Mid-September 1990, Hogwarts.
Betty knew better than to expect praise from Snape. In Occlumency lessons, he had acknowledged her in his own ways—a nod, a measured silence, or demanding to focus and repeat until she felt like breaking. He had scolded her before, in the early years when her discipline had been fragile, but not like this. Not so sharp. And above all, not in front of someone. His words left her feeling exposed, like a heavy weight pressing down in her chest. She felt foolish for letting it linger—Snape had treated Cormac far worse, and from what she had overheard, other students had endured cruelties harsher than hers. He had scolded her, yes, but it wasn't as if he had singled her out. Still, the sting didn't fade. She told herself it was ridiculous to have expected anything different, let alone special treatment. She knew him well enough. And yet, knowing didn't stop her from feeling heavy. But right now, she couldn't help it. She reminded herself, as Zuberi had often, that burying feelings did nothing, but despite that knowledge, the anger refused to fade.
The morning of the second day passed quickly, and in History of Magic, Professor Binns—a professor that was actually a ghost—gave a lecture on the Goblin Wars in the Middle Ages. His monotonous voice made the lesson seem longer than it was; only Cormac and Mira seemed to be paying attention. Cormac frowned in concentration or confusion, whispering a comment now and then that made Mira stifle a quiet giggle behind her hand. Betty's attention drifted causing her to unwarily whirling around objects such as a Hufflepuff girl's feather as she fidgeted with her fingers. Only when the girl looked around in surprise Betty abruptly stopped.
Katie leaned over to Betty, murmuring, "You think Binns's old enough to have witnessed the Goblin Wars?" making both girls giggle.
Betty found the afternoon astronomy lesson slightly more engaging, though her thoughts kept drifting back to the midnight lesson promised for Thursday, pulling her focus away in small, insistent waves that she struggled to ignore. By midday the corridors were filled with talk about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"He studied dark magic—like actually studied it," Lee whispered during lunch, and Fred claimed the professor collected cursed objects.
Some students laughed at the stories, dismissing them as exaggeration or gossip, but not just Betty's curiosity grew, when she and Katie were looking for the right classroom.
When Professor Nightshade finally entered, the room fell silent almost immediately. He arrived a few minutes late, the door swinging open without a sound as he moved in with an almost gliding step. He paused in the middle of the room, surveying the class for a long moment before taking another step forward.
"My name is Professor Jasper Nightshade," he said, his voice was calm but carried an energy that seemed to pull the students towards him.
"I have been asked to teach you Defence against the Dark Arts. But remember this. You cannot fight what you don't understand—to resist the Dark, you must know it first."
Betty's mouth opened slightly, the words reminding her of something her mother often said. Dark magic wasn't evil on its own; it was simply a tool, shaped by those who used it, given intention by its user. She found herself nodding, almost unconsciously, acknowledging her agreement in his statement.
The professor's voice had a strange charm, and when he asked, "Who believes dark magic is nothing more than the tool of wicked wizards?" hands shot up almost instinctively.
His smile widened in response, as if he had expected that answer.
"No," he said slowly. "It is knowledge. And it is a test. Underestimate it, and you end up weak—or dead."
Katie whispered to Betty, "Finally, something worth listening to. Better than Binns by a mile."
Then, carefully, Nightshade drew a plain, mottled iron dagger with a dull edge from beneath his desk and placed it on the surface before them. The room seemed to hold its breath.
"This was found in a churchyard in York," he said softly, "cursed. Full of malice. No one touches it. Ever."
His eyes gleamed as his gaze swept over the students. "You are cut, and the wound cannot be closed with magic, no, oh no. You must wait until the wound closes by itself."
Some students whispered nervously. Katie leaned forward, her eyes bright with fascination. Betty watched quietly, torn between admiration for his insight and discomfort at how intense he seemed to be about the subject.
Betty heard Holly whisper to Fay, "Just like with us. I've cut myself with a knife several times. It's not that bad."
With flying lessons not starting until the following week, the afternoon was free for the first years. Katie and a few others had gathered in the common room to do their homework together. Betty joined them at first, unrolling her parchment and trying to get started. However, the chatter, laughter and whispering unsettled her more than she had expected. She lost her focus quickly and found writing the essay boring. At last, she stood up, muttering that she was going to the library. She packed her things and left the Gryffindor Tower. But that wasn't where she intended to go.
Instead, she chose to wander through the castle. The scent of old stone had a calming effect on her, and as she passed through the corridors, she let her fingers slide along the cold stone. The corridors were filled with students, though she soon found quieter corners here and there.
She paused now and again to study the old suits of armour set in the alcoves in the walls, her gaze flicking over the faded crests and banners hanging from the ceiling. The portraits on the walls seemed to watch her from within their frames but stayed silent.
As she turned around the corner, she saw a cat moving silently towards her. Her face lit up—she liked cats. It had appeared from nowhere and was now standing in the middle of the corridor. Its dust coloured fur seemed dull in the dim light and its yellow lamp-like eyes were fixed on her. Its bushy tail flicked nervously.
Betty crouched down, hoping to greet it, but the cat hissed sharply. It must be Mrs Norris, Mr Filch's cat. Fred and George had warned her about her. Mrs Norris patrolled the castle for Filch and missed nothing. They had also told her that Filch depended on her to catch students in the act and that she seemed to know where they were before anyone else did. Yet Betty wouldn't let this unsettle her.
She held the cat's gaze steadily and said, "I'm not going to harm you, Mrs Norris."
The cat responded with another hiss. Betty stood her ground, and the cat neither moved forward nor slinked away. After a moment of perseverance, Betty continued walking. Mrs Norris didn't follow her, but nor did she disappear from the corridor.
Still searching for a room where she would be completely alone, Betty wandered downstairs and along the corridors. She pressed her ear against the first wooden door she reached but couldn't hear a sound. Carefully, she turned the doorknob and stepped inside. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating the dust drifting slowly through the air. The quiet was exactly what she had been looking for.
She gently closed the door behind her, taking a deep breath and allowing the cool, still air to settle around her. She put her bag on the desk, took out her Transfiguration book and a small matchbox out of her bag. She placed a match on the book, sat cross legged on the desk and opened it to the relevant page. She studied the drawings and instructions carefully. Reviewing the movement again, she muttered the correct pronunciation to herself.
Saying the spell aloud felt strange, almost uncomfortable—the floating spell had been easier, this one was trickier. She drew her wand, closed her eyes, channelling the focus needed to cast the spell. With a flick of her wrist, she performed the movement, while visualising the material transition in her mind exactly.
"Argentacus!"
The result was again not what she hoped for. The match turned silver again, its surface smoother than in class, but still not a perfect needle. Betty let out a quiet sigh and tried again. This time she concentrated harder, but frustration rose, and the spell worked worse than before. Why was it so difficult? Professor McGonagall had called it a simple exercise. Then she remembered what she had been taught. Calm the mind. Push anger to into the background. Don't let your feelings guide you.
She took a second match, as she didn't yet know the counter spell. First this one, then the other, she thought. Betty closed her eyes again, breathing in and out deeply. She tried to detach from everything. Slowly, she spoke the spell as if she had said it a thousand times, "Argentacus."
The match glowed, began to shift, stretch and shimmer, until it finally took the form of long silver stick. It wasn't yet a needle, but much better than she'd expected. Betty stared at the not nearly perfect result, yet she felt the excitement rising.
Her fingers trembling slightly with excitement, she drew another match from the box. She felt that she had begun to find her rhythm. This time it felt different—more precise and focused.
"Argentacus," she said again, watching as the match finally turned into shimmering needle.
A wide smile spread across her face. She could hardly believe it. It had worked, and she exhaled with a relief she couldn't explain. She grabbed for another match, and again it transformed into a perfect needle. Before she could even gather herself, she jumped from the table, bouncing up and down, her heart beating heavily in her chest.
"I did it!" she called. What if I can turn the needle back into a match? She grabbed one of the needles, sat down again, and braced herself to try once more, flipping quickly through her book until she found the spell she needed. She drew a deep breath and spoke the counter spell—this time to the needle.
"Reverto."
Her focus had sharpened as if something inside her had clicked, and as the words left her lips, it happened. The needle began to change slowly, shrinking in length, thickening, losing its glow until it finally reverted to a simple match. She stared, stunned, unable to believe what she had accomplished on the first try, her heart pounded in her chest.
"You overachiever," a rough voice said from behind. "It took me months to get that transfiguration right."
Startled, Betty jumped from the desk and turned sharply, and there he was—George, leaning against the wall by the door, arms crossed.
"Merlin—George! What are you doing here?"
George chuckled, shoved his hands in his pockets of his cloak, and shrugged. "Hiding from Lee, he wants me to test all his stuff from Zonko's. Spent three hours blowing pink bubbles yesterday." His eyes flicked to her transfiguration book, the needles, and the match.
"You've always been good at this stuff," he said simply, shrugging again.
"Well, I tried hard enough," she replied humbly.
George grinned suddenly, leaning a little closer. "Remember how you used to make the cookies from the top shelf appear for us? Mum thought she was losing it, because she had no idea how we got them."
Betty smiled briefly, a warm glow rising in her chest. Years ago, she had spent an entire summer at the Burrow; Mrs Weasley's cookies were always perfect—sweet, but not too sweet, and delightfully soft and chewy. She could almost taste the chocolate melting on her tongue.
"Or when you solved that puzzle and it assembled itself just by you looking at it? Percy's frustration was brilliant."
She smiled again. Then George's voice shifted, his grin faded and he looked at her seriously, almost sad. "You never came back," he said. "Not after the accident with Percy."
Betty met his gaze and stayed silent, her fingers drumming lightly along the desk edge. She felt the old knot in her stomach tighten, a familiar weight she had tried to push aside for years. "I was afraid it might happen again." She added quietly, "And I thought... you didn't want to see me again. I scared you all. Especially Ron and Ginny."
George shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I wasn't scared of you. It was just an accident. Percy only had a broken arm — nothing Mum couldn't fix."
She hesitated, tracing the edge of the desk with a fingertip. "No," she said quietly. "I... I wanted him to stop. I was... angry. And then—"
"What he said—that was really mean," George said, shaking his head slightly, his voice gentle now.
Betty raised an eyebrow, the memory still pricking her. "We weren't exactly kind to him either. Remember when Fred turned his toy into a spider?"
George snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching. "That was Ron's toy. Ever since, he's been terrified of spiders."
Betty bit her lip, guilt curling in her chest. "See? We weren't exactly well behaved."
George grinned wide, a spark of mischief returning. "Never were."
They turned into silence again. Betty felt the sunlight warm her shoulders and the quiet settle in her mind. When George looked up, his expression was serious. "He still shouldn't have said it," he added.
Betty gave a small nod, the tension in her shoulders losen just a fraction. Her chest felt lighter, as if the words had lifted some of the weight she'd carried.
"I... we... we really missed you, you know," he added, and she felt the words land in her chest. She met his gaze, and for the first time in the conversation, her look was unguarded.
"I missed you too," she whispered, playing with the matchbox in her hand, the smooth wood grounding her as she spoke.
The silence stretched, and it might have become awkward if George had not broken it first. He gestured towards the match.
"Show me what you've got. Maybe I can learn something," he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as if he was already plotting how he could put it to use.
Betty held her wand carefully, lined the match up and cast the spell. Effortlessly, it turned into a perfect, shimmering needle. She beamed with pride, a feeling she rarely allowed herself to experience.
George leaned forward, studying it, shaking his head slowly. "You need to put your skills to use for us. Help us with pranks. Like in the good old times." His grin widened, becoming more amused.
Betty leaned back, a trace of caution in her posture, looking at him frowned. "I can't risk detention in the first week."
George grinned crookedly. "We just can't get caught! Besides—Fred and I are already in detention. A whole week. With Snape."
Betty blinked at him in disbelief. "Excuse me? What did you do?"
He shrugged innocently, a grin tugging at his lips. "Uhm, recommended him a hair care potion."
Betty said nothing for a moment, just staring at him with her mouth open. "You did not," she murmured, holding her hand to her mouth trying not to laugh.
George held her gaze for just a moment, mischief dancing in his eyes, before bursting out laughing.
"Merlin's beard," she finally said, shaking her head. "What exactly did you say?"
George wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek, still chuckling. "Fred left a note on his desk before class. 'For smooth, shiny hair—personally recommended by Madam Rosmerta.' With a sample bottle. Snape didn't even read it."
Betty laughed. She shook her head, warmth rising in her chest. The little tension that had been left drained away, leaving her feeling lighter. "You're all mad."
George leaned closer, a mischievous spark in his eye. "Exactly why you need us. So you get to have some fun too."
Betty grabbed her book, hesitating for a moment. Before she could say anything, he added quickly, "Would never make you do something you didn't want to."
A small, genuine smile lifted her face. At that moment, the door opened. Fred poked his head in, hair tousled, collar half undone. He glanced back as if shaking someone off, then slipped fully into the classroom, closing the door softly behind him. He took a few steps toward Betty and George.
"Well, what's going on here? Secret spell club?" Without waiting for an answer, he dropped onto the empty chair beside George.
His eyes fell on the needle. "Oi. Perfect transfiguration. And you're not using that for us?"
Betty raised an eyebrow. "For what exactly?"
"Pranks, of course," Fred said, as if it were obvious. "Would be a shame to waste it on homework."
"I'd rather not risk detention in the first week," Betty replied. Her tone was calm, not dismissive, but firm.
Fred didn't seem fazed. "By the way, you owe us one. Don't forget."
Betty looked at him, puzzled. "I don't owe you anything."
"Yes, you do," Fred insisted. "For starters, because we saved you from Dad when you stole Charlie's wand. The beginning of your criminal career." He winked at her.
Betty blinked answering slowly. "Fred. You encouraged me to take an Unbreakable Vow from Ron. You remember that."
Fred grinned crookedly. "Oh yes. True. I've never seen Dad lose it like that again. I thought he might kill us." He chuckled.
A quiet moment followed. Betty remembered well—how Mr Weasley had first scolded the twins, furious they had dared such a thing and dragged her along, then had turned to her, voice firm, explaining how dangerous an Unbreakable Vow was. And how her mother had explained the consequences. She had cried for days, thinking she could've actually put Ron in mortal danger.
Fred seemed to push the memory aside. "However," he continued, "we don't tolerate backtalk. That's tradition."
Betty raised another eyebrow. "The Weasley twins and their democracy."
"Exactly. Two voices, one opinion—and you're outvoted. We're team trouble, you forgot?"
George laughed softly. Betty shook her head, though a brief smile tugged at her lips—no she did not forget. The door opened again. Lee appeared in the frame, slightly out of breath, clutching a small paper bag.
"There you are. I've been looking for you the whole time!"
Fred and George exchanged a quick glance.
"We had something to do," George said quickly.
Lee came closer. "I brought something from Zonko's. New chewy sweets. Zonko's Wonder Bangs! They make you mute for three minutes. Or turn your face green. No one knows what happens first. Or something else wild. Want to try them? At dinner?"
Fred hesitated for a moment, then sprang up. "Let's see. Betty, you coming? And it's still the deal—you help us, right?"
Betty paused, then said dryly, "Can I wait a few weeks, until Professor McGonagall writes to my mum about my misbehaviour?"
Fred grinned widely. "As long as you promise to help eventually?"
Betty looked at him, then nodded with a grin. "Deal."
"Deal," Fred and George said in unison. All three high-fived.
Lee gave them an impatient look. "Come on, then."
Together, they left the classroom and strolled through the castle corridors. Shadows stretched long, and the warm light of the late afternoon sun fell through the tall windows. Their destination was the Great Hall for dinner. They exchanged quiet remarks along the way, but the atmosphere was relaxed, almost like a small breather after a busy day.
In the hall, Betty spotted Katie, Fay and Holly at the Gryffindor table and made her way to them. As they ate, she watched Fred, George, and Lee test Zonko's Wonder Bangs. Lee's tongue turned a vivid green, George laughed until he doubled over, and Fred's ears hissed like a steam engine. Katie and Fay laughed along, caught up in the chaos, while Holly watched with wide eyes, still trying to take it all in.
Betty hadn't felt this happy and fulfilled in a long time. She was on the edge of it all, observing rather than joining in, and a sense of relief settled in her chest. Tomorrow, in Transfiguration, she would impress by turning the match into a needle and back again.
The next morning, Betty jumped out of bed, feeling a sense of urgency in her chest. The first rays of sunlight shone through the window and painted the room golden. She moved quickly to get dressed and pack her stuff. Today she had Herbology and Potions, but her second Transfiguration lesson came first. She felt the pressure to prove herself, yet she was also excited at the possibility of succeeding this time. Entering the classroom, she felt a subtle tension coiled under her ribs. The room was already filling, students murmuring quietly as they settled. Betty smiled faintly, set her bag down, and took her seat next to Katie. She couldn't wait to show what she'd practised. The whispers died the moment Professor McGonagall entered, her upright, commanding posture alone enough to quiet the room. She moved forward without pause, wand raised to collect the students' parchments, leaving no space for chatter.
Betty froze. The essay. She had been so focused on turning the match into a needle that she had completely forgotten the assigned homework. She straightened, resting her hands on the desk, but the unease in her chest didn't go away. Professor McGonagall's gaze settled on her empty desk. The silence stretched heavily.
"Miss Black," Professor McGonagall said evenly. "Your homework?"
Betty swallowed hard, searching for words, knowing that any excuse would sound weak. She looked down, trying to steady her fingers that were clenching on the edge of the table.
"I... I forgot it, Professor," she admitted whispering, sternly fixing a point on the professor's forehead. She didn't dare look her directly in the eyes, nor did she dare look away, so as not to appear disrespectful.
The professor's eyes lingered on her with controlled disappointment, letting Betty feel the weight of her failure to meet expectations even without looking her directly in the eyes. "That's a mistake, Miss Black. Homework is mandatory. This must not happen again. I'm going to deduct five points."
Betty nodded ashamed, her cheeks warming, and she whispered, "I'm sorry, Professor. It won't happen again."
Inside, she scolded herself to focus harder; she wouldn't let this happen a second time.
Professor McGonagall's gaze stayed for a moment longer, as if judging the truth in Betty's words. "Good. I expect more discipline. If this happens again, you will receive extra work."
As she returned to her desk, Betty turned toward the window, biting her lip. Her eyes felt hot, but she kept them focused on the glass, holding back the tears.
The class continued, and Professor McGonagall once again handed out matches, instructing the students to continue practising their transformations, reminding them carefully to focus on the subtle shift in materials that made the difference between success and failure. Most students struggled, as their matches didn't bend to their will without deliberate precision and steady control. After her mistake with the homework, Betty felt a quiet urgency to prove herself, to show Professor McGonagall that she wasn't careless or incapable. She raised her wand, held her breath, and focused exactly as she had done the day before. With a clean flick, the match transformed into a flawless silver needle that gleamed against the desk. Betty caught a few glances—admiring, curious, and tinged with envy—and the sight sent a thrill through her chest. Katie, sitting beside her, stared in disbelief before grinning wide, unable to hide her excitement.
She was the only student whose transfiguration succeeded on the first attempt. Some Ravenclaws managed silvery sticks rather than true needles, their progress clear but incomplete. Cho Chang, who had been the best among them last time, improved steadily yet didn't reach Betty's precision. While Professor McGonagall moved between the rows, correcting wand movements and guiding unsteady hands with a steady voice, Betty sat perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the needle in front of her. She remained like this until Professor McGonagall returned her gaze to the table and acknowledged the transformation.
"Very good, Miss Black," Professor McGonagall said calmly, approving but composed. "You seem to have grasped the principle. Now attempt the reverse — turn the needle back into a match."
Betty lifted her wand, whispered "Reverto", and the needle shrank and reshaped itself into a match. The weight of the class's attention pressed on her shoulders and her chest tightened slightly, but she forced herself to remain composed. Her focus was singular, her hand steady, her thoughts solely on the spell.
Professor McGonagall gave a small, restrained but unmistakable nod of approval, and Betty allowed herself the faintest exhale.
"Very neat, Miss Black. You can perform both the transformation and the reversal. Five points to Gryffindor—each for execution and for reversal."
Betty inclined her head in return, feeling a quiet sense of pride and gratitude swelling in her chest; the points she had lost earlier were now restored.
Katie nudged her elbow with a grin. "You got your priorities, huh?"
Betty answered with a brief but sincere grin.
Before they left the classroom, Professor McGonagall approached her again. Her gaze was sharp, but not unkind. She signalled Katie to go ahead, wanting to speak to Betty alone.
"Miss Black, your progress is remarkable. You have talent. But talent alone is insufficient—you need both knowledge and persistence. And persistence, I see, you do not lack. But channel it wisely, Miss Black." Her eyes sharpened further. "However, practical success alone is not enough. Transfiguration requires not only precise movements and correct pronunciation, but also a firm grasp of theory. Magic follows rules beyond what you see immediately." She paused deliberately, allowing her words to sink in. Her silence was as meaningful as her speech. "Homework is part of the learning process. I expect today's mistake not to be repeated."
Heat rose in Betty's cheeks. "It won't, Professor."
"Good. I hope you continue with discipline." The professor's gaze softened as she continued encouraging. "Don't let challenges distract you."
"Understood, Professor," she said quietly, finally lifting her eyes to meet Professor McGonagall's.
"Very well. Off you go—you'll be late for your next class."
Betty nodded, picked up her bag and turned to leave. Her cheeks still burned from the scolding, but beneath the sting she felt a quiet satisfaction. Professor McGonagall's words had hurt, yes, but they had also confirmed what Betty craved most—she had been noticed.
By Thursday night, just before midnight, Astronomy began. The air was sharp, almost biting cold. Betty climbed up the tower with the other first years. At the top she saw the stars stretched above, clear and bright, glittering against the deep black sky. Professor Sinistra stood by a large chart, her voice calm as she explained the task—constellations were to be marked on the prepared charts.
Betty's chest lifted at the sight. The stars pulled her back to summers in Kenya. A small, quiet smile tugged her lips as she traced Orion without needing to think.
Mira leaned back beside her, eyes wide, not speaking but utterly mesmerised. Then, in a hushed voice, "This is the best lesson ever. That—over there—is Capella, right?"
Betty nodded, quill moving lightly over her chart, with calm and steady motions. Fay and Holly still struggled, Katie yawning now and then, stifling it into her sleeve.
"Is that the Plough?" Fay asked, pointing hopefully, but in the wrong place.
"No," Mira said, gentle but firm. "Cassiopeia. The Plough's over there—the four stars form the rectangle, three for the handle."
Holly narrowed her eyes, muttering. "I just see... sparkling dots."
"Connect them in your mind," Mira replied with a encouraging voice. "Once you see the pattern, you'll never unsee it."
A low murmur caught their attention. Cormac stamped his foot impatiently, arms crossed, clouds of breath rising from his mouth. Carl glanced nervously at his chart, his pencil still but uncertain. Garreth barely noticed, scribbling quickly as if trying to keep up. Mira moved over to guide them, correcting their positions and pointing out constellations. Betty let Katie copy her chart and noted the small, grateful smile that appeared on her face.
Her eyes lifted to Orion's Belt. Zuberi's words were in her mind, When you feel far from home, just find those three stars in a row. She didn't feel far from home now. Having found Katie as her new friend and thinking of her first week, she imagined Hogwarts becoming her new home, she felt some sort of comfort.
Katie leaned closer and whispered, supressing a yawn, "This is really interesting—but why at this hour?"
Betty raised an eyebrow. "It's hard to see the stars in daylight."