You cast your own son out. You tortured him. You have no right to his—my daughter."

Walburga shouted, refusing to be cowed. "Your father... HE WOULD'VE KILLED YOU—YOU AND YOUR FILTHLY BITCH OF A CHILD."

"Oh, he did." Lucinda said quietly her words cutting like a blade, keeping her gaze on her. "He did try to have me killed—and he failed. And look who's dead now and who is alive." Her heart quickened, but she hadn't taken her eyes off Walburga. She stepped forward, sliding her daughter protectively behind her; the little hands clung to her own so tightly it almost hurt. "Call me what you want. But if you ever speak of my daughter that way again, you will terribly regret it."

Lucinda held her gaze for a moment, but didn't wait for an answer. She turned on her heel and pulled Betty through the crowd, passing Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and heading straight to the Leaky Cauldron. Betty must have sensed the tension—she didn't ask about the promised ice cream. Neither of them spoke a word until they arrived at the Tonks house. Lucinda, still pale and adrenaline racing through her veins, barely breathed. Her whole body was trembling, and she was unable to bring any words over lips. It was Betty who first regained her voice, after Andromeda had rushed forward, concern written across her face.

"What happened? Are you both all right?"

Betty's small shoulders had shrugged. "We met grandma," she said in all seriousness, her voice surprisingly firm. "She's... a really mad lady."

Lucinda had let out a faint, exhausted laugh. "That's... one way to put it," she murmured, letting herself finally exhale. The following months Lucinda barely let Betty leave the Tonks' property—fortunately Betty didn't seem to mind as she loved spending time in the backyard.

Lucinda's rebellion began in silence. Her hunger for education and knowledge led her to Muggle authors, whose books she kept hidden—sealed with protective blood magic only she could break, and only by her own free will. Yet Lucinda was never an open rebel, not like Lily Evans—who soon became her friend, holding secret book club meetings with Remus Lupin to discuss Muggle literature—after Lucinda’s break with Severus Snape, and whom she quietly admired for standing openly for what they both believed was right. During their seventh year, what began as defiance against her father and the marriage he tried to force upon her turned into something far deeper. Sirius Black and Lucinda Malfoy began their secret affair. Sirius, known for his reckless charm and fleeting romances, and Lucinda, with her cold, selfcontrolled demeanour, found unexpected comfort in each other. They understood the worlds they had been born into—and the doubts they shared about them. It was Sirius who first noticed her armour crack, and it was Sirius who made her feel safe enough to let herself go for the first time.

They were still young, not yet graduated, when Lucinda made a shocking discovery—she was with child. Her decision to run away with Sirius—a young man already disowned by his family—marked the final break with her own. The Malfoys, however, handled betrayal differently than the Blacks. While Walburga Black publicly disowned her son, Abraxas Malfoy, the Malfoy patriarch, preferred secrecy. No one was ever to know that Lucinda was carrying the child of a blood traitor—and unmarried, at that. The Malfoys chose silence over scandal and intended to make her disappear quietly. A Malfoy leaves no trace. That was the family's unspoken motto.

Under the protection of Albus Dumbledore, Lucinda and her unborn child survived. Later, she joined the Order of the Phoenix. With her deep knowledge of dark magic and her insight into those families who sympathised with the Dark Lord, she became a valuable ally in the fight against him.

Both Lucinda and Sirius were terrified of becoming parents so young, at a time when witches and wizards were vanishing and no one was safe. Yet when their daughter was born—under exceptional circumstances—they were overwhelmed by love. From her very first breath, Betty was surrounded by warmth and protection, far removed from the coldness of the Malfoy name.

Sirius, especially, shared an unbreakable bond with his daughter. He loved Betty deeply—so intensely that it sometimes frightened Lucinda. She remembered how he had held Betty as a baby, as if she were the most precious thing in the world. How he rose at night to soothe her, sang to her even when he missed every note, played with her for hours, and transformed into the great black dog she loved to cling to. He had been the only one who could calm her when nothing else worked. And then Harry was born. Little Harry, the son of Sirius’s closest friends—whom he loved as fiercely as his own child. He and James had dreamed of raising them together, both children growing up side by side like siblings. And indeed, the toddlers soon became inseparable.

Sirius had been a loving father, and a wonderful godfather to Harry, though often chaotic. Lucinda and he argued frequently about parenting—rules, manners, and discipline. She was strict; he was indulgent. He acted impulsively where she planned ahead. Yet even in their fiercest fights, she had never doubted how much he loved his daughter—and those he called family. She had believed he would do anything for Betty. Kill for her. Die for her. Anything, if it meant keeping her safe. But she had been deceived—and then, he destroyed everything.

Lucinda could still recall the day Albus brought her the news. She had refused to believe it. Sirius—a murderer, a traitor? Not the man she had loved, married, and risked everything for. He had betrayed her and his dearest friends. Peter Pettigrew, said to have confronted Sirius after the betrayal, had paid with his life. Lucinda had never thought much of him, but he hadn’t deserved that. James, who had been like a brother. Lily, who had become not only like Sirius' sister but one of Lucinda’s closest friends. And Harry. Harry, the boy who was the reason for the Potter's hiding in the first place. But the boy survived, and the Dark Lord was gone. And while the Wizarding World celebrated the Dark Lord's fall, Lucinda's world fell apart.

The truth shattered, and doubt consumed her. Had he truly loved them? Had she been living beside a stranger all along? Sirius had sworn to protect a boy who now lived while his parents were gone. The thought made her suffocate. He was responsible for the deaths of those who loved him—and, in doing so, had betrayed her too. At first, she and Remus Lupin clung to each other for strength. But soon, too shaken and haunted by his own burdens, he disappeared as well. Lucinda sank into a dark pit of grief, fear, and anger. She questioned everything she had believed—not only about Sirius, each touch and promise, but about the few people left and their sincerity. How naïve she had been. How easily deceived. The years that followed were an endless struggle—grieving the man she had loved, hating what he had done, and fighting to give Betty the best life she could. She had no choice but to keep going—for Betty's sake, but also for her own.

It was hard. She was still young and penniless—but not powerless. She was smart, and despite rejecting the Malfoy legacy, she knew her name still carried influence. Being the wife of a convicted murderer and traitor made her life difficult enough. A year after Betty's birth, her father had died of dragon pox. With his death, an old generation ended. Lucinda officially reclaimed her name after the Dark Lord’s fall, knowing her brother—who had never been as cruel as their father—would shy away from open conflict. With Voldemort gone and his own neck safely out of the noose, Lucius would not dare challenge her.

Lucinda began her career at the Ministry as an office employee in the Department of Magical Transportation, which was then led by Thaddeus Dearborn. Thaddeus, a reserved and analytical man known for his precision, noticed Lucinda quickly—for her sharp intellect, quiet authority, and remarkable knowledge of language. He took her under his wing, recommending her for a position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Thaddeus generally avoided political involvement and valued order and security above all else, felt sympathy for Lucinda, a young single mother trying to rebuild her life. 

As Lucinda moved up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, she began advocating for equality in the ministry regarding the treatment of Muggleborns, and to build good relations with wizards from other countries. Her clever thinking and steady dedication earned her a place as a trusted advisor to Bartemius Crouch Sr. Their relationship was mutually beneficial. Having endured similar suffering to his son in Azkaban, Bartemius Crouch valued Lucinda's intelligence and strategic skill. Together, they successfully navigated the complex political landscape: he helped her to rise through the career ladder, while she helped to rebuild his reputation, enabling him to regain some of the status and respect that had been lost by his son's brutal actions. Lucinda, however, never followed him blindly. She understood that politics demanded constant alertness, and that power always came at a price. In the Ministry, survival required a clear mind and an uncompromising moral compass. Trust was a tool, and she wielded it carefully.

But it was not only Lucinda who suffered from Sirius' betrayal. Betty was too young to understand what had happened, and the consequences that followed. She didn't understand why her father had suddenly disappeared; why they couldn't visit Harry, her uncles and her aunt Lily. And even though she wouldn't understand their absence, her pain was undeniable. In the first days after his disappearance after his imprisonment, Betty searched everywhere for him. She ran through the house screaming "Dada?" with childish hope he might suddenly appear somewhere. At night, Betty would cry herself to sleep, missing her father’s comfort. Lucinda, lacking the strength to soothe her, would lock herself in the basement for hours, crying in silence. When Betty had eventually realised he wouldn't return,  her grief seemed to deepen, and it began to effect herself and her magic. Her pain manifested in uncontrollable, wild outbursts—lights flickering, walls trembling, and windows cracking.

One quiet night, Lucinda had heard whispers coming from Betty's nursery; just to find a young Betty sitting in a corner of the room, quietly talking and giggling to someone. When Lucinda had entered the threshold, she froze, and her heart skipped a beat. For a moment, she thought, that Sirius had escaped Azkaban and came back for them. But she had realised that it was only an Illusion, that Betty must have created herself. The illusion was eerie and yet beautiful, Lucinda had realised in that moment how fragile both their worlds had become—and how close she had been to losing control of her own sanity.

The house they had lived in together, the home they had built for themselves, now felt like a cage of nightmares. It was Andromeda Tonks, a cousin of Sirius, and her husband Ted who stepped in, taking them in and providing the support Lucinda needed so desperately, even if was hard to admit. They even helped sell the house for a fraction of its value, lifting a huge burden from her shoulders. A few months later, Ted helped Lucinda secure the position in the Department of Transportation under Thaddeus where he worked, giving her both financial stability and a renewed sense of purpose. Under their care, Betty began to recover, forming a close bond with Nymphadora, who became something like an older sister to her.

Then, a few months before Betty's sixth birthday, the summer Tonks left for Hogwarts, Thaddeus Dearborn—having no heirs of his own—passed away, leaving his small house in London to Lucinda. Seeking stability for herself and her daughter, and feeling like a burden in the Tonk's house even though Andromeda kept insuring they were not, Lucinda gratefully accepted, finally beginning the process of building a new life. Or so she hoped.

Yet the house felt too quiet. In the evening, when Betty was alseep, Lucinda often found herself either in her own little library— the one she had created for herself, with books neatly arranged in shelves reaching up to the ceiling—or in the adjoining basement, a large painting concealing the stairs leading downwards. Down there, among shelves of neatly sorted ingredients and steaming cauldrons, she found a strange calm that steaded her mind. Sometimes Betty would join her, watching with big, curious eyes as Lucinda stirred her wand and poured colourful potions and slaves into phials and tins.

When autumn came with Halloween approaching, her grief felt heavier than ever, and even the calming bubbling of the cauldrons content couldn't keep her thoughts from unravelling. One night, while she was sorting the phials, and noting which ingredients were running low, she felt a light breeze coming from the stairs above, and as she turned she saw Betty, dressed in her nightgown, hair widly tousled, toddling down the steps. She hesitated, then without another word, she came up to Lucinda and whispered, "I can take it away, the hurt."

Before Lucinda could say a word, Betty took her hand. The moment their fingers touched, Lucinda felt a sudden warmth spreading through her chest, and a soft lightness, as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her chest. She stared at her daughter, moved beyond words, kneeling in front of her, pulling her close, unsure weither to be frightened or amazed.

But once they had settled, the grief of separation returned, stronger than before. Every of Betty's trantrum where accompanied by doors slamming until their burst; wind forming almost to whirlwinds. Lucinda felt helpless, not knowing how to soothe her daughter, just as she had felt years earlier. Already sensitive to emotion, Betty absorbed her mother's sorrow as if it were her own, bearing a burden that no child should have to carry. Lucinda felt inadequate as a mother. She had hoped to provide Betty with love and stability, but the magic within her reacted more violently to emotion than Lucinda could have imagined.

As Lucinda's greatest wish was it to keep Betty safe. She tried to give Betty a home full of love, a home herself and Betty's father had lacked; to shield her from the pain herself had endured growing up. Even it that meant to withholding the truth. Lucinda couldn't bring herself to tell Bety what her father had done, and why he had left them. She told herself, once Betty is older, once Betty is capable of understanding. But again, the world wouldn't play her rules.

Lucinda wanted Betty to have as normal a life as possible. That included having normal friendships; Tonks, who was quite a bit older and now attending Hogwarts, couldn't spent time with Betty any longer. While working at the Ministry, Lucinda had met a quirky red haired man named Arthur Weasley who had an unusual fondness for Muggle artefacts. Nevertheless, his warm nature and the fact that he was the father of seven children, three of whom were Betty's age, seemed like the perfect opportunity to introduce Betty with her peers. And there, Betty really thrived.

Together with the twins, she discovered her love and capability of pranks, much to the dismay of their older brother Percy. Betty had spent half the summer with the Weasleys and often didn't want to go home, but then—one afternoon in early September—something happened that made Lucinda realise that she was no longer able to handle the situation on her own. An urgent message from Molly Weasley, Arthur's wife, had reached her at work.

"Lucinda, please, you have to come here immediately. It's... something has happened. Betty has locked herself in the shed for hours. I can't get through to her."

Lucinda had instantly apparated to the Burrow, the youngest children including Molly, already standing in front of a shed next to the house. The youngest girl, and one of the twins, kneeling beside the door, quietly whispering reassuring words, yet Betty wouldn't allow them to open the door. Molly rushed towards her.

"Betty, she is... she had an outburst," the red haird woman said worried, "she's scared, Lucinda. She injured Percy—nothing serious. He's in shock, but he'll be alright. But poor Betty... she must be so frightened by her own power. I can't unlock the door."

Lucinda walked passed Molly towards the shed door. The twins alternatingly telling Molly and Lucinda what had happened. They had spent all afternoon, hiding from Percy, who had still been angry at the children's prank, in the twins bedroom, when Ron asked that one question, that set everything in motion.

"And where's your father, Betty?"

She shrugged her shoulders and told them firmly, faintly smiling, "He's gone. But he'll come back soon."

But then Percy had appeared, overhearing the conversation. "That's nonsense! Your father will never come back! He's a murderer!"

Betty had trembled for a moment. That word "Azkaban", not surely knowing what it meant, must have echoed in her mind.

"You're lying!" Betty had shouted, "He's not! He would never do that!"

But Percy had only responded coldly, "I'm not lying. Your father killed people. Twelve muggles. And now he's rotting in Azkaban, where he belongs!"

And then it happend. Betty's magic erupted uncontrollably, throwing Percy violently across the room. The boy hit the wall with such a force, he fell unconsciously to the floor. According to the twins, a storm errupted, toys flying around and flames creeping up the walls, leaving dark grime marks on the wall.

When Molly finally rushed in, the room was a complete chaos, Percy lying on the floor with a bleeding wound on his head, his arm unnaturally twisted. Betty stand within the chaos, her eyes in wide shock, staring at her hands, and what she had done. Before Molly could react, Betty had stormed out, running out of the house, and locking herself in the shed. Once Lucinda arrived, it took almost the half afternoon, until Betty eventually came out, still shaking, whispering, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

After this incident, Betty was so frightened and full of guilt that she strictly refused to visit the Weasleys again. Doubts crept in Lucinda. Should she have told Betty earlier? But how did one tell a six year old that her father had done something so unspeakable? So Lucinda decided, that this must be enough knowledge—for now. And Betty, she began to withdraw even further. Betty, who had started using her magic instinctively at an early age and enjoyed experimenting with it—and Lucinda let her do so—now almost stopped, with a few exceptions. Even when they argued, Betty seemed to suppress her magic with all her strength. And that was what frightened Lucinda the most. Not only that Betty had hurt someone and could hurt herself or someone else again. Lucinda knew exactly what happened to children who tried to shut off their magic.

During her travels on behalf of her department, Lucinda had travelled all over the world and met wizards from almost every country. She did not shy away from unconventional methods—at least for Britain. It was Dumbledore who recommended the wizard from Kenya. She remembered the wizard—tall, his short dark coils streaked with grey hair, with friendly dark eyes and an attentive expression. Zuberi Bakari. He was a professor at the East African School of Magic in Uagadou, located on the Ugandan part of the Rwenzori Mountains, where he taught transfiguration. But Lucinda also knew that he was knowledgeable about meditation and the early magical education of children, teaching them to use their magic in a controlled manner, based on his own traumatic experiences in his youth.

Zuberi didn't agree lightly to teach Betty, a British witch, due to the still tense situation between the Kenyan and the British ministries.

"You, a British witch, want me—Kenyan wizard—to teach your daughter what your people have tried to erase? When I was a boy," Zuberi had asked Lucinda, calm but firm. "it was your Ministry, that punished me and my people for not using wands. For following our traditions. Why would I trust you with our ways?"

"Yes, because what they erased was wisdom, not weakness," Lucinda didn't flinch, "and because if she doesn't how to control herself, her magic—she'll destroy herself. I won't let that happen."

Zuberi had said nothing, then he nodded slowly.

"I have seen with my own eyes, what happens to children who suppress their magic," he eventually said. "I do it—for your daughter. Not for you. Not for your ministry. Solely for her."

"I promise you, I will do better," Lucinda said, meeting his gaze. "I will use my position to make amends for the pain the British caused, and to honour the wisdom your people were denied."

Lucinda kept her word; though it was as hard as she expected. Not everyone in the Ministry shared Lucinda's opinion, though she never let herself be put down. And Zuberi, he taught Betty not only how to control her magical abilities through master elemental magic—a skill that in Western Wizarding Societies were often forgotten, but to try to master her inner world a little bit better. By teaching her what was slumbering inside her after all, accidentality outbursts triggered by deep emotions stopped. He encouraged her to mediate regurlarly, to breath consciously in order to develop a deeper understanding of her magic; it was not just a tool, it was part of her, part of every wizard and witch there is.

But Lucinda didn't just trusted Zuberi with Betty. It wasn't only the uncontrollable magic, that Lucinda feared but Betty's inherent capability of Legilimens. It wasn't the sole fact she was capable of such a rare inherent skill, something that took years to master if not being born with. But the possibility to make Betty vulnerable—if she saw the wrong thing. And just being used for her skill.

She knew Betty didn't only need magical training but Occlumence lessons; an ability someone who she had once trusted had mastered. Someone she had once admired him for his ambition and his unappeasable thirst of knowledge. Someone who had broken that trust by giving in the power Dark Magic promised, but following the Dark Lord's ideology. But being desperate to find the best teacher there was, she had to trust Severus Snape again. After the fall, Dumbledore had intervened, ensuring Severus avoided Azkaban and offering him a teaching position. Still, she could see that Dumbledore didn't make such decisions lightly. Perhaps Lily had played a role. That was enough. If Dumbledore trusted Severus with the lives of others, then he could be trusted with Betty. And Lucinda, desperate to keep her daughter safe, could take no greater comfort than that.

Lucinda, however, didn't trust Dumbledore blindly—she often disagreed with him, such as his decision to leave Harry with the Dursleys, Lily's sister Petunia and her husband Vernon Dursley. She understood his reasoning, but she didn't believe the boy's guardianship there was right. Some years after the fall of the Dark Lord, and Harry being placed with his relatives, Lucinda began visiting Arabella Figg, who, on Dumbledore's instructions, lived a few streets away from the Dursleys, on a regular basis to keep on eye on the little boy. Everytime he was there at Arabella's place, whenever the Dursley's wanted to get rid of him, they send him to Arabella's place. Of course that was no coincidence.

Every time Harry was sent over to Arabella's, he was polite, quiet, flinching at every sudden noise—too cautious for a boy his age. It made Lucinda's heart ache. The day she noticed the faint bruises on his wrists, she knew she couldn’t stay silent any longer. The next morning, she had knocked on the front door. A large man with a thick moustache had opened the door, scanning her mistrustfully.

"We don't expect visitors. And I'm surely not interested in buying something from you",

"I'm not here to sell you anything, Vernon," Lucinda said coolly, "You probably remember me. From the wedding. Your sister-in-law's wedding."

Vernon face turned pale, then, starting from his neck, he turned crimson red. His small eyes narrowed, Lucinda could see the artery pulsing in his neck.

"We don't want your kinds here," he spat. "We told him when we took the boy in. You're not welcome here."

He was about to slam the door shut, but Lucinda who had been prepared put her foot in the door. She looked directly into his eyes, not letting him irritate her.

"I know what you have been doing to Harry. I've seen the bruises."

His expression faltered. From the hallway, a woman's voice called, "Darling? Who's there?" Petunia appeared beside him—and froze, unlike her husband, she recognised Lucinda immediately.

"Darling? Who's there?" A voice sounded behind the man, and Petunia glanced beside her, Lucinda lifts her head directly looking at Petunia, the woman's face turning as pale as her husbands.

Lucinda met her eyes. "Do you think your sister would treat your son like you treat hers?"

"How dare—" Petunia began, but Lucinda's look silenced her, much to Lucinda's satisfaction.

"Make sure your husband keeps his hands from Harry." She had said quietly, giving both of them one last deadly glance, before she turned on her heel and left, her pulse hammering in her ears.

Dumbledore had found out soon after. He hadn't been pleased. He had reminded Lucinda that the boy was to grow up, shielded from the fame he would be confronted with as soon as he would enter Hogwarts. And he reminded her that the protective magic he had placed on the Dursley's home—the protective enchantments tied to Lily's sacrifice—required the boy remain with the Dursleys. Only him staying there would the charm to continue to protect him. Lucinda had argued, but Dumbledore stayed firm. Harry had to stay with the Dursley's, no matter the neglect. But he did credit her with having the boy's welfare at her heart, which made Lucinda wonder how much he actually cared for the boy. He was safe, for now. But at what cost? She had persisted, insisting she would continue to visit—to bring Betty with her. Eventually, Dumbledore had given in, knowing her intentions her sincere—but on one condition: that neither she nor Betty reveal who they truly were. Lucinda had agree with a heavy heart.

***

December 1990, Diagon Alley, London.

It was a week before the Christmas holidays when Lucinda passed through the festively decorated streets of Diagon Alley. She walked determinedly toward Gringotts, up the steps, through the ornate doors, to the goblin seated at the end of the hall behind the counter.

She had read it in Betty's letter, "Flying made me feel freer than ever before."

She hadn't explicitly stated, that she wanted her own broom. But if Lucinda could get Betty anything that would give her freedom, she would get it. The best one available. It was set to go on sale only next summer, but thanks to Lucinda's connections, she already had the opportunity to secure the newest model. Such a broom cost a great deal of gold, even with the generous discount she had received. So much gold that Lucinda didn't possess, despite her well-paid position at the Ministry. Or perhaps didn't want to possess.

"How may I help you?" asked the goblin at the counter.

"I want to access the vault of Sirius Black," Lucinda said, sliding the key across.

How long it had been since she was last here. And how long it had been since she said his name. Sirius had inherited a considerable amount of gold after the death of a kind uncle. Gold that, through marriage, had also belonged to her. Gold that she, after his betrayal, did not want. I managed without your gold too, all on my own, she thought bitterly. Did he know? Probably. Sirius had known Lucinda's ambition, her determination to achieve her goals while holding to her principles. That had been one of the reasons he had fallen in love with her.

"Please follow me," said the goblin, leading her through a door behind the counter.

They climbed into the cart and descended the tracks to the vault that had once promised them an untroubled life. When the cart finally stopped, the goblin led her to a massive metal door and opened the vault. The room was overflowing with gleaming gold coins. More than she would ever need, more than she could have ever dreamed of. But it meant nothing to her. It was for Betty. Once she was old enough. Lucinda took only as much as she needed for the gift she intended to give—the finest broom for her daughter.

Not a single knut more.

Only for the broom. For her Betty.

Chapter Text

December 1990, Great Britain.

In the weeks before Christmas, Betty's visits to the mysterious room had become a ritual. At first, she had trouble finding it again—but by closing her eyes and focusing on the faint pull she had felt the first time, she eventually found herself on the seventh floor at the far end of the castle. She soon realised that if she passed by the blank stretch of wall three times, thinking carefully about the place she needed, a door would appear. And just like the first time, the room greeted her with high shelves filled with books, a soft glow of candlelight, and a fire quietly crackling, radiating warmth.

By then, she would slip away after lessons almost every day, spending hours alone, experimenting with wandless spells, or testing incantation nonverbally. Time meant nothing there—hours blurred into another, as if the world behind the room's walls were nonexistant; as if the newly uncovered truth and her fear were nonexistent. The faint crackling of the fire, the soothing practise of new spells and magic—wrapped around her like a cozy blanket; all of it quieting her thoughts. Here, she could simply be.

And yet reality found its way back to her. More than once, she lost track of time entirely, missing both breakfast and dinner, returning to the Gryffindor tower long after curfew. One morning, the first golden rays of sun peaked through the high windows, tickling her face, waking her up from a light, dreamless sleep. For a moment, she was disorientated, not entirely knowing where she was. She was curled up on a thin rug, her head resting on a colourful embroidered cushion, her head facing the high window of the window sills, a crimson bound book had slipped next to her. Then it struck her. She shot upright, heart racing; panicking she turned around to check the big clock above the door—ten minutes before class. She grabbed her bag, and stormed off running down the corridors.

By the time she reached Defence Against the Dark Arts, her hair was still tangled, and her tie hung half done around her neck, which she fixed with a flick of her wand. Having slept in her clothes, without a chance to change, she couldn't shake off the uncomfortable feeling clinging to her. She quietly slipped through the door and into the bench next to Katie. Professor Nightshade, forgetful and inattentive as ever, didn't seem to notice her arriving late. Luckily, he had forgotten to set any homework for that day. During the sedative lesson, Betty quickly scribbled something for Transfiguration, which would be next.

Katie, however, did notice. Over the past few weeks, Betty's absences from breakfast and dinner had become impossible to miss. It had almost become ritual—Katie neatly wrapping toast in a napkin and wordlessly pushing it toward her, so Betty could snack during class without drawing attention. Betty was grateful that Katie didn't ask questions—not yet. Still, she felt the tension between them growing, lesson by lesson. She didn't dare look up, afraid to meet Katie's eyes, yet she could feel her friend's worried gaze; she could almost hear the unspoken thoughts behind it.

Until that day.

"Betty, you look like a ghost," Katie whispered, leaning closer to meet her eyes.

Betty blinked, then quickly looked away, swallowed, and forced a half-hearted smile. "Thanks," she muttered.

"Where have you been all night?" Katie hesitated, as if she was choosing her words. "You weren't in your bed. And you can't keep skipping meals."

Betty bit her upper lip, her eyes fixed on the parchment in front of her—a mess of crossed-out lines and barely legible words. Her hand stilled, but she said nothing. She couldn't explain why she hadn't told Katie about the room, about where she'd been hiding—or why she needed it so desperately. Perhaps she just didn't want to share the only sanctuary she had in the whole castle. A place where she could be alone, unobserved, untouched by expectation. The thought made her feel both awful and guilty.
How could she tell her friend that she needed time for herself—without hurting her? That she needed space to process her family's secrets?

"I just... I was practising Charms in one of the empty classrooms," Betty said quietly. It wasn't even a complete lie. "I fell asleep."

"Seriously, Betty." Katie eyed her, half teasing, half concerned. "If you don't start taking care of yourself, I'll slip a sleeping potion into your pumpkin juice."

"I'll try," Betty murmured. Next time she'd bring her alarm clock with her, setting an alarm to not miss curfew again.

She knew Katie only wanted the best for her—and that made the guilt worse. Katie leaned back over her parchment, scribbling Quidditch tactics, while Betty glanced sideways at her, thoughtfully. Katie had become one of the best friends she'd ever had—alongside the Weasley twins.

She remembered one night back home: the adults laughing over elf wine, a bottle her mother had brought from a work trip to France, when she'd caught Ted watching her. "You've grown so much," he'd said softly, "You're the spitting image of your father." The words had cast a brief silence over the table before he quickly changed the subject.

Betty had wondered ever since how much she truly resembled him—and wether she might one day become like him. A man who had killed his best friend.

Across the table, Katie paused for a moment, her quill hovering in the air, eyes distant, before returning to her notes. Something heavy pressed against Betty's chest as she watched Katie. Would she ever...? She didn't dare to finish this thought.

She turned her head, staring out of the windows. A few crows circled lazily in the greyish winter sky. Her mind drifted, sinking into her thoughts, wandering back to her sanctuary place, and the hours she had spent there yesterday before she fell asleep. The last weeks she had learned, practised and experimented. Now, she mastered basic spells almost effortlessly—closing her bed's curtains, or doors shutting with a small hand movement, lights switching of and off. A wave of pride swelled in her chest, quickly replaced by the dark thoughts she's been trying to avoid, when a nudge against her ellbow pulled her back.

Katie tilted her head towards the front of the classroom, whispering with a supressed giggle, "Looks like he's expecting a boggart to jump out of the cabinet."

Betty followed her gaze. The professor stood stiffly behind his desk, nervously fiddling with his textbook, eyes darting from door to window as if he was waiting for something—or someone. Betty frowned, but before she could have a closer look, the bell rang to mark the end of the lesson.

They packed and made their way to Transfiguration, taking their usual seats at the mid front. Professor McGonagall moved between the tables, collecting each parchment. When she reached Betty's desk, her eyes lingered briefly on the messy handwriting—the half hearted essay—before her eyes flicked up to Betty herself. A barely perceptible shake of her head, but she said nothing. Betty bit her lip, knowing the professor expected more. Still, she felt a small sense of relief—at least she had something to hand over.

After class, they walked the corridors, following the other students down for lunch. When they entered the Great Hall, it had been decorated with mistletoes; floating pine cones bobbed gently in the air, and at the front they saw Hagrid placing fir trees, with Professor Flitwick assisting. Snow fell down from the enchanted ceiling, but unlike real snow, it wasn't wet when it landed on their heads—instead it was dry and warm. It was the Friday before Christmas break; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving tomorrow morning.

The smell of the delicious food made Betty's stomach rumble; she hadn't realised how hungry she was until now. They took seats in beside some older students. Betty piled her plate with wedge potatoes and scooped stew into a bowl; after spotting it had no meat in it, shoving it inside her mouth almost absentmindedly. Katie shook her head with a sigh as she watched her friend. Betty shrugged guiltily, letting her gaze drift over the crowded hall.

Her attention was caught by Professor McGonagall walking purposefully towards the Gryffindor table, stopping not to far away from them next to Charlie Weasley.

"Mr Weasley," she began, her tone serious and firm, "Unfortunately, I must inform you that Mrs Spinnet won't be returning to the team anytime soon."

Charlie looked up from his plate, to look at the professor and groaned.

"I'm sincerely sorry," the professor continued, "but Mrs Spinnet... the unfortunate incident must've undoubtedly frightened her. You will need to find a replacement soon."

Charlie threw his head back. "How are we supposed to get a new one? Alicia was—along with Angelina—by far the best at try outs. By far!"

McGonagall's gaze softened slightly. "I know the solution isn't optimal. And I wish the circumstances were different. But unfortunately, the third best from the try outs must do."

Charlie muttered something under his breath, before turning back to his plate. Betty and Katie exchanged wide eyed looks. Betty made a gesture with her head towards the professor.

"That's your chance to get into the team!"

Katie frowned, looking at Betty irritated. "I'm a first year... it's not allowed, remember?"

"You could at least ask." Betty shrugged. "The worst thing she will say is 'No'."

Katie inhaled deeply, meeting Betty's encouraging gaze, trying to find courage. She turned her head; her gaze fixed on Professor McGonagall who was about to turn back to the High table.

"Professor? Professor McGonagall?"

The professor turned sharply, her stern expression fixed on Katie. "Miss Bell?"

Katie's cheeks flushed. "I... uh, I have a question."

The professor looked at Katie expectantly. The girl opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Professor, we've overheard your conversation with Charlie," Betty spoke quickly, words bubbling out. "Katie could join the team. I know, she's only a first year—but she's been the best in flying lessons! Madam Hooch can confirm. She even asked Katie to audition for the team!"

Professor McGonagall studied them both, quiet for a long time. Katie gave a small but resolute nod.

Charlie who must've heard what Betty said joined in. "The best from your year, huh?" He turned to the professor who still seemed to consider the options. "Will you let her join the training tonight, Professor?"

All three pairs of eyes were now fixed on the professor, who's mouth subtly softened, and she inclined her head slightly.

"Very well," she said formally, but the corner of her mouth tilted up. "I expect you to demonstrate your skills during practice tonight, Miss Bell. The sooner we find replacement the better." She gave Charlie a small nod.

Katie's jaw dropped, staring at the professor who had turned and walked off.

Charlie leaned over to Katie, "Does six o'clock out at the pitch suit you?" he stated.

Katie, still not able to get a word over her lips, just nodded.

"Excellent! See you later, then."

Betty looked at Katie with a triumphant smile, leaning back in her seat.

"Oh Merlin," Katie whispered eventually, shaking her head in disbelief about what just happened. Her gaze lifted to Betty. "You did it, you actually did it!"

"I did nothing," Betty dismissed, but smiled faintly, "I just told her the truth."

Katie's fingers tightened around her fork. "I... I guess you were right, thank you," she admitted softly, a faint flush lingering on her cheeks, then her eyes lit up. "I'm training with the team tonight—can you believe it!"

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Betty hardly paid attention as Professor Sprout explained how Devil's Snare could constrict anything that touched it—and the methods to escape it. Katie, meanwhile, still glowed with disbelief and excitement over the upcoming Quidditch practice, barely able to focus on the lesson herself.

In the evening, most students had retreated to their dorms, packing trunks for tomorrow’s departure. Betty had promised Katie she’d wait for her to return after training, so she curled up in one of the cozy armchairs in a quiet corner of the common room, a book resting on her lap. She’d read the first paragraph nearly five times and still had no idea what it was about. Instead, she watched Mira playing wizard’s chess with Garreth Wood, Carl Hopkins, and Cormac, who sat beside them, giving Garreth advice on how to beat Mira—but failing spectacularly. Mira won again.

Betty had barely returned her gaze to the book when she heard the portrait swing open. A mud covered group in crimson cloaks entered the common room. Her eyes immediately found Katie—cheeks flushed from the cold, hair damp and clinging in places—running toward her, eyes wide with excitement. Betty stood to meet her halfway; Katie stopped in front of her, vibrating with joy.

"I'm in, Betty!" She cried, raised her arms as if to hug Betty, but much to Betty's relief, she froze mid air, and didn't. "I'm on the team!" 

Betty, infected by Katie's joy and genuinely happy for her friend, beamed at her. Behind them, Angelina, Fred, and George arrived, faces flushed from the cold. Angelina smiled warmly, patting Katie's shoulder. "Bell did a fabulous job," letting out a small sigh. "She's the best replacement we could've hoped for—though I do wish it weren't necessary."

The common room soon quieted, students leaving for the dorms one by one. Betty still hadn't packed herself, but before leaving will do. She lingered a little longer, changing chairs to sit closer to the fire, her gaze fixed on the calming flames.

By the next morning, the Hogwarts Express left punctually at eleven o'clock, carrying them back to London—where parents including Betty's mother were already waiting for them. The weekend passed in a blur; Betty enjoyed the rare quiet her very own bedroom gave her, the familiar, calming scent of sandalwood and lavender lingering in the house. The sky outside had been grey for days, with heavy clouds hanging over London as if it were about to snow.

By Monday midday, Betty found herself freshly bathed, dressed in a dark emerald velvet dress that ended just under her knees, and had once belonged to her mother. She had even let her mother braid her hair into two long plaits. Lucinda wore her own hair in a single braid down her back, her cream silk rope gleaming softly in the light.

They stood in front of the fireplace, ready to floo over to the Tonks. It had become a yearly tradition—celebrating Christmas Eve and Betty's birthday the day after. The early afternoon always began with eating biscuits, a few rounds of exploding snap, and Ted and Lucinda ending up in a duel of wizarding chess. That was one of the rare moments Betty saw her mother blossom.

Lucinda handed her the bag of floo powder. "Ready?"

Betty nodded, tossed a pinch into the flames, and as they turned bright green, she called clearly, "Tonk's cottage." She stepped into the fireplace, whirling around, seeing living rooms passing by, until she saw the right one and stepped out. The smell of pine needles, cinnamon and a hint of cloves hit her. The radio was playing Christmas tunes, interrupted by voices coming from the kitchen. A tall fir tree had already been placed near the fireplace, decorated with colourful baubles, candles placed on the fir tips. The long table behind the couches was yet to decorate. A few moments later, Lucinda arrived behind Betty.

"There you are!"

Tonks came running out of the kitchen, both hands holding filled mugs, nearly slipping over the carpet, but catching herself just in time. Her hair was streaked with green and red strands, and fine pearls were woven into it. She handed over the mugs to the newly arrived guests—spiced mulled wine for Lucinda and hot chocolate for Betty. Betty gratefully accepted the warm container; its content smelled like chocolate with a hint of cinnamon and orange. Just the way she liked it.

"It's your birthday tomorrow, kiddo!" Tonks' eyes widened. "Twelve! You're almost old enough for my teenage advices!"

"Don't take them too seriously—Dora's advices."

came Ted’s voice as he entered the room, carrying a tray piled high with his famous biscuits—cinnamon stars, baked from his grandmother's old German recipe. He set it on the coffee table, then turned to Betty with open arms. She let herself be pulled into his hug, his arms always made her feel safe.

Tonks pulled a playful grimace, sticking out her tongue as Ted turned to Lucinda and drew her into a warm hug. Andromeda appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron. Her dark hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping around her face, and the scent of rosemary clung to her.

"Lucinda, Betty—good to see you," said warmly, leaning in to kiss Lucinda on the cheek and squeezing Betty's shoulder with a smile. "The food's nearly ready. They turkey just needs to go into the oven—apple and pear filling this year."

"Sounds delicious, Andromeda," Lucinda replied with an almost equally warm smile.

Not just Betty, but also her mother had always felt like home with the Tonks family.

At the mention of the turkey, Betty's stomach twisted unpleasantly. She forced a polite smile, she had avoided all kinds of meat, ever since Halloween. Before the thought could settle, Andromeda turned to the windows, gesturing towards the white light beyond the glass.

"It's been snowing all day," she said, "Why don't you two go outside for a bit before dinner?"

Betty followed her gaze. Beyond the window pane, the backyard was covered in a white, even blanket. Thick and soft snowflakes drifted down lazily. Betty's eyes began sparkling. She loved snow.

Tonks quickly ran upstairs to her room to grab a coat, holding a second one for Betty. They quickly wrapped their scarves around their heads and put on gloves.

Tonks grinned. "Come on, birthday girl. Last one outside gets hit first."

Before Betty could protest that her birthday wasn't until tomorrow, Tonks had already bolted toward the door and disappeared into the snow. Betty followed, blinking to adjust to the brightness of the snow, and ducking just in time to avoid being hit by a snowball.

"Just you wait!" she yelled in excitement. Breathing in the cold and crisp air, made her lungs burn int the best way. She crouched, formed a snowball, and aimed it straight at Tonks--who yelped and dogded--only to be hit her right in the back.

"Blimey!" Tonks cried, collapsing into the snow. "No magic, kiddo. That's cheating!"

"I didn't," Betty lied, dropping next to Tonks, laughing as they made snow angels. The cold bit at her cheeks, not unpleasant, however. After a while, Tonks sat up, propping herself up with her arm. Betty saw her face slowly change, the laughter disappearing from her eyes, replaced by concern and guilt, while studying Betty's face.

"Betty... you okay? After what I've told you about--"

"Yep," Betty cut in quickly. She didn't want to talk about it, let alone think about it right now.

She pushed herself to her feet, brushing the snow from her clothes. "Look what I can to," she exclaimed.

Standing with her legs slightly apart, she stretched her arms in a smooth, deliberate motion. The snow around her stirred, lifting with her gestures, swirling around her in a spiral. She tilted her right hand slightly, and the snow gathered into small, evenly shaped clumps, dancing in the air around her.

Tonks watched with wide eyes, a fascinated smile spreading across her face. "Merlin's beard..."

Betty tilted both her hands smoothly, and the snow began spinning faster around her, swirling in tight spirals, melting into fine waterdrops. With an abrupt stretch of her arms, the water solidified almost instantly, forming a thing wall around her.

"That's brilliant!" Tonks grinned.

"You could do it too!" Betty exclaimed. "Doesn't water listen to you as well?"

"It does," Tonks admitted, standing up and brushed the snow off her clothes. "But it takes too much practice. I'm perfectly fine with my wand." She tapped her side, where her wand was tucked away.

Betty dropped her arms, and the thin wall collapsed almost immediately, fine ice scattering to the ground. She looked at the fine ice shards sunk into the snow. Suddenly, she had an idea that made her eyes sparkle. She focused intently, imagining exactly what she wanted, moving her arm and tilting her hands; the snow at her feet began to shift into compact, precise bricks. With a graceful sweep of her arms, and a half turn of her upper body, the bricks stacked themselves neatly into a small, round snow house.

Tonks' eyes widened as she approached the house that reached up to her shoulder.

"Blimey—you actually built a house!"

She circled it once, then morphed herself into an penguin like figure. Betty burst out into giggles and let herself fall back into the snow, watching Tonks crawling through the houses entrance.

"There are no penguins in the Arctic," Betty gasped between giggles.

"Good thing we're in England!" Tonks quacked loudly, which sent Betty in another round of giggles, following Tonks into the house and resting beside her. Tonks shifted herself back into her own self. They lay there quietly for a while. The falling snow muffled every sound around them, until only the sound of their breathing remained.

"Better not to tell Mum, okay?" Betty asked softly. "She won't like me doing magic out school."

"My lips are sealed."

They stayed there a while longer, the snow house glowing faintly from the light outside. Eventually, the cold crept into their limbs, and they crawled back out, walking through the snow towards the warmth of the cottage. Inside, they were greeted by the delicious smell of the Christmas dinner. Andromeda appeared from the kitchen, and handed them each a cup of steaming fruit punch.

At the small side table, Lucinda and Ted were deeply concentrated in a game of wizarding chess. Several pieces lay already defeated by the side or on the floor. Just as Betty glanced over, leaned forward with a triumphant grin.

"Checkmate!"

His queen swung her tiny sword and sent Lucinda's king to the floor with a clatter. Lucinda exhaled sharply through her nose, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Good game, Ted."

"Indeed," Ted said cheerfully, leaning back in his chair. "You're quite an opponent."

Betty bit her lip to hide a grin; her mother never liked losing. Lucinda reached across the table, taking Ted's hand to shake firmly.

"I'm going to beat you after dinner," she replied with a calm voice but her eyes gleaming for the upcoming challenge.

Ted chuckled. "I'm looking forward to it."

Betty and Tonks exchanged giggles, flopping onto the couch, when Andromeda's voice called from the kitchen, "Girls, will you set the table, please?"

With exaggerated groans, they got up and wandered over to the cupboard on the other side of the living room. Tonks flicked her wand, the door swung open, and plates and glasses floated out, clattering loudly as they arranged themselves over the table. Betty raised an eyebrow, lifted her hand to signal Tonks it's her turn, and with another flicker of her hand, the remaining plates glided smoothly into its place, followed by the cutlery and glasses.

"Betty, don't do magic," came from her mother.

Betty glanced towards Tonks and rolled her eyes.

"There's no need to roll your eyes," Lucinda added calmly, without even looking up. Betty sighed, muttering under her breath to Tonks. "How does she even do that?"

"Motherly instincts," Andromeda said, with a knowing smile. The food levitated beside her as she came towards the table. Dishes began landing one by one—rosemary potato wedges, a huge turkey, baked pumpkin, glazed carrots, rich gravy, and Ted's so called gratin surprise—which was just potato gratin with extra cheese, and it was indeed delicious.

They all took their usual seats, Betty at the right end of the table next to Tonks, passing bowls and scooping big portions onto their plates.

"No turkey?" Ted asked, glancing at Betty's plate.

"Oh, no thanks," Betty said quickly, while stabbing the potatoes with her fork.

Andromeda looked up in surprise. "But I made the apple-pear filling—you loved it last year."

"Well, uh...," Betty shifted in her seat, scratching her fork over the plate. "I—I just don't eat meat anymore."

A brief silence followed, only interrupted by the quiet tunes coming from the radio. The adults exchanged short glances, but to Betty's relief, no one pressed further. The conversation continued; they ate until they were full; the laughter mixed with the clinking of the cutlery on plates.

When everyone had finished their plates and leaned back into their chairs, Ted rose and gathered the plates and send them to the kitchen with a flicker of his wand. Moments later, a Christmas pudding appeared.

While they were eating dessert, Ted leaned over to Betty, and asked her with a curious smile.

"So, how do you like Hogwarts? Everything as expected?"

Betty was still chewing, taking a moment before answering.

"It's... big. And sometimes very noisy. But I like it. Most subjects are great, like Charms or Transfiguration. Or flying lessons." Her eyes lit up. "It's the best of it all! But I do hate all the homework. I never had any when Dromeda taught me. Her lessons were so much more interesting." She sighed and glanced over to Andromeda who replied to Betty with a warm smile. "Not so ... boring. Most of the teachers just stand at the front of the class and ramble on about without ever engaging with anyone."

Lucinda gave Betty a sharp look but said nothing.

Tonks laughed and shrugged. "It was a big adjustment for me too back then. But in the big classes at Hogwarts, no one notice you not paying attention. And the best part is, you can play pranks on the mean boys without even noticing."

Ted chuckled. "Well, that sounds very much like you, Dora."

"It does," Andromeda sighed.

"Of course it does," Tonks grinned. "I'm a real expert at it."

A laughter rippled around the table. Ted stood and poured a deep red elf wine for the adults and Andromeda shook her head with a fond smile. "I'll never get that out of her," she murmured.

Lucinda, taking a sip from the glass, then set it down. She tilted her head towards Tonks. "I reckon you're busy with studying for your upcoming NEWTs?"

Tonks hesitated for a moment, then she nodded. "Um, well... I guess so. Still a few months to go."

"Are you still planning on joining the Auror trainee program?" Lucinda pressed, her eyes sharp but curious.

"Oh, yes!" Tonks replied. "In July, there's the pre-exams. If I pass, the trainee program starts in autumn."

"Amazing!" Betty exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly.

"Amazing, indeed," Lucinda replied, a faint smile softening her otherwise composed face. "If you ever need contacts, never hesitate to ask me. I'm befriended with some influential Aurors."

"Uhm, thanks," Tonks said with a grin, clearly pleased.

Betty leaned closer, genuinely curious. "But isn't it hard? To become an auror, I mean?"

Tonks leaned back, the candlelight reflecting in her dark grey eyes. "The pre-exams are supposed to be brutal. Besides the theoretical tests, there's a practical one too," her tone was serious now. "You'll have to duel against Dark Wizards in simulations, face traps and magical creatures, all sorts of challenges. Being a good duellist isn't enough. You must always keep your head clear."

Betty could hardly believe how intense it sounded. She scanned her cousin's face; she realised how much her otherwise goofy and playful cousin has changed; how she kept forgetting, that's she is an adult herself now.

"And you really want to do it?"

Tonks nodded heavily. "Absolutely. I think it's an honour to be part of keeping our world safe. The selection is rough; only the best make it. But I do have some advantages." She smiled mischievously.

"Advantages?" Betty asked curiously.

"My Metamorphmagus skills are indeed very helpful; they help me disguise."

"You know that skill isn't everything, right?" Andromeda considered. "It's also about courage, patience and resilience. The three-year program is no joke."

"Oh, I have enough of this!" Tonks exclaimed.

"She does," Ted said, who had stood and lovingly kissed his daughter on the head.

"Three years?" Betty asked, astonished.

"Yes. You've got to learn everything—defence, tactics, and how to save people in extreme situations."

Betty sank back into her seat. "That sounds... like an adventure. Like an exhausting one."

She stared into the flickering candlelight, thinking of everything Tonks had said, imagining herself in a similar future. She still didn't know what path she would take herself—but she thought she'll have enough time left to figure out.

The conversation now moved to the couch as Ted and Tonks cleared the remaining plates and glasses from the table. Soon after, Lucinda and Ted returned to the chess board, and this time Lucinda actually managed to beat Ted, even if only narrowly; a faint triumphant smile tugging at her lips.

Betty and Tonks settled cross-legged on the carpet, beating each other alternately in Exploding Snap, snacking on Ted's biscuits. Soon, Betty's yawning was impossible to ignore; her eye lids had become heavy. The long day of chatting, and indulging in Christmas treats had clearly left a mark, so they began preparing for bed.

Betty was to sleep in Tonks' room, as always, the spare bed already made up with cozy blankets, while Lucinda claimed the guest room. As soon as Betty's head hit the pillows, she fell into a deep, long sleep.

In the next morning, a loud trumpet blared, having Betty's sit upright in her bed.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KIDDO!" echoed through the room.

Groaning and still half blinded, Betty rubbed her eyes. Tonks stood at the food end of the bed, already fully dressed and smiling brightly.

"It's your birthday, you sleepy head!" Tonks exclaimed, bouncing on her feet. "And the presents are already all set!"

Betty blinked a few times, still trying to orientate herself. A tickling feeling prickled under her skin as she realised where she was and what day it was. She had always loved celebrating her birthday.

"We've got a full day of celebrations ahead! Presents first, breakfast second and maybe some ice skating on the pond before lunch?"

Betty's eyes gleamed. She nodded and let herself being pulled up from the still warm linen from her bed.

They sprinted down the stairs, heading for the living room, where the others were already gathered on the couch, chatting cheeringly. The fire crackled in the fireplace, a soft tune came from the enchanted radio, and soft aroma of clove and cinnamon greeted her.

"Merry Christmas, and a happy birthday!"

One by one, Betty let everyone hug and greet her before looking over at the Christmas tree, which was covered in presents underneath. Tonks had already crawled underneath it, dugging out a small black box wrapped in a velvet red ribbon, which she handed to Betty.

"This is for you," Tonks said, her voice soft, "I thought it would suit you—the colour reminded me a bit of your eyes."

Betty lifted the lid of the small box and found a delicate gold chain with a dark green crystal that shimmered in the light coming from the candles of the tree.

"That's... beautiful," Betty whispered. She let her fingers glide over the cold metal and lifted it carefully. It looked valuable, yet robust. A smile tugged at her lips. "Thank you."

Both girls let themselves slid in front of the tree, handing out the presents one by one.

From Ted and Andromeda, Betty had gotten a thick crimson red scarf, made of extra soft wool that wouldn't itch, according to her Aunt, with matching gloves and a headband; in addition, she was gifted a small, slim book—The Forgotten History of Witches and Wizards in Europe: Muggle Perspectives—which looked fascinating. Betty thought of her dorm mate Holly; she absolutely had to share the stories with her after the holidays.

Betty moved on to the packages that had arrived by owl the previous day. The first was a messily wrapped package, filled with sweets, two boxes of chocolate frogs, and some carefully wrapped cookies. Beneath the sweets, there was a letter, which she unmistakenly identified as the handwriting of Fred and George.

Hi Betty, happy birthday and merry Christmas; have fun with the frogs! We hope you won't pull another Dumbledore.

Mum made these cookies for you, she wishes you a wonderful day. Just like Ginny, who can hardly wait to finally see you again! – Fred and George

Betty smiled, a warm feeling washing over her. The next package was from Katie. The neatly wrapped present contained apart from cauldron cakes, a little homework planner, organised with colour coded tabs and motivational quotes on every page.

Dear Betty, I wish you the best of days. I saw this in Diagon Alley and I knew you would need this. You just tap your wand on it, say ‘Nota Pensum' and it automatically notes the assignments. You can do it! – xoxo, Katie

A feeling of guilt grew inside her as she stared at her friend's letter, she knew Katie had the best intentions. But still, she felt a little caught out. She set the planner aside, next to her other presents.

Her mother had kneeled beside her, carrying a long, huge package in her hands.

"Before you open it. It won't be officially sold for a few weeks," Lucinda said calmy a soft glim in her eyes. "I knew someone in the Department for Magical Games and Sports who—let's say—who owed me a favour. You better be descrete about it until it's officially launched."

Betty accepted the gift with growing curiosity; it was significantly heavier than the other ones. She tore away the paper, revealing the sleek dark wood of a broom—the Nimbus 2000.

Her fingers lingered over the smooth, shiny surface, tracing the subtle engravings.

"I know how much flying means to you," Lucinda continued. "And how much this matters to you."

Betty's fingers still lingered on the broomstick, still marvelling at the flawless craftsmanship. It wasn't just a broom; it was a promise, a recognition of her passions, and a gift she hadn't dared hope for. She could feel the weight of it—all of it made her chest tighten.

"It's yours. Fully."

Betty nodded, barely able to speak.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Her eyes swept over the pile of gifts—each one carefully chosen, each one a tiny testament to the people who knew her best. Her chest felt impossibly full, a warm pressure that made her stomach flutter and her eyes water slightly. She exhaled slowly.

By the time breakfast was cleared away, they got dressed. Betty slipped into her new kit uniform for ice skating on the outside. The ice wasn't completely frozen yet, but Andromeda had enchanted the thin ice layer into thick ice; strong enough to hold their weight.

The sky had cleared, and the girls spent the whole day outside ice skating and another snowball fight. The broom, however, remained untouched. Betty didn't dare to try it out just yet; it was too sacred to her. 

Evening came, and Betty and Lucinda left to go home with some of the leftovers. Once they had settled in their own living room, both spent the evening reading; Betty in her new book she got; Lucinda in her own new book she had gotten from Ted—on Muggle history and world politics, which she had accepted gratefully.

The living room was lit only by the fire, when Mimi brought in two cups of tea from the kitchen. Outside, it had began snowing again; a soft, faint light glimmer coming through the windows; snowflakes pressing against the glass. Betty had made herself comfortable in the big armchair by the fire, her eyes fixed on the pages, legs dangling over the armrest, and with the other hand, she grabbed on of Ted's biscuits. The clock in the corner struck eleven o'clock.

"Before you run off to your room," Lucinda began, sipping her tea, "there's something I need to talk to you about."

Betty looked up from her book, frowning. "That sounds serious."

Lucinda's gaze softened. "Not serious. But... important." She reached into her robe and drew out a letter. "Professor McGonagall sent me this. She says you have remarkabkle potential—if you'd only use it. She believes you could be one of the best in your year. Particularly in Charms and Transfigurations."

Betty pulled a face, grumbling as she bite off a piece of the biscuit. "And that's why she's writing you?"

"Professor McGonagall sends letters to all parents of her students. As the head of her house, it's her duty."

Betty sighed, her fingers tightening around the biscuit. McGonagall. Of course it had to be her.

"I'm being serious, Betty. It makes me worry you might even fail your first year if this continues."

"I—I'm not going to fail," Betty pressed quickly.

"Are you?" Lucinda asked firmly. "Your essays are often too short—or missing entirely. You rely too much on your practical talent. This won't help you pass your exams at the end of the year."

"No, that's not it," Betty leaned back, pulling one leg onto the chair. "I do remember most things—well, if they interest me. But those essays, those stupid, stupid essays... they feel so slow. I know what's it about and what the professor wants. But—but I can't get it out of my head and on to the parchment."

"Slow doesn't mean bad," Lucinda answered, "but it needs to be done anyway. Knowledge you ignores because it bores you is knowledge you'll miss one day."

Betty looked away, sighed. "I do try! But it's so hard—I just don't know—" She broke off, staring into the fire, not knowing how to explain how it almost felt impossible to sit straight, hold onto the quill and just get it done. She knew her mother wouldn't understand her anyway.

"If it weren't hard, there wouldn't be any improvements."

Betty bit her lip to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"Did she write anything about Potions?"

Lucinda hesitated a fraction too long. "Moderate," she said finally.

"Moderate?" Betty's voice sharpened, her fingers dugging into the armrest. "That's not fair. I'm doing my best. My potions are almost the perfect colour. Everytime! But Snape never acknowledges it."

"Professor Snape," Lucinda corrected. "Severus has always been... exacting. He doesn't mean harm, Betty. He's the same with everyone."

"No, he's not."

Neither of them said a word.

Lucinda leaned forward, her tone gentler. "He knows what you're capable of. Perhaps that's why he pushes you so hard."

Betty's throat felt tight. That was not it. The way he treated her, or her other classmates. It didn't feel like he actually cared. She didn't answer, only stared into the flames until her vision blurred.

"That's just the way he is. You've known him for years, Betty."

Betty's eyes flashed, and she almost shot upright. "He treats all Gryffindor unfairly! Slytherins get all the praise. Celeste Flint's potion is not as good as mine. Well—almost. We're quite equal. But she gets all the praise, all the points. As well as Adrian Rosier. But Fay and I, we never get points. NEVER! He—he's—" Her words froze for a heartbeat, then she burst out. "He's a bloody idiot."

"Elizabeth!" Lucinda shot her a sharp look. "I did not raise you to call your professor like that."

Betty's lips curled into a bitter twist. "But he is! He's mean, and unfair. He scares Holly. Everybody hates him. The twins call him a grease pot. Why don't you talk to him? Or to Dumbledore? It can't be right that students are afraid of him!"

Lucinda met her gate, but her expression stayed firm. "I understand your sense of justice. But it's not that simple."

"But that's not fair!" Betty cried, her chest heaving. "You work for the Ministry! You have influence. You know him. He knows you. Then do something! Tell him it's not okay how he talks to us. We're children—and he's the teacher!"

Lucinda sighed. "I will not tell anyone how to teach. Not even Severus."

Betty's anger rose, feeling helplessy. "And all you care about is that I called him names, not that he's treating us horribly! You don't care how we feel—how I feel!"

"That's not true," Lucinda said firmly. "You know I only want the best for you."

Betty jumped up, her body tense, fists clenched. "I don't believe you. As long as your reputation stays clean—no trouble, no attention—so no one at the Ministry says anything, right?"

Lucinda straightened. "You will not speak to me like that," she said with a firm voice.

"Yes, I will!" Betty shouted, her voice trembling. "You could do something—but you don't want to! Because he's one of you. Because no one dares to go against him. And if students cry because of him, then that's just how it is!"

Lucinda stayed silent. The firelight cast harsh shadows across her face.

"I understand that you're angry," she said, trying to remain calm. "But what you're accusing me of is wrong. I am your mother. Of course I care about you—and your friends. But I won't make impulsive decisions based on your anger."

Betty’s hands balled tighter, nails digging into her palms as her breath hitched. Her voice cracked, raw and trembling. "If you really cared about me, then why have you been lying to me? About Dad—about that night. You never said... you lied to me. AGAIN!"

Lucinda stiffened, her lips parting slightly."How... what do you mean?"

"That he killed his best friend! Peter Pettigrew! You never told me—you lied to me!"

Lucinda froze. "How... how do you know?"

Betty's frown deepened. Her voice trembled. "Does it matter? You never told me! I'm supposed to know myself—but everyone else seems to know more about me than I do!"

"Betty, let me explain. But please calm down first—"

"NO!" Her voice rose into a scream. "I HATE YOU! You don't care about me!" she shouted, her pulse thudded in her throat. Before Lucinda could step closer, Betty spun on her heel and fled—out of the living room, up the stairs, heart hammering in her ears. She burst into her room, threw herself onto the bed, her body trembling. Footsteps followed on the stairs.

"Betty—"

"LEAVE ME—" Betty shouted, the last words stuck in her throat. 

Pushing herself upright, she turned toward the door and, with a sharper movement than she meant, slammed it shut. The click of the lock echoed in the silence.

Sobbing, she clutched the bedspread, her whole body shaking with rage and despair. Hot tears ran down her cheeks, staining the fabric beneath her hands. She felt so unbearably lone, so completely misunderstood.

She pulled her face in the pillow, wishing the world and the pain would stop for a while.