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 withdrew to the living room, sitting in her usual place, the wide windowsill, knees drawn up with her chin resting on them, watching the leaden sky outside. The clouds over London hung low and moved slowly across the sky. Occasionally a bird crossed her view, yet even that felt somehow subdued today. By then, her tea on the coffee table had gone cold. With a semi-circular wave of her hand over the cup, she warmed the tea up again, reached for it and took a sip.
Betty's thoughts wandered, and although she felt a rising 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 that would be unfamiliar to her. She had never learnt like that before, never had to follow rules set by others, even being schooled at home was mostly oriented towards her needs.
After years of shaping magic in her own way, testing its limits with nothing but her own instinct, 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?
Anther thought rose in her—the fact she would no longer be alone. Since she was six, Lucinda had always been very keen on early education, her lessons had been one-to-one at home. Now there would be classrooms full of other students. And shared dormitories. She would be sleeping in a room with strangers.
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.
Andromeda 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.
Betty sighed.
Her eyes moved to the pile of her new school books and the small wooden box on the side table, she had brought from the kitchen earlier. Inside was her wand, still new, still very much unused. She crawled forward, reached for the box and opened it carefully, taking the dark wenge wood into her hand.
It still felt unfamiliar. Still, there was something beneath its 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 still... a faint, unmissable presence.
Betty tightened her grip. Something about it unsettled her. the wand offered no instant connection, not the one she was familiar with.
She reached for one of the books from the pile. Magic for Beginners: Volume I. She ran her fingers along the edge, feeling the cool, rough paper against her skin. Opening it in the middle, she let her finger glide over the entries until her eyes finally lingered on one—the levitation spell. Something she has been able to do since she could remember. She hesitated—why should she learn a spell she already knew?
Then she decided to at least give it a try; it should be a simple task for her.
Her eyes wandered over the wand movement and the incantation. Wingardium Leviosa.
She stood up, sat down in front of the window, and placed the empty teacup on the windowsill. She picked up the wand again.
She raised her hand, pointed the wand at the cup, and took a slow breath.
"Wingardium Leviosa," she said, moving her wrist in the described upward motion.
Nothing. Not even the slightest movement.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
This time her voice was firmer, her movement smoother, but the cup remained still.
Frustration rose in her instantly. She had lifted objects without even thinking, simply by knowing how it should feel. The wand, in contrast, was a tool she would have to master first.
For a moment she thought of putting it away and trying again later. The thought, however, passed quickly.
She would learn. Not because anyone expected her to, but because somewhere deep within herself wanted it. Because the idea of succeeding stirred something in 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.
But not being able to do something she desperately wanted to master was different, enough to keep her motivated. She threw her head back, groaned softly, then sat up again. Besides, she would have to learn it anyway sooner or later anyway.
She closed her eyes briefly. Training with Zuberi came to her mind, the memory of how she had also failed at her first lessons with him, how stubbornly the elements refused to listen to her, and how easy it was for her once she had allowed herself to be completely open to them. And how she had learned to control and eventually feel them. Maybe it wasn't so different after all.
Prejudices poison our minds, distort our judgement—and make us move confidently in the wrong direction, Zuberi had said to her more than once, and she the mental image had made her laugh every time.
She sighed. But he was probably right.
Exhaling steadily through her nose, she opened her eyes.
For the third time, she raised her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Then suddenly, the cup trembled, lifted slightly from the windowsill, and floated unsteadily in the air.
Betty held her breath; she had actually succeeded. Slowly, she moved her wand, and the cup followed suit. Eventually, she made a downward movement and the cup drifted back onto the sill.
She jumped up and clapped her hands enthusiastically. Perhaps it wasn't a setback. Perhaps just a different path – one she had to learn, without losing herself along the way.
She opened the book again, hands trembling from excitement. She wanted to try more spells. She let her finger glide over the pages, looking for another, useful spell. Lumos—the lighting spell—seemed right.
She lifted her wand, and said, "Lumos."
Nothing happened.
She clenched her jaw. She repeated it, a little more forcefully. "Lumos!"
A faint glow appeared at the tip of her wand, flickering briefly, like a candle in a breeze, and went out.
Betty straightened and tried once more.
"Lumos," she said firmly.
This time, the tip lit up brightly, almost blinding her view.
At that exact moment, the door opened. Betty flinched and turned. Lucinda stepped in, holding a steaming cup of fresh tea in her hand.
"Mum, look! I made the cup float. And now this."
Lucinda set the cup down and glanced at Betty. At first, she said nothing. She looked at Betty's wall, the top of which was still glowing brightly, then directly at Betty.
Then she moved closer, perching on the arm of the chair.
"I admire your ambition," she said slowly, "but as you know, underage witches and wizards are not permitted to practise magic outside of Hogwarts."
Betty froze. She had forgotten about the magic tracing spells that tracked every underage witch and wizard.
Her eye's widened. "Does that mean... I could be expelled?" she asked. "Before I've even started?"
Lucinda shook her head. "No," she said slowly. "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."
Betty nodded.
Lucinda 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 knew how much her mother craved control—over situations, over her, over everything—and how ambition ultimately was one of the most important qualities for her.
"But don't tell anyone, alright?" She winked.
Betty smiled and nodded. She put the wand back in its box.
"Alright."
Betty stood up, sank into the armchair on whose armrest Lucinda sat, pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees.
"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 doesn't 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 softened. "Betty, the Sorting Hat has been in use for over a thousand years," she said gently. "It has sorted children of every kind, I assure you. And you are far from nothing. You might be... a lot. Perhaps too much for a neat little category—but doesn't make you too much."
She lifted a hand as if to touch Betty's face, then stopped halfway and let it fall. A warm smile spread across her face. "And you are entirely fine as you are."
Betty fell into her mother's arms. Lucinda hugged her gently, brushing hand through Betty's hair. Betty leaned her cheek against her mother's waist and breathed in the delicate scent of lavender that her mother always smelled like. It was a rare moment of closeness, as Betty had never been particularly cuddly, but she remained like that for a while.
"I wish it was tomorrow morning," she murmured.
Lucinda smiled softly. "Tomorrow morning, you'll wish you had five more minutes of sleep."
Betty twisted her mouth into a half-smile. Then she loosened herself from her mother's grip, stood up, stretched, and returned the box to the shelf.
"I'll pack everything again," she said, "just to be sure."
Up in her bedroom, she went through her suitcase once more. This was rather 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 felt strangely 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.
But then, time seemed to speed up. Minutes passed while Betty folded clothes again, read a book she had done so a dozen times, just to stare into nothingness, trying to organise thoughts that kept slipping away from her mind.
Not too long after, she climbed into her bed, set the alarm, and turned onto her side. She closed her eyes, tried to fall asleep, but 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. The anxiety surrounding the unknown was too great. Eventually, as darkness gave way to twilight, she slipped into a light sleep.
In the morning, Betty awoke before the alarm went off, and the house was unusual quiet. She heard muffled sounds coming from downstairs, soft footsteps on the creaking wood. She didn't really feel rested, but not tired either. Instead, a tense weight pressed against her chest.
Lucinda had announced they would leave around quarter to eleven. Betty found, it was way too early but didn't argue. She got dressed, tied her hair back roughly, and folded the rest of her clothes to put in into her trunk.
As she moved to close it, Lucinda stood beside her. Without a word, she drew her wand, flicked it once, and the suitcase shrank to a third of its size.
"It's easier to carry this way—for both of us," Lucinda said.
She put a hand on Betty's arm, gripping firm but lightly.
Then a sharp crack. And 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 they had arrived to was small and gloomy, filled with the smell of wet stone, old smoke and something else that made Betty wrinkle her nose. The plaster on the walls was cracked, and some were completely missing. A single lamp hung from the ceiling, filling the room with an uncomfortable, flickering 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, she slipped through it, Betty following close behind. They were on a narrow, remote maintenance track, enclosed by high walls. No one paid them any attention.
And the door closed softly; an old sign was visible on the outside. On it, in large, faded lettering, was written, "No passing."
Below, invisible to Muggles, the words said: "Apparation Arrival Kings Cross—Authorised Magical Travellers only."
When they reached the entrance hall, the noise hit Betty suddenly—a piercing whistle, the screech of brakes, loud announcements over a loudspeaker, the chatter of voices, and the squeak of a luggage trolley.
They moved forward without speaking. Betty carried the suitcase in her left hand, the handle pressing into her fingers despite the light weight. People squeezed past each other. Amid the chaos, Betty stayed close behind her mother, moving swiftly but without rushing through the crowd.
Eventually, they reached the platforms nine and ten, divided by a massive barrier. Betty watched a teenage boy disappearing through a stone wall, followed supposedly his father. Two Muggle policemen stood a few metres away; however, they didn't pay attention to them.
Lucinda glanced around briefly, then she nodded to Betty.
"Ready?" she asked.
Betty nodded and began to walk towards the barrier between both platforms, where the two other wizards had just disappeared. One step, then another—and she was through.
The atmosphere here had completely changed. The air was heavier. It was still loud and oppressively crowded, but Betty felt the familiar slight tingle of magic in the air. She squinted her eyes against the dim light streaming through the glass panes of the hall. She looked around, stretched, and just as she looked in amazement at the large red train stretching behind the crowd, 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, walking by.
Startled, Betty stepped aside so as not to get in anyone's way. Lucinda passed through the barrier behind her.
More people passed her, bumping into her, and Betty stood frozen in the crowd.
Every movement, every conversation, every feeling of the others seemed to reach her; if every movement, every sound, every emotion had a direct effect on her. The anticipation of the other children, the crowds, the restlessness—everything felt... overwhelming.
Betty held on tighter on the handle of her suitcase.
"Betty?"
Lucinda's voice was calm, and she put a hand on Betty's shoulder.
"Breathe. Slowly," she said softly, "Take a deep breath, focus, and let it go."
Betty nodded, then tried to slow down your breathing, feeling every inhale and exhale consciously. 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, and she opened her eyes.
Her eyes glanced over the other students who were already walking to the train. Suddenly, the uneasy feeling in her stomach came back, grew stronger, panic growing inside of her. She reached for her mother's hand.
"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 known many children. Being homeschooled she rarely had the chance to meet peers her own age.
"But you know the Weasleys. Fred and George are in their second year," Lucinda replied reassuring.
Betty blinked. Of course, 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 years, they certainly had forgotten, Betty hoped.
But with Fred and George had always been different. They had never judged 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.
"Yep," she murmured.
"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, distracted by the flood of impressions around her.
Lucinda noticed immediately.
"It'll be all right," she said, smiling faintly and brushed her cheek lightly. "Love you. And don't forget to write me."
Betty turned to her mother, hugged her quickly, climbed the stairs to the train, making her heart beat faster. Inside, the noise was even louder; children called out as they searched for compartments.
Betty pushed through, eyes scanning desperately for an empty one. After a few more steps, she finally found one. It was probably a good thing to be here so early after all.
Relieved, she stepped in, closed the door behind her. She threw herself onto the seat next to the window, her suitcase carelessly beside her. She leaned her head against the backrest, closed her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Giving herself 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 familiar recipes brought her comfort. She opened a page and began to read. She knew Professor Snape would be strict. So, naturally, she wanted to be prepared.
She had made it to half of the chapter when she heard the whistle signalling the departure of the train, and the training began to move. The quiet rattle of the wheels carried through the carriage, the windowpanes vibrated slightly.
But the peace and quiet was soon interrupted. A loud bang made her look up from book, when the compartment door was carelessly pushed open with too much force. A tall boy with blond, messy hair and slightly tanned skin stepped inside the compartment, with an obtrusive kind of self-confidence that Betty found almost insolent.
Without asking, he dropped down into the seat directly opposite Betty. His grey-blue eyes lingered on her for a moment too long, before reaching out for her.
"Hi, I'm Cormac—Cormac McLaggen," he said as if that should mean something. "Is this seat free?"
"Obviously," she replied flatly, letting her gaze sweep over the empty seats beside them.
She looked at his hand for a moment, then accepted it reluctantly.
Cormac leaned back and stretched out on his seat as if it were the most natural thing. "I'm hoping to get into Gryffindor. Just like my father. What about you? First year as well?"
Betty had absolutely no desire to talk to him; she simply wanted to read her book. But she suspected that it wouldn't work out.
She simply nodded and reached for her book anyway.
"So, you like potions?" Cormac asked as he read your cover with his head tilted. "Well, personally, I'm more into history."
Annoyed, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a short breath. When she looked up, his eyes were fixed on her, holding hers a little too long; long enough to feel the subtle pull, when slipping into other's minds.
Although she had learnt not to read other people's minds, the moment was unplanned and, before she could stop herself, her gaze lingered on his. She instantly felt the fascination he had for her as he studied her eyes, face and, finally, her lips. Then, the unmistakable desire to win her attention arose.
A feeling of heat rises within her, and she quickly looked away, down on the page in front of her. She turned the page, without having actually read it.
"Oh, and are your parents' wizards too? I suppose they both went to Hogwarts, right? Where are you from?" he said, his voice was overly cheerful.
"Yes, my mum is a witch," she replied calmly, keeping her tone neutral.
But inside, she was annoyed that he didn't seem to have any sense of empathy.
"Ah. Is your father a Mug—"
The door opened before he could finish. Two boys pushed themselves into the compartment, grinning widely—red-haired, face covered in freckles and identical down to the tips of their hair.
Betty recognised them immediately.
"Hope we're not intruding," said one, looking from Betty to Cormac with a cheeky smile.
"I'm George, and this is Fred," added the other, offering both a big smile.
Betty, relieved by the interruption, gave a small, shy smile. "Hi, you two."
"Betty?" Fred said with a broad grin, tossing his bag on the floor, kicking it under the seats. "Is it actually you? Merlin, it's been ages! I almost didn't recognise you."
"Blimey," George added in surprise, letting his eyes wander over her, before he plopped down on the seat next to her, "you've grown up."
Betty hesitated. It had been a long time, and a lot had changed ever since. Those afternoons in the garden with the Weasleys in her childhood felt distant, 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.
"Uh huh, how are you both?" she asked.
Fred and George exchanged a quick look before grinning.
"We're still the same old mess," Fred replied with a sparkle in his eye. "And you?"
Betty smiled at them both. Before she 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."
"That's not true!" Betty 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... uhm uh... most Slytherins aren't exactly... uh—friendly."
Betty watched him, brows creased. Then his gaze flickered back to hers, as if searching for a reaction.
But then, when he noticed her gaze on him, his initially cracked confidence returned, and he looked at her defiantly. The corners of his mouth twitched, his eyes narrowed faintly, leaning slightly forward, not taking his eyes of hers. Was he really challenging her into a staring contest?
All right, so be it. She leaned back in her seat without taking her eyes off him. Even though it did feel uncomfortable, it was nothing new to her. After all, she had spent years enduring Professor Snape's cold, penetrating stare during Occlumency lessons.
As the seconds passed, she noticed that his initial confidence was beginning to waver slightly.
But she didn't have it easy either. Unlike Professor Snape, whose mind was impenetrable, Cormac was easier to read than an open book. She fought hard against the natural pull that drew her into his mind. Under no circumstances did she want to see his thoughts or experience his intrusive, incomprehensible affection again. Her temples began to throb, and she hoped he would give up soon.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fred bumping George with his elbow and pointing at her, "Who is going to last longer?"
"Betty."
"Yah, clearly Betty."
This encouraged Betty to remain firm, even though she was slipping into his mind more and more often; she was relieved when she sensed that Cormac was becoming increasingly insecure. His eyes narrowed further, his brow furrowed. She could feel his discomfort, as if her unwavering gaze were seeing right through him. If only he knew...
Eventually, 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 smiled faintly. Fred and George exchanged a glance, with a knowing grin. 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!"
She hesitated. "It was an accident," she said eventually. "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 reckon."
Betty shrugged, now grinning herself. "We don't do family reunions. Unofficially, we're not part of that family."
George chuckled. "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 mad house."
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 knowing look. "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. "So, don't worry, you're in good company."
"Well, I don't care in what house I'll be sorted into," 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 only nodded, then turned to look out of the window, not really being interested in participation, watching the blur of the passing countryside.
Fred seemed to notice that 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 to, or even mocking him.
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 biting 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."
Cormac, who seemed to slowly become unsure how he could still impress Betty, surprisingly remained silent.
Fred looked up with amusement at Cormac, then shifted back to Betty, leaning towards her.
"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," he said, nodding at George. "And if you don't... we owe you a packet of chocolate frogs."
Betty raised an eyebrow. "And if I do get into Gryffindor?"
George grinned broadly. "Then we'll still owe you a packet, because we guessed right."
"Sounds like a pretty one-sided bet," Cormac intervened.
"We're being generous," George said with a 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.
And she hoped that she would finally get rid of Cormac.