Betty knelt on the floor, breathing in short, rapid gasps and braced herself with her hands in front of her.
"You're a disgrace! Ungrateful little brat!"
Then, suddenly, she felt a warm, firm grip on her back, and a soft voice calling just beside her, "Betty!"
Betty, however, didn't move, she barely noticed the shaking of two hands, holding on to her shoulders.
"Betty? Look at me," a woman's familiar voice said, firmly and clearly. A gentle hand reached under her chin, guiding it upwards to where the words came from. Still frozen in terror, Betty barely registered the face in front of her.
"That over there, it's not me—Betty," the woman insisted, her voice sounding just like her mother's.
Betty blinked, forcing her gaze focus towards the woman kneeling beside her—Lucinda. Confused, she narrowed her eyes, glancing back at the woman in the study, the one that looked so much like that one in front of her. "It's not me, it's just a boggart. Do you hear me?"
Betty breath steadied bit by bit as the real Lucinda spoke, while the creature kept hurling insults.
"Look closer. Can you tell it doesn't look like me?"
Betty lifted her head again, studying the false Lucinda for a moment. And her mother was right. Looking closely, the creature looked nothing like her—more like a twisted caricature than a person. And Betty could sense it too. There was no trace of anger coming from the boggart in the shape of her mother—only a heavy, unnatural darkness, not human like.
Lucinda, still kneeling beside Betty with her wand raised, hesitated for a heartbeat. Then she gently unfolded Betty's right hand, slipping the wand into her palm, closing the small fingers around it.
"Do you remember that one night when one of the potions exploded?" Lucinda asked, calmly.
Betty nodded, though she wasn't sure where her mother was leading her.
"Do you remember how my hair stuck out in every direction—and how funny you thought it looked?"
Betty nodded again.
"Now picture it—clearly," Lucinda said as she rose, helping Betty to her feet. "Say 'Riddikulus!'"
Betty's gaze drifted to the boggart, still spitting slurs at her.
She slowly took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around her mother's wand. Her hand still trembled, but she pointed the wand on the creature. The memory came back easily—Betty hadn't been able to stop laughing for hours.
"You can do it," Lucinda said affirmingly.
Betty inhaled once more, "Riddikulus!"
There was a loud bang. In front of her stood the fake Lucinda, her hair sticking out in all directions, hair burnt black, and the blond eyebrows scorched, staring at Betty in confusion.
It looked pathetic, even more than she remembered. Her lips curled into a smile, and a slight tremor ran through her body, then another. Her breath hitched, then a sound escaped her lips, filling the room with an unexpectedly loud noise, far louder than she intended. But she couldn't stop. She bent forward, grabbing her knees, as another laughter shook through her entire body.
The boggart in front of her flinched, looking at Betty with mad eyes, yet it didn't disappear.
She felt a gentle touch on her arm in which she was still holding the wand; Lucinda looked at her meaningfully, signalling her to hand over the wand. Betty handed it to her.
Lucinda walked past her, placing herself between Betty and the boggart. Then there was another bang.
In front of them no longer stood Lucinda, instead if was somewhere else—a man. Much taller than Lucinda, and slender, with white hair tied back at the nap of his neck, and an icy stare that send shivers through Betty's spine. He said nothing, just stood there, chin slightly raised, staring intensely at Lucinda who stood in front of him, and stared back at him.
Betty had never seen this man before, but she immediately recognised a familiarity. Years ago, when she was walking down Diagon Alley with her mother, she had seen another man, who looked almost exactly like the one standing in her mother's study, only younger. He too had frightened her back then.
Shifting her gaze between the man and her mother, Betty noticed another resemblance. The man's eyes, just as light and translucent, only grey instead of green, and the facial features, harder and more angular than her mother's but similar enough to spot the resemblance.
Betty's mouth opened slightly as she grasped that this must be her mother's father—her grandfather.
She watched her mother standing motionless in front of the man, chest rising and falling more heavily than usual with every breath she took, her pupils were slightly dilated, but her face betrayed nothing. Lucinda stared at him with the same old gaze he gave her, sending more shivers down Betty's spine.
Lucinda slowly raised her arm, her wand firmly in her hand, pointing it at the boggart. Betty saw her mother's lips tremble slightly, yet her voice was steady and firm.
"Riddikulus!"
There was a peng, and suddenly roller skates appeared on the man's feet, causing him to lose his balance. He flailed wildly with his arms in the air as if trying to keep his balance, then fell face forward onto the floor.
It looked even funnier than the other figure, and Betty burst out into laughter again, louder this time. Something had loosened inside her, and the tightness in her chest, which had lingered for days, was finally beginning to fade; tears running down her cheeks—only this time they were tears of joy. Even Lucinda let out a quiet laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as she took in a deep breath. The boggart dissolved, vanishing into the dark cupboard under the desk.
Betty, who was still gasping for air and clutching her stomach, looked at her mother, but Lucinda's gaze remained fixed on the empty space where the man was standing just moments earlier. Her expression was something Betty had rarely seen before—raw, haunted, and strangely vulnerable. This made Betty pause.
She stepped closer. "Mum?" she asked hesitantly.
"It's alright," Lucinda said softly, turning to Betty, her lips curling into a tired smile. "He died a long time ago."
She looked at Betty for a moment, thoughtfully, then without warning she grabbed her arm and pulled her into a hug.
It was unexpected and, above all, tight. Lucinda held Betty as if she might disappear at any moment, digging her fingers into the fabric of Betty's jumper, which made Betty tense briefly, then she let herself be embraced in her mother's arms. She rested her head on Lucinda's shoulder, her forehead against her neck, breathing in the familiar scent of her mother's favourite herbs.
Lavender—warm and calming—with a hint of mint underneath, and something herbal she couldn't name.
Then she could sense it, the feeling coming from Lucinda pressing onto Betty. It was not just the lingering fear of facing the boggart; another feeling was rising, accompanying the fear rather than replacing it.
Betty shifted, slowly pulling away and looked up at Lucinda, who had turned away her face slightly, but Betty could see her moist eyes, and one tear running down her face, before Lucinda quickly wiped it away.
Betty's chest tightened. "Mum...," she whispered, stunned by her mother's sadness, "is—is this because of me?"
Lucinda stiffened, just for a short moment, as if the words had struck her, and she inhaled sharply, pulling Betty into a hug again, tightening her grip.
"No," she whispered, "no, Betty. This is not your fault."
Betty felt her mother's heartbeat quicken as she buried her head back into her neck. She believed her, even though she didn't understand where the sadness came from.
"But you're sad," Betty insisted quietly, "I can feel it."
Lucinda stroked Betty's back with her hand, and it took a while for her to respond.
"Sometimes, there's... worry. And fear. The kind that belongs to me," she finally said, her words chosen carefully. "But not to you."
Betty hesitated, her fingers playing with the hem of her sleeves. "Were you... angry with me?"
"Angry?" Lucinda pulled back just enough to look at Betty.
"Yes," Betty said, the words almost too quiet to be heard. "Because of the fight."
Lucinda shook her head immediately, as she answered without hesitation. "Never."
"Never?" Betty asked uncertainly, avoiding her mother's eyes directly.
"Never," Lucinda reassured her, gently stroking her head.
Something inside Betty finally gave way. She was so overwhelmed with relief that she felt slightly dizzy, tears running uncontrollably down her cheeks. Lucinda hugged her again, more gently this time, and Betty felt the knot in her stomach finally loosen for the first time.
They stood there for a while, still in the doorway to Lucinda's study, interrupted by a loud rumbling coming from Betty's empty stomach, followed by a sharp pulling sensation. Whilst the sorrow of the past week had made her barely feel hungry, now she felt it all the more strongly.
Lucinda broke free from the embrace and stroked Betty's damp hair before heading towards the kitchen.
"You should eat something," Lucinda said concerned.
Betty nodded and followed her into the kitchen, her movements slow and weak from days of refusing to eat. The familiar room felt strangely foreign after days of isolation—too bright—but her mother's presence grounded her.
A plate with food was already set, plain food, potatoes with steamed vegetables, but just right. Beside it stood a cup with water, that Betty grabbed without hesitation, gulping down the cool liquid to soothe her dry, sore throat.
She sat down on the very edge of the wooden chair without bothering to push it further to the table and quickly began mashing and scooping the potatoes with her fork, leaving the knife untouched beside the plate. The urge to satisfy her hunger was too intense for her to care. She shovelled the food into her mouth, bare chewing before swallowing it down.
She ate so fast, she hardly tasted anything. The fork scraped loudly against the plate, her posture was sloppy, rocking on the chair, elbows set on the table. Lucinda watched her from across the table, eyes narrowed, and lips pressed into a thing line.
Usually, she would have commented to remind Betty to keep her manners, to keep her mouth closed, to sit up straight and to use both knife and fork. This time, she didn't.
Instead, after a while, she said, "Slow down a little, darling. You'll make your stomach hurt."
Betty froze for half a second, then nodded, and forced herself to ease her pace, concentrating on chewing properly before taking the next bite.
When Betty finished, Lucinda rose and with a flick of her wand sent the plate floating into the sink. Another flick, and a small wooden cupboard across the kitchen swung open.
Betty turned to watch. Neatly arranged phials, bottles, and tubes, each in its place in the medicine cupboard. At the top shelf, three Calming Draughts sat in a row—pale blue, indigo, and deep purple.
Her breath caught at the sight of the purple one. She had only been given it once. After the incident with Percy; she wouldn't stop shaking for hours. Only when Lucinda had given her full spoon, had she stopped—and had almost fallen asleep instantly.
Lucinda's wand flicked again. A porcelain spoon floated from a drawer, followed by the phial with the indigo coloured content, followed by a slim, silvery tube. Lucinda uncorked the phial, tilted it over the spoon, and let five drops fall. Then she hesitated, her gaze flicking to Betty's face, and let a sixth drop join the others.
Betty took the held out spoon without questioning. The liquid was bitter, then minty. She grimaced but swallowed. Almost immediately, something loosened in her chest.
Lucinda slid the tube across the table. Betty picked it up—the label said "Murtlap Essence" in small, neat letters—and looked questioningly at her mother.
"For the arms," Lucinda said quietly.
Betty's gaze dropped to her forearms, still hidden beneath her sleeves. She hadn't thought her mother had noticed.
"I didn't mean—"
"I know," Lucinda cut in gently. "You don't have to explain. Just... take care of yourself. Promise me."
Betty nodded, and watched how her mother moved—composed, controlled, giving away almost nothing, as always. Lucinda began chopping a bunch of dried herbs; the sharp smell of sage filled the kitchen. Different from the lavender and mint she had breathed in earlier. But both, somehow, were unmistakably her mother.
Betty thought about how she never spoke about her own father. And how much she has been keeping from Betty, making her wonder how much more there must be, Betty didn't know. And how much her mother must have endured herself, not just what happened to Betty's father but in her mother's own childhood.
Tonks' words came up in Betty's mind. Maybe it's her who can't handle it.
Betty's stomach twisted. Her mother had carried all of that alone—and Betty had only made it worse.
Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming need to explain herself—to justify the anger that had driven her into the anger. That she had felt helpless. And unheard. Abandoned with questions no one would answer.
"Mum?" she muttered, shifting herself on the chair.
"Mh?" came back from Lucinda, who was putting the herbs into the steaming kettle.
"I...," Betty struggled for words, unsure how to begin. "I'm sorry for locking myself up."
Lucinda looked up, stirring the tea with her wand, waiting for Betty to speak.
"I—I don't hate you. I—I was just so angry. Because Snape—Professor Snape—," Betty corrected herself, "he..." She trailed off, starring at her fingers, picking at her nails, while trying to find the right words, then she helplessly let her head fall back, unable to put her thoughts into words.
"You know how sparingly Severus gives praise," Lucinda said gently, while extinguishing the fire beneath the kettle, "and I know, he is not exactly... neutral. He's got... history—let's call it that—with certain Gryffindors in the past. But it's not against you personally. In fact, he might even be a little disappointed that you're not in his house."
Betty frowned, looking at Lucinda sceptically.
"You have to do to it for yourself," Lucinda added, walking over to the table, the kettle and two empty cups floating beside her, placing them on the table. She sat down across, listening to Betty attentively. "Not for the approval you get from others."
Betty exhaled, "I know," she said impatiently, turning her head and lowering her gaze back to her lap. "But it's not just about that. He has... he...," she breathed, to slow herself, sorting the words, "there's a girl in my year—Holly, also a Gryffindor. She struggles with Potions, and during last class—before the holiday break—she mixed up the ingredients, causing her potion to explode, leaving burns on her skin." At the memory, her hand clenched into a fist. "And Snape—Professor Snape—he turned and just said with a grin—he said that it's all her fault. For not following instructions. All while Holly cried in pain. And the Slytherin laughed. Celeste Flint, particularly, she laughed the loudest."
Betty looked up when Lucinda suddenly let out a disbelieving snort, shaking her head slowly.
"That's not just unfair! That's cruel!" Betty finished, folding her hands in her lap, looking at her mother expectantly.
There was a long silence before Lucinda spoke first, her eyes lingering on Betty.
"I'm going to talk to him," she said firmly.
"You are?" Betty's eyes widened.
"Yes," Lucinda said without hesitation.
Betty took a breath, and once again, she was overcome by a wave of relief at the feeling of being understood. After days of isolation, she felt lighter, a smile tugging at her lips. The first genuine smile in days.
"Thank you," Betty said quietly.
Lucinda nodded, her hand reaching across the table to briefly cover Betty's. "Go rest. You've been through enough."
Betty rose from her chair, and walked towards the stairs. She climbed the stairs slowly, her hand trailing along the banister.
When she pushed open the door to her room, she stopped.
Her bed was made. Fresh sheets, the blanket smoothed flat, her pillow fluffed and propped against the headboard. The curtains had been drawn back, letting the pale winter light filter through the glass. And on her drawers, the frames were neatly arranged, those who Mimi must had repaired one day before.
Betty crossed the room and picked up the frame with her mother and herself. Her finger traced the smooth surface where sharp cracks had been.
A soft smile crossed her face.
"Mimi?" she called quietly.
A soft pop, and the house elf appeared at her bedside, her large eyes wide and glistening.
"Miss Betty called?"
Betty turned, holding up the frame. "You fixed them. You fixed everything."
Mimi looked up at her with her big, worried eyes. "Mimi did not want Miss Betty to be sadder. The pictures were broken. Mimi repaired them. And the bed—Mimi made it fresh. Miss Betty should rest. Miss Betty has been very sad."
Betty set the frame down and crouched to Mimi's level. For a moment, she didn't speak. Then she opened her arms.
Mimi stepped into them without hesitation, her small body fitting against Betty's chest the way it always had. Betty pressed her cheek to the top of Mimi's head, feeling the familiar warmth.
"Thank you, Mimi," Betty whispered.
Mimi's arms wrapped around her, patting her back.
"Miss Betty is welcome," Mimi murmured. "Mimi was waiting. Mimi always waits."
Betty's throat tightened. She held on to a moment longer, then loosened her grip.
Mimi pulled back, her large eyes glistening, but she was smiling.
"Miss Betty should rest now," Mimi said softly. "Mimi will bring tea later."
Betty nodded, wiping her burning eyes with the back of her hand.
With a soft pop, Mimi was gone.
Betty sat down on the edge of the freshly made bed and slipped under the blanket. She lay back, pulled the blanket to her chin, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe. She yawned, and just as her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep, restful sleep.
With her mood finally lifted, the rest of the holidays felt like flying by. They spent New Year's Eve at the Tonks' again, and Betty finally got to try out her very first own broom, even though Lucinda was a bit worried she might be seen.
"There are no Muggles living anywhere near here," Ted assured them.
And for the first time ever, Betty joined Tonks and Ted playing Quidditch in the backyard, making her wonder, why she had never tried it before, only to be reminded by her mother's tense expression, while she watched from below.
Later, even Andromeda joined them, what she rarely did, and proved to be a surprisingly good chaser.
"You keep forget I used to be on the Slytherin Quidditch team for one season," she replied amusedly.
And then, just like that, Betty found herself in the Hogwarts Express travelling back to Scotland. The train was noisy, the chatter of students coming from compartments nearby or students running down the corridor, looking for their friends, telling them about their Christmas holidays—yet Betty barely noticed it; she was simply happy to see Katie, the twins and Lee again, their familiar faces and voices, filling her with a warmth she hadn't realised how much she had missed it. Stories of how they spent their Christmas holidays and what they had received were exchanged, and Betty listened and laughed along, when Katie told everyone excited that her twin sisters learnt their first word being "boom".
"Did you hear the latest news?" Lee called out. " Next summer, the latest broom of Nimbus is finally set to hit the market!"
Katie, Fred and George stared at him with their mouths open.
"Oh, what a shame that it's going to be ridiculously expensive," Katie sighed. "But one can always dream."
Betty thought of her broom waiting at home—the exact model they were talking about. She could have told them, but something inside her made her hesitate; the thought of it left her uneasy, and she didn't want the attention it would bring, so she kept it to herself.
Once the lessons began again the next day, it didn't take long for the reality of school life to catch up with her. The day's stretched on, spending daylight hours in freezing cold classrooms, with lectures that felt painfully slow.
The only real relief came after classes, when the lake froze over and students gathered to skate across its glasslike surface, or, on other days, they threw themselves into the thick blanket of snow. But never for too long, as there were piles of homework waiting that never seemed to get any smaller, no matter how much she completed, and Betty was infinitely grateful that she was usually allowed to copy Katie's homework; in return, she helped her with spells.
Weekends passed too quickly. With the twins and Katie increasingly absorbed in preparing for the upcoming match, Betty found herself often wandering through the corridors alone, much to her delight. Occasionally, she would watch her friends training on the pitch or visit Hagrid for tea.
Still, most of her time was spent elsewhere.
In the secret room on the seventh floor, the world around her narrowed, where time and anything else was irrelevant. Soon, she could cast every spell in her schoolbooks effortlessly, and once she had done so, she pushed herself even further, practising as many spells nonverbally as she could, and quickly discovered—to her surprise—how intuitive and natural it felt to her. Not having to use words, solely the flick of her wand.
At the very least it made her practical homework easier when Professor Flitwick and McGonagall assigned new spells and transfigurations to practise. And it just left Betty with more time to avoid essays—and to continue studying forms of half-forgotten magic, those who did not rely on wands.
By the end of January, Betty found herself piled up with essays, so many that even Katie's support wasn't enough to do them justice.
"Have you already finished writing the essay on the Devil's Snare and how to escape it? It's due tomorrow," Katie asked one afternoon.
They were sitting in a back corner of the library, bent over a potions book as Betty flipped through its pages, researching the interactions between salamander blood and dittany, and what to watch out for.
Confused, Betty looked up and frowned. "The... what?"
"Seriously, Betty," Katie looked at her, shaking her head slightly disappointed, "Have you not been using the planner? The one I gave you for your birthday!"
"I... uhm...," Betty stuttered, feeling uncomfortable that she had simply forgotten. The planner was still buried somewhere in her trunk under clothes and books, and she couldn't explain why.
"Well, it's fine. I'm going to remind you later," Katie sighed, waving her off, "maybe, it's just a boring present. Should've got you something better." She winked at Betty. "As long as you don't miss the match on Saturday."
Even though it didn't seem like such a big deal to Katie, Betty felt guilty, as if something heavy was spreading in her stomach. She knew her friend meant well and had thought carefully about it. Too afraid to look up at Katie's face, she nodded, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the chain around her neck.
The guilt didn't fade. It sat in her chest, a dull ache she couldn't shake. For weeks, Katie had been the one reaching out—wrapping toast in napkins, saving her a seat, covering for her missed homework. And Betty had been pulling away. Not because she didn't care. Because she didn't know how to hold on and breathe at the same time.
She looked up at Katie, who had already turned back to her own parchment, scribbling something at the edge of her parchment, her brow furrowed in concentration. The distance between them felt wider than the library table.
"Katie?"
Katie glanced up, eyebrows raised.
"I'll be there. At the match. I promise."
Katie's expression softened, just a fraction. "You better be. I don't need you to be loud—just there. Also, someone needs to roll their eyes at McLaggen for commenting on tactics."
Betty snorted. "I can do that."
Katie held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded and turned back to her notes. The knot in Betty's stomach loosened slightly. A promise. She would keep it.
In recent weeks, Betty had felt that the two of them were growing more and more distant. However, she didn't know how to change that. Katie spent most of her time after training with Angelina Johnson, the other chaser from their house's Quidditch team, and Alicia Spinnet, who still preferred to watch after her injury during the last match.
After gathering their stuff to leave for their next class, Betty walked silently beside Katie, who was excitedly talking about the Hufflepuff against Gryffindor match at the upcoming weekend—the training, the tactics Charlie Weasley had worked out to win.
"If we win by one hundred points, we'll be in first place in the House Cup rankings!" Katie exclaimed, moving on talking about the weather, hopefully it won't be too cold.
Betty listened, attentively even, she owed that to her friend. At least that's how it felt for her.
Only when they entered the classroom for Defence against the Dark Arts and moved to their usual seats, Katie stopped japing.
Professor Nightshade was already there. He, however, didn't notice the students entering the classroom, standing with his back to them, the shoulders slightly hunched, one hand braced against the edge of his desk as if he needed steadying. The classroom was untidy, books were piled up in towers along the wall, parchment scrolls, quills, candles and other objects were scattered all over the desk, as if someone had emptied all the cupboards and left their contents lying around. And there was a musty smell in the air. Betty wrinkled her nose.
For a moment, the professor didn't move at all.
Only when Mira cleared her throat did he seem to realise he wasn't alone anymore. The professor startled, then turned slowly, confusion flickering across his face as he turned around, shifting his gaze from his desk towards the students sitting in front of him, who looked at him expectantly.
"Oh, right, uhm," he muttered, tugging at his cloak, trying to straighten it, though the fabric remained creased. The circles under his eyes were so dark, his face so sunken, that he seemed to have nothing in common with the young, eager professor from a few months ago. His beard had grown long and uneven, covering his sunken cheeks.
He grabbed and opened one of the books on his desks, his fingers trembled slightly as he turned the page. Betty and Katie exchanged uncertain, concerned looks. Their professor looked like he was on the verge—or rather in the middle—of a complete nervous breakdown.
"Today, I...," he began, his voice was hoarse and uneven. He glanced briefly towards the cabinet, then to the door, as if expecting something or someone to jump out at any moment. He paused, swallowed, then repeated himself more firmly, "Today I'm going to be talking... talking about wandless magic."
A murmur went through the class and Mira's hand shot up, but the professor didn't seem to notice at all. Betty, however, felt a tingle of excitement spread through her body. Curious, she leaned forward, rested her elbows on the edge of the table, her head propping on her hands. Perhaps it would turn out to be an exciting hour after all—though Betty was still sceptical.
"Difficult to learn, yes, and—dangerous," he continued, then stopped again, rubbing his temple. "No—dangerous to attempt." He blinked, as if he had to focus, and exhaled sharply. "And you should never—never—" He cut himself off, jaw tightened. "You should never trust anyone who can master such a wicked skill."
Surprised, Betty's elbow slipped off the table, and she stared at the professor in disbelief. Dangerous? Zuberi and most of the others from his village, very few of them even owned a wand. And none of them were dangerous. And yet... uneasiness was spreading through Betty.
"Don't be fooled by the spectacle of it," he added, more sharply now. His lifted his gaze, letting it wander over the class, but he hardly seemed to recognise the students in front of him, as he didn't seem to notice Mira, who still had her arm raised.
He looked back at the book in front of him, staring at the pages for a friction too long, until he continued, "if someone shows you wandless skills, if someone... ever... demonstrates it... watch them closely."
For a heartbeat, the classroom was completely silent. Betty swallowed. She studied the faces of her classmates, who were looking at each other questioningly, then slowly nodded as if they agreed. Betty could hardly believe what the professor just said, and the class just seem to agree. She wondered whether she should say something—but then held back.
Mira shifted in her seat, her hand still up. She cleared her throat again, and when Professor Nightshade didn't react, she said hesitantly, "Professor? Sir?"
The professor looked up, blinking, and swept his gaze confusedly at the faces before him, with an expression as if he had forgotten once again that he was standing in front of a room full of students. Then his eyes lingered on the girl in front of him.
"Miss...," he said impatiently, vaguely pointing at her with his hand.
"Ashford," Mira helped him along.
"Right. Miss Ashford?"
"Isn't wandless magic part of the fifth-year curriculum? I mean, theoretically—"
"Don't—I'm the professor, am I not?" he barked, the sharpness in his voice even startled him.
A long silence followed, everyone seemed to be holding their breaths. Betty and Katie exchanged looks yet again.
"What's wrong with him?" Katie whispered. Betty had no answer, just shook her head. Either way, Betty could literally feel the fear, confusion and uncertainty coming from him.
Fay leaned forward, looking uncertainly at the professor. "She's right," she said carefully. "We're only first-years and this is advanced magical theory."
His brows furrowed and he scratched his beard thoughtfully. A few of the Ravenclaw students nodded.
"Oh. Oh, right. Could you... what are we supposed to...," he looked questioningly at Fay, "Miss Ashford?"
"Miss Dunbar," Fay corrected him, "And last week we talked about imps."
"Oh. Yes," he slammed the book shut with a loud bang, startling himself yet again before catching himself. "Imps..."
Beside Betty, Katie leaned in and muttered something under her breath—probably a joke, or a nervous comment—but Betty didn't register it. She was too focused on the way Nightshade quickly ran around his desk, glanced to the piles of books, then stopped, staring at the cupboard door in front of him. His jaw tightened, and he slightly shook his head; then he looked up, paused briefly as if reconsidering, circled the desk again, stopped in front of it. He scratched his chin.
"Well... without materials... it'll work," he muttered, barely audibly. "Imps... yes... quite troublesome creatures—"
"ACHOO!"
A loud sound cracked through the classroom.
Professor Nightshade flinched violently. Before anyone could even make out where that sound came from, or even bothered to do so, the professor had drawn his wand, and lights shoot out of its tip.
A crash, as a body—Carl Hopkins' body— went flying and slammed against the wall—then chaos erupted. Screams echoed through the classroom, and some students, like Betty and Katie, instinctively ducked under their desks, their hearts hammering in their chests.
What had just happened?
After a while, Betty peered over the top of the table and saw Professor Nightshade staring wide-eyed at Carl, who lay half unconscious on the floor by the wall, his face covered in blood.
"I'm... I," the professor whispered, burrowing his face with his hands, slumping down. "I didn't..."
Cormac and Garreth rushed to their friend's side, carefully helping him up to his feet and supporting him, and carried him towards the door.
"We're taking him to Madam Pomfrey," Cormac exclaimed.
Nightshade just nodded, his hands still covering his face.
"A-all of you," he stumbled through his fingers. "G-go."
Betty grabbed her bag and followed the others out the door. Before crossing the threshold, she glanced back over her shoulder, and saw the professor leaning against the desk, trembling and sobbing. Betty felt a flicker of sympathy for him; not that she had particularly liked him as a professor, and he had just attacked a student, but something must have been troubling him, and surely for quite some time.
While Mira followed the boys to the hospital wing, Betty and Katie walked behind Holly and Fay along the corridors towards the Gryffindor Tower. Only the tapping of their shoes on stone could be heard.
No one said anything for a while.
"Do you think Nightshade will be expelled for this?" Holly asked, breaking the silence.
"Maybe," Fay murmured, her gaze fixed on the stones beneath her feet. "This lad hasn't been quite himself for a while. And now this..." She trailed off, visibly shaken by what just happened.
They walked on in silence. The castle seemed unusually still, only the wind echoed through the cracks, making the girls shiver. Betty pulled her cloak tighter around her neck.
When they had just reached the shifting stairs when Holly suddenly asked, "So you can do magic without a wand?"
"Oh, aye," Fay nodded.
"And why is it dangerous?" Holly pressed, curiously but with a hint caution.
"Because only wild wizards do it," Fay explained, "it's not practised here in Britain. It's too unpredictable... too uncontrollable."
"Oh," Holly murmured, and nodded slowly.
Betty clenched her fingers around her bag strap. The words stung, making her chest tightened, she pressed her lips together, forcing herself to breathe slowly. But this time, she couldn't let it go.
"How can the original form of performing magic be dangerous?" she asked, more sharply than she had intended.
"No one does it, " Fay said, shrugging, though a flicker of unease crossed her face. "There's a reason we've been using wands for centuries."
"But it's just a channel," Betty said, her voice quiet but firm, "the magic comes from within us."
Fay raised an eyebrow. "So? It's known that only wizards like Grindelwald mastered wandless magic," she continued, "and you know what kind of power-hungry wizard he is."
"But wizards and witches all over Africa, or South America. Or even Nordic wizards as well—they don't use wands at all!"
"See," Fay returned, "Wild wizards."
Betty opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wanted to argue more, to challenge everything Fay had just said, but instead, the words caught in her throat. She exchanged helpless glances between Holly, who only returned her gaze uncertainly, and Katie, who walked silently beside her, hoping she would come to her support. But she just shrugged.
"Well, she's not wrong. It is a bit... well, kind of freaky, isn't it?" Katie replied.
Freaky. The word struck her hard. Betty turned away, her grip tightening around her bag strap and lowered her gaze.
Later that night, she tossed and turned in bed, still hunted by the events of the day. She couldn't stop thinking about Nightshade circling his desk in fear; about her classmates who considered wandless magic—which interested her so much without her being able to say exactly why—to be dangerous. When she woke up after a short, dreamless sleep, a glance at her alarm clock revealed that it was almost six o'clock, and being unable to fall back asleep, she eventually decided to get up.
She quietly got dressed, wrapped her scarf around her neck and head, and slipped out of the dormitory, heading down the staircase. It was still dark outside, and the castle was still in deep sleep. She crossed the empty common room and left through the portrait hole. Fortunately, it was Saturday, and she had the whole day to hide away in her favourite place.
However, even the seemingly endless shelves full of books couldn't cheer her up today. Feeling listless, she curled up on the cushions on the windowsill and stared out of the window as the sky slowly grew lighter in the distance. From here, she could see the Forbidden Forest and the wind sweeping through the bare trees. At some point—Betty didn't know exactly when—it started snowing again, and the world outside was transformed into a single white wall. Hopefully the wind won't be so strong tomorrow for the Quidditch game, she thought, shuddering at the thought of possibly having to sit in the cold all day long.
Her thoughts wandered back to the day before, of Professor Nightshade, calling wandless magic dangerous, and those who practised it should be feared and watched out.
Betty looked at her hands, thinking about all the things she could do with them, how the magic just warmly flows through her whole body, channelling in her fingers. She thought about the air she could make swirl; the water she could draw from the air and shape and move at her will. Did that make her dangerous? Or power hungry, like Fay called the feared wizard Gellert Grindelwald? After all, Betty couldn't deny that this form of magic appealed to her. But was it power?
Suddenly, she remembered Tonk's words. There would be signs for wizards and witches who abused their power and used it for evil. Were these perhaps the first signs? Bety clenched her hands into fists, folding them behind her back.
Eventually, she stood up, walking restlessly along the shelves. She no longer felt like flicking through one of the books of forgotten wandless practices. Instead, she looked for something else. She ran her fingers over the spines of the books—a ritual that always grounded her.
A thick, burgundy bound volume caught her attention— a collection of texts on useful spells for everyday purposes, such as self-stirring cauldrons, self-folding robes, or how to enchant a quill that could write by itself. Each page gave her ideas that she could put into practice to make things easier for her. Fascinated, she devoured page after page, soaking up new knowledge.
After a few hours, when she happened to look up, her gaze fell on the large clock above the door; it was almost twelve. Confused, she turned to the windows—and was horrified to realise that it was already dark outside. Had she really spent the whole day here without even noticing how quickly time had passed? Panic mixed with a growl in her stomach, reminding her that she hadn't eaten anything all day. She jumped up, left the book behind, and hurried out the door.
Silently, blending in with the shadows, she moved quickly down the corridors towards the Gryffindor Tower, being careful to avoid any possible patrols. Though the corridors were empty and silent, only lit by the torches along the walls, casting elongated, dancing shadows across the stone.
As she turned a corner, she entered a hallway lined with closed several doors, when a sudden a dull thud made her freeze mid step. Another one. Her pulse quickened instantly.
The sound had come from a room to her left.
Carefully, almost holding her breath, she crept towards the nearest door, drawn by fear—but also undeniable curiosity. Trembling, she pressed her ear against the door. From within, she heard muffled sounds—a voice. Or rather, voices.
A shriek cut through the silence, followed by screams, distorted, barely intelligible, but she recognised one of the voices immediately. It was Professor Nightshade's, unmistakable, and trembling in panic. She froze, her heart hammering in her chest, and she pressed her ear harder against the cool wood to catch every word. A feeling suddenly mingled with the excitement, some dark and heavy. one that seemed familiar to her, yet she couldn't quite place it.
Another voice answered. It was deep, much deeper than the professor's. Betty couldn't tell if it belonged to a man or a woman, but the sheer sound sent a chill through her body.
"When the one who lives arrives—" the deep voice said, slow and deliberate, unfazed by the professor's shrieks, "—year upon year, then an immortal life is brought near its end—"
"No, no!" Nightshade screeched back, panic rising with every syllable.
A sharp peng echoed from within, followed by a tense silence. Betty held her breath, not daring to make a move.
"—a monster unleashes its lethal stare," the deep voice continued, each word causing Betty's stomach to tighten further, "a murderer roams the corridors unpunished, one in four meets their death, one returns who was thought dead returns—"
"Stop it! Stop!"
Another peng came from the room. For a fraction of a second, there was silence again, until the deep voice continued just as calmly.
"—and one falls from the sky, and this place lies in fire and ruins. Only when the one who lived gives himself for the living, the cycle shall end."
Betty's stomach lurched violently. Her fingernails dug into the doorframe as a shiver ran from her neck to her toes; heat rose within her, followed by an icy chill. What do these words mean?
Then, suddenly, footsteps echoed closer from within the room, and just in time Betty leapt back from the door as it was suddenly pushed open. She froze, pressed herself against the wall of the corridor, heart hammering in her chest.
"I-I can't...," Nightshade whimpered, his voice trembling. "No, no…, Dumbledore must understand, I can't do this any longer."
The professor now stood directly in front of Betty; her presence was still hidden beneath the Disillusion Charm she had put on before she had left the seventh floor. Yet his gaze swept past her, and for a moment Betty met his eyes, slipping into his mind. A woman—slim, wrapped in several layers of flowing robes, scarves and necklaces, her pale eyes hidden behind enormous glasses that made them appear larger. Before Betty could react further, or even identify the woman, Nightshade suddenly spun on his heels and ran down the corridor.
She remained alone, still frozen in fear, pressed against the cold stone; only the light from the torches danced across the stone floor, casting long shadows as if they were reaching out for her.
In the distance, she heard the tower clock strike midnight.