3rd September 1990
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 who were 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 herself dropped her gown and stepped under a shower. Hot water rushed over her, steam rising as the boggy smell vanished.
Back in the dormitory, Betty slipped into her school robes and quickly laced her shoes. She flicked her wand, muttering the drying charm she had 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. Some paths turned out to be dead ends, others led them around in circles. Once they stood in front of a door that turned out to be brickwork when they tried to open it. There were countless staircases leading alternately up and down, so many that Betty couldn't keep up after the seventeenth. And the ghosts they encountered from time to time were not much of a help either.
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 Transfiguration 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 student with quick movement, holding a collection of timetables in her hand.
"This morning you will have Transfiguration, Charms and Herbology," she announced, handing out a sheet for each student. "After lunch you proceed to Potions. Be on time, keep to your schedule, and ensure you bring the correct materials."
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 opposite of 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 pure 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 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. "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 year 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 simply 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 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," the professor 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. He himself was one and likewise a professor for Transfiguration. Betty started to wonder why he had never shown her this transfomation.
"Correct," McGonagall replied, with the briefest inclination of her head. "One point for 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.
"May I use your ink, please?" She whispered to Katie, her cheeks burning. "I must've left mine in the trunk."
Without hesitation Katie moved her ink between them. "Sure."
By then, Professor 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 stretched and smoothed, 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 wooden 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. Emphasise 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 stacked curious magical objects. At its centre stood Professor Flitwick, head of the house Ravenclaws, 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 joyfully.
His voice was high and full of excitement, his hands moving in small, almost theatrical gestures.
Betty watched intently as he demonstrated the charm, with a neat flicker of his wand, the feather rose from the desk as if it was weightless. She studied every of his movements, her expression focused as if she was in a trance. A faint smile touched her lips, knowing she could do that one.
"Now, everyone—no wands yet, just the incantation! Join me!"
Flitwick's voice rang cheerfully. "Wingardium... Leviosa!"
The students imitated him. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
"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 instantly and her breathing quickened slightly in satisfaction.
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?"
"You stressed the last syllable too much... try the second last. Wingardium Leviosa."
Katie adjusted her pronunciation as she repeated the incarnation. This time, the feather trembled, lifted shakily from the table, then floated slightly above their heads. 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 beside Betty looked increasingly irritated. With a clenched jaw, a furrowed brow, he hacked the air with his wand rather than doing the smoothly and precisely needed movement. His feather barely stirred. He made 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, as his wish to succeed just as the others rose, mingled with frustration about his own failure.
Something in his look made her pause, and against her will she felt something like sympathy and pity 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.
"Could you... show me? Please?" He asked frustrated.
Betty nodded and, a little hesitantly, set her hand over his, to let her hand guide his wand.
"You're moving your hand too hastily. More like this. 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 Professor Sprout, head of their house, explained how to repot a Mimbulus Mimbletonia, which had to be handled with care, otherwise it would spray a foul-smelling liquid in self-defence if too much pressure was applied to its roots.
Katie, who was 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, scolded him for being far too rough, while Betty and the others couldn't help but stifle laughs at the chaos he caused.
By the time they left, the greenhouse was aired out, and laughter still lingered over Katie claiming he was the "plant whisperer."
They walked back to the castle for lunch. Moments after Betty and Katie had taken their seats, the Weasley twins arrived, Fred plopping onto the bench with a cheeky grin.
"Turned into animals yet?" he asked.
"Not yet, but McLaggen covered me with stinky juice," Katie replied sharply, still annoyed, and told them the story about the Herbology disaster.
"McLaggen being McLaggen," George said smirking.
Further down the table, Cormac gave him a nasty look, but said nothing in his defence.
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 grease pot, and you feel like you've made the worst mistake of your life."
Betty giggled along the others, though a hint of unease remained. She knew Professor 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 herbs, which felt oddly familiar to Betty. It reminded her of her mother's basement, where she had watched her mother brewing potions and elixirs over the years—a contradictory sensation given the strictness that seemed to hang over this room.
The professor stood with his arms crossed in front of his desk, his cloak wrapped tightly around him, his black hair hung uncared for in his face, his gaze wandered over the students as they entered. His piercing eyes were narrowed to slits, and his face looked as if he would rather be somewhere else. It was a look Betty was not unfamiliar with. In her first Occlumency lessons, he had looked just the same.
"You are here to learn the difficult and the art of potion brewing. They require precision," he began softly, "Since I don't do much silly waving of magic wands, you'll find it hard to believe that this is magic. But believe me, the beauty of the quietly bubbling cauldron with its shimmering vapours, the delicate power of the liquids that creep through human veins, bewitch the head and beguile the senses."
He continued, sweeping his gaze over the students. "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. "Or even... deadly."
Betty felt an exciting sensation run through her body—that was something she was eager to learn.
Then Professor Snape began asking 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 silent.
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, looking over at the Gryffindors with a smug grin.
"Lavender, crocodile heart and peppermint, Professor." Betty replied without hesitation.
Snape paused. His eyes drilled into hers, staring at her, expressionless. The intensity of his gaze cut into her like a blade. She knew this look too well, yet she did not flinch.
"Incomplete," Snape said finally, eyes narrowing. "Black, do not answer unless called upon."
He cast a brief, sharp glance over the class before turning to Adrian, whose hand remained raised and the professor nodded in his direction.
"Three leaves of peppermint, Professor," Adrian replied immediately, his gaze flickered briefly to Betty. "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 the professors were 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—Professor Snape had asked only for the ingredients, not the quantities. The initial joy slowly faded. She drew a deep breath, forcing her to stay 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?" Professor Snape's voice cut across the dungeon. "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. The professor's gaze narrowed. "A coincidence," he said softly. "Do not rely on coincidences, Black. You are to follow the recipe."
Betty lowered her eyes, cheeks flushing. She had done it automatically, just as her mother had it all those years—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 raise 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 yellow. Frowning, he stared into his cauldron.
Professor 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, McLaggen. Would it not be wiser to prioritize precision over speed?" He scanned the Gryffindor benches with an amused grin. "Five points from Gryffindor. Apparently, none of you are capable of the simplest potions."
Some Slytherins giggled, Celeste Flint and the girls beside her the loudest, clearly enjoying the moment. 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.
"It's not fair," she quietly said, loud enough for the professor to hear.
He turned slowly, eyes piercing into hers. He stepped closer. 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 repeated, nodding toward the bubbling Slytherin cauldron.
"What is fair, 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 keep her eyes on his 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 walked up to Adrian. His gaze remained sharp, inspecting, and when he observed the boy's potion, a faint, almost mocking smile tugged the professor's lips—a spiteful acknowledgment that a Slytherin had followed the rules.
"Well done, Mr. Rosier," he said coldly, earning Slytherin five points for the 'successful' potion; they received another five points for Celeste Flint's one, who sat up straight after the praise and looked over at Betty with a smug expression. The other Slytherins exchanged small, triumphant glances.
As Professor Snape moved on, Betty felt it—Adrian's eyes on her again. It wasn't smug. Nor amused. Just curious, in a way she couldn't place. Before she could make sense of it, she turned back to her cauldron.
Even though, the Gryffindor potions—Betty's and also Fay's—had turned a similar shade like Adrian's, not perfect but it was close enough to that violet colour that shimmered evenly in the torchlight coming from the walls.
As they walked out the door, Celeste walked past them with her friends, and Betty heard her whisper half loud to one of the girls, "The Gryffindors are so predictable."
Katie, Cormac, and Betty, who were walking behind them, stared at them before Katie turned to Betty.
"That was utterly unfair," Katie murmured.
"Not a word," Cormac replied sharply, voice rough with frustration. "Snape's a bloody git."
He glanced at Betty, as if waiting 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 is 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 him.
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, replying 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." She raised her head, meeting his gaze. "No matter who it involves."