31st October 1990, Hogwarts.
Autumn faded and October came to an end with Halloween arriving. More ghosts than usual drifted through the corridors, their dimmed chatter echoing off the stone walls. Even the portraits seemed in a festive mood, exchanging whispers and greeting nods that made the castle feel alive. The ghosts were in unusually high spirits—Nearly Headless Nick floated past humming a tune, while the Fat Friar offered what he called "spooky blessings" to passing students. She remembered the way she had celebrated this day the past years. Every year she had stayed at the Tonks' house, carving pumpkins together with Andromeda. Ted had enchanted the sweets so they squeaked or hopped before being eaten, and Betty had loved every second of it.
Her mother had never joined them. I don't like Halloween, she would say, her voice firm but strangely tight. Betty had never pressed her, though she sometimes lay awake the night afterward. At the Tonks' house, laughter and warmth spilled in every corner, and her own home felt always quieter somehow; particularly around Halloween. Andromeda never pressured her, but simply gave Lucinda a knowing look that was almost as sad as Lucinda's, and always said she would be welcome if she changed her mind. But Betty's mother never did. And Betty knew there was more to it her mother just wouldn't talk about.
At breakfast, Holly sat wide-eyed watching Hagrid carry a pumpkin inside the Great Hall that must've been bigger than any student.
"You celebrate Halloween?" she asked, her voice filled with astonishment.
Before anyone could answer, George dropped down on the bench next to Betty, with Fred sitting opposite him.
"'Course we do!" Fred said with a grin.
George added, "Tonight's feast will be even better—last year we had enchanted bats flying all over here."
Holly and Katie exchanged nervous glances, but Betty's eyes lit up with excitement. Fred leaned forward, nudging Betty.
"And don't forget, the first Quidditch match of the season—Gryffindor against Slytherin—is coming up soon. You'll be there to cheer us up, won't you?"
Betty nodded without hesitation. "Of course I will."
"Perfect," George said with a big grin, before the twins turned to Lee, who had just sat down next to Fred, accompanied by two girls, starting to wrap the twins into a conversation.
Holly, still processing what she had just learned, whispered in awe, "We... don't have anything like that. Just carved pumpkins."
Fay blinked at her in surprise. "Wait—hold on. Are you saying Muggles celebrate Halloween too?"
Holly leaned forward and her eyes sparkling with excitement. "In the Muggle world—especially in Ireland—Halloween is huge. It actually goes back to Samhain, an ancient Celtic festival. People believed the boundary between the living and the dead grew thin on that night."
Mira tilted her head slightly. "That festival... it wasn't actually a Muggle thing. Celtic witches and wizards celebrated it. Bonfires, feasts, protective charms—it was magical from the start."
Holly's eyes widened. "Really?"
Mira poured herself pumpkin juice. "Yes. The old runes—Gaelic, Nordic, and Germanic—say the stars align tonight, and magic flows stronger. Those witches and wizards marked the night with feasts, bonfires, and protective spells. Maybe the Muggles remembered more than they realised—and adapted it into something they could keep."
All the girls looked at Mira in surprise. Betty had never thought this way, but it made perfect sense.
"Wow," Katie frowned in curiosity while smearing jam on her toast. "But how do you celebrate? No floating pumpkins, no bewitched bats... what's left?"
"Plenty! Children dress up as witches, skeletons, vampires—" Holly made dramatic clawing gestures with her hands "—to blend in with the spirits and not be taken by them. And they go from house to house, collecting sweets."
Fay blinked, frowning. "Witches? Muggles dress up as witches? I thought... they don't know about us."
Holly shook her head, laughing. "Not that kind. I mean the ones with crooked noses, brooms, and a black cat. Just costumes—fun, spooky, nothing real. They don't really believe they're real. I didn't until the letter arrived."
The girls all laughed at Holly's words. Betty chuckled at Holly's description, picturing Muggle children in costumes running door to door. She'd known from Uncle Ted that Muggles celebrated Halloween, but never knew the origins. Listening to Holly and Mira, she realised the festival had magical roots cleverly adapted over centuries.
Mira raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly. "Of course, the restrictions on revealing magic to Muggles have only grown stricter over the centuries. The International Confederation of Wizards wants to keep the magical world hidden, and... well, apparently some traditions stuck with the Muggles not knowing their origins."
Fay stood up, wiping the crumbs of toast off her mouth with the sleeve of her robe. "You're such a geek, Mira."
Mira shrugged but smiled faintly. "Better a geek than clueless," she replied.
With a sigh, the girls gathered their things and headed off to classes. The two months at Hogwarts had confronted Betty with a mixture of excitement and unexpected challenges. The thrill of studying magic had slowly changed into frustration. Most lessons were often more theoretical than she had hoped—not just History of Magic.
Even Defence Against the Dark Arts, which had started so promisingly under Professor Nightshade, had begun to lose its charm. At first, he had been enthusiastic, a little eccentric, explaining spells vividly and allowing students to discuss dangerous magic in theory, always emphasizing, "We mustn't be blind." But gradually, Betty noticed subtle changes. The professor became irritable when anyone asked whether he had ever used such magic himself. He appeared distracted, often glancing over his shoulder, forgetting materials, and showing the signs of sleeplessness. Even the lively discussions had lost some of their energy. Most of the other students didn't seem to notice—they would just laugh at his quirks. Katie just brushed it off when Betty mentioned her observations, waving a hand dismissively. "You're overthinking it," she said.
Potions was its own challenge. While Betty trried to brew every potion with attentive care, not repeating the mistake she had done in the first lessons; her potions had almost always the wanted colour, yet Professor Snape would never acknowledge her efforts. Praise was only reserved for Slytherins, with Gryffindors—if anything—always being criticised. Holly once muttered, when leaving the dungeons, "At least he ignores you. I wish he'd do the same with me", leaving Betty feeling guilty and ashamed. She knew Holly was often targeted by Snape, and that whenever other Gryffindors stood up to him, it usually only made things worse.
In contrast, Betty truly thrived during practical lessons. She had eventually adapted to using her wand—though saying the incantations aloud still made her stumble— also Herbology and even charting the stars came naturally. But the moment essays and reports were due, she stumbled. Nearly every lesson ended with another task for the following week. Often she pushed homework aside to test new spells or sneaked away with Fred, George and Lee to explore hidden corners of the castle. The hours she lost had to be reclaimed late at night or over the weekend. More and more, she found herself hunched over unfinished essays, staring at lines that stubbornly refused to take shape.
That lunch break, Betty and Katie sat at one of the desks in the common room, quills in hand, though Betty's mind often drifted as usual. Hagrid's words about her father had lingered with her for weeks, making her wonder what her father could possibly have done to his brother. One afternoon, she had visited Hagrid in his hut, drinking tea and watching him show her small creatures—flobberworms—that she fed with lettuce leaves. She had wanted to ask him what he meant that other day, but the words had caught in her throat. They were like brothers. She hadn't dared to ask him directly even though she had wanted to know so badly. Sometimes, she had tried to glimpse Hagrid's thoughts, but they leapt and twisted too quickly for her to find answers. She didn't dare look deeper—too afraid to find something she couldn't undone—but also searching through Hagrid's memories felt intrusive.
Asking her own mother felt pointless; Betty knew her mother wouldn't tell her anything. When she was younger, Betty had often asked her mother about her father, but she would just stare into the distance, unmoving and silent. Betty could sense the sadness and anger beneath her mother's façade, but not getting any answers, she stopped asking questions all together. Yet the thought of a secret being kept from her made her chest tighten.
The only time during the week when her thoughts stopped spiralling was during flying lessons. On the broomstick, the rest of the world disappeared for a moment, and for that time she could let go of her worries – her questions, the burden of the secrets that the adults kept from her. She loved the freedom up in the air, the wind rushing past her, the way she was getting better with every lesson. Katie's enthusiasm was infectious; she hoped that both of them would be accepted onto the Quidditch team in their second year. Betty, however, was unsure whether she was really good enough at flying to actually make it onto the house team.
"You're distracted—again," Katie said, breaking her from spiralling thoughts.
Betty flinched slightly and looked up to her.
"Sometimes... I'd really like to know what's going on in your head," Katie continued, shaking her head amusedly. "But I'm sure you're just thinking about which spells you can practise to impress Flitwick or McGonagall."
"Mhhh," Betty muttered quickly, not wanting to speak about what made her restless, so she pointed toward her parchment. "I just don't think I can keep up."
Katie glanced up, trying to cheer her. "Don't worry. You're brilliant at Charms and Transfiguration—everyone sees it."
"That won't finish my essays," Betty sighed. "Remember what Professor McGonagall told me? Theory is just as important as wand work."
Without another word, Katie pushed her own essay toward her. Betty looked at her questioningly.
"I'm just going to the loo. Just copy it. Then we'll leave for next class?" Katie asked.
Betty glanced at the essay, wanting to finish it but feeling guilty for not being able to get it done on her own. When Katie pushed the parchment further, she hesitantly took it and nodded gratefully. "Thank you." She copied quickly, quill scratching across the page, when someone nearby cleared their throat.
"Hey, Betty," Cormac began with a grin, "I saw you're struggling a bit. I could help you with the homework—if you help me with Transfiguration in return. You just act like it's your work. Easy for you, right?"
Betty looked at him, puzzled. It wasn't just cheeky—it was obvious what he was trying to do.
"No, thanks," she replied sharply, shaking her head. "I can't imagine copying from you. I might help you practice the exercises, but I will not cheat for you."
Cormac glanced over, noticing Katie's essay, and realising Betty was about to copy. "But copying Bell's homework is different?"
"That's different, yes. I'm not cheating for Katie. We're helping each other," Betty said firmly.
Cormac shrugged. "Oh, come on, Betty," he said, grinning, though it didn't quite carry his usual confidence. "I was only trying to help—no need to be so dismissive. But fine, you want to do it all alone. Suit yourself."
Betty took a deep breath, steadying her thoughts. "I can help you practice the exercises or explain the spells. I won't cheat, though. I hope you understand that."
"Okay, okay," he finally said with a slight shrug, rejecting her offer.
"And I offered to help in return," Betty added quietly. "It's you who won't accept my offer."
"Ugh, no, that's boring," he muttered, casting one last glance to her before leaving before turning and walking back to the table where his friends were sitting.
Betty stood up and followed Katie, who had just come downstairs from the girls' tower. Both left for their next Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Ten minutes dragged by—long enough for some students to wonder if they should check his office—before he finally came in. Then the door opened, and he stepped in. His robes were rumpled, his eyes rimmed red, and he leaned on his desk as if steadying himself. Even Katie gave her a quick glance, as if she'd noticed it too this time. Without a greeting, Nightshade kept his gaze fixed on the book in his hands and began speaking about Doxies—their bites, their nests, and how to get rid of them.
"This is unbearable," Katie muttered after a long while. "Why is he giving us tips for housekeeping?"
Betty giggled, and they started exchanging little whispers and glances, silently mocking the monotony of the lecture. Then Katie began tearing off small pieces of her parchment and rolling them into balls. She aimed them at Cormac, who was sitting two rows in front of them. However, the paper projectile missed its target and landed on the floor next to him. Betty imitated her, rolled a ball and skilfully flicked it towards Cormac's head. With a small movement of her hand, she guided the paper ball unnoticed into the right lane, also helping it gain speed.
"Hit," Betty giggled as the ball hit Cormac in the back of the head.
Cormac cried softly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "Ouch!"
Irritated, he turned around and scanned the crowd. Katie and Betty stared innocently ahead, their heads resting on their hands, Katie covering her mouth with her hand to suppress a giggle. Puzzled, Cormac turned back around.
Katie giggled and whispered. "Or we leave him a love note. Something to confuse him even more."
Betty raised an eyebrow. "A love note? Do you think he'd fall for that?"
Katie nodded, eyes sparkling. "Imagine him thinking it's a secret admirer."
Betty chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be fun." She scribbled: I admire you from afar, and folded it into a paper ball, but loose enough to have him notice there was something written in it.
"There," she whispered, now dropping it onto Cormac's desk with the same ease.
Katie stifled a laugh as she watched him pick it up, puzzled. "Will you tell him what it means?"
"No," Betty said with a sly grin. "He must figure it out on his own."
Cormac frowned. Hesitantly, he began to unfold the note, and muttered something and looked around again, but no one paid any attention to him.
Katie whispered to her what else she should write on the paper: The answer to everything lies in your heart. She sent it skilfully to Cormac's desk.
He unrolled the second note and read it; a smile tugged at his lips. He turned back around, and his and Betty's eyes met for a moment. He murmured something, nodding knowingly at her.
Betty leaned over to Katie and whispered, "Oops, I think he's suspecting us."
Katie's eyes glinted mischievously.
"One last note," she murmured, scribbling quickly: Your wonderful blue eyes... they look like the sky.
She chuckled softly. "Only on a rainy day, though."
As Cormac turned back forward, Katie flicked the paper ball toward his desk. But it sailed away too far—and landed squarely on Professor Nightshade's forehead. The professor flinched violently and slapped his hand to his forehead.
"WHO WAS THAT?!"
The whole class immediately flinched, surprised by the professor's sudden outburst.
He scanned the students with angry, narrowed eyes, searching for the cause of the interruption. Betty's heart was racing. She didn't dare to move.
After an intense moment, Nightshade's expression softened and he shook his head as if he had imagined it all.
"I'm... I'm Sorry!" he muttered quickly, "I'm just..."
Then he straightened and continued as if nothing had happened.
"Now, back to doxies..."
Betty's heart was still racing. She exchanged a quick glance with Katie—no more pranks today. The lesson continued as monotonously as before, but the tension from the brief interruption lingered.
Later that afternoon, as Betty and Katie sat in the common room trying to finish their homework, Betty rummaged through her bag. Her quill had vanished again; it was the third one that week. She let out a frustrated sigh, muttered a curse, and pulled out—of course—another crumpled bundle of parchment instead. Katie, already watching her, slid a quill across the table with a shake of her head.
"Here. You'll never get anything done if you keep losing everything," she said with a crooked grin.
"Thanks," Betty muttered when she accepted Katie's with burning cheeks.
"I hope that's the last one this week," Katie said with a mocking voice.
Betty nodded guiltily, dipped her quill into the ink and bent over her essay. She only looked up when she heard hesitant footsteps stop right in front of her—Cormac. His usual self-confidence was overshadowed by something else. Nervously, he fiddled with his sleeve and tapped his feet.
Betty looked at him questioningly.
"I know it was you," he said with great hope.
Betty put on an innocent face. "What are you talking about?"
"You are my secret admirer."
Betty blinked once, slowly, then let a hint of confusion crease her forehead. "I am... what?"
"You sent me these messages. In class. I'm sure it's your handwriting!"
"No," she said flatly, clenching her teeth together and shook her head with pretended confusion and slowly leaned over her parchment, so Cormac couldn't have a closer look to study her handwriting. "Let me see."
Cormac laid the messages on the table. Betty's stomach made a little twist—because of course he was right. She had sent them. But she met his gaze without flinching.
"Not me."
His confidence faltered. For a second he looked like he doubted his own memory. His initial hope slowly faded; Betty quickly looked down, a wave of regret washing over her.
"But I was sure—"
"You shouldn't be." Katie leaned forward, her tone as grave as she could manage. Only Betty caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Next time, ask before you leap."
Cormac raked a hand through his hair, thrown off balance and swallowed. "Maybe I read too much into it. But admit it... it felt mysterious."
Katie had already turned back to her parchment, hiding her grin.
"If that's already mysterious to you," she said dryly, "life's going to be very confusing."
He stood there, awkwardly, then managed a lopsided smile and retreated.
The moment he was gone, Katie pressed her fist to her mouth, giggling. "You didn't even blink. He was convinced you're some tragic secret admirer."
Betty bit her lower lip, still regretting their earlier pranks. "Don't you think we went a little too far?"
Katie leaned close, her eyes gleaming. "Well... he's into you, and now he's getting his hopes up. Maybe... we did."
Betty rolled her eyes. "If that's true, he should stop showing off and just be nice."
Katie snorted, shaking her head. "Fair. But good luck teaching Cormac McLaggen that lesson."
Soon it was time for the feast. Together with Holly and Fay, Betty made her way down through the corridors, their footsteps echoing against the stone floors.
By now, Hogwarts had transformed. Over the course of the day, the castle had dressed itself in Halloween's strange magic. Enormous pumpkins—some taller than the first-years—lined the corridors, their carved faces glowing with flickering, mischievous smiles. In the darker corners, the light caught just enough to make the shadows twitch. Ghosts slipped in and out of walls more frequently than usual, startling shrieks out of unsuspecting students. Peeves swooped overhead, bellowing distorted Halloween songs that made several Ravenclaws flinch and duck.
Betty's eyes wandered over the grinning pumpkins, but her thoughts had wandered elsewhere. She wondered how her mother had spent the day—whether she had managed without her. Did the grief weigh heavier, now that Betty wasn't there? A wave of guilt pressed down on her chest so suddenly she stumbled. She felt guilty for not being there, guilty for enjoying the decorations and chatter when her mother was likely alone.
When they entered the Great Hall, her breath was caught. The enchanted ceiling was pitch black, dotted with stars, the waxing half moon casting silvery light across the hall. Thousands of bats darted just below the ceiling, weaving in and out of the floating candles that spilled their golden light over the long tables. Loud laughter and chatter echoed off the Great Hall's stone walls. At the high table, Dumbledore sat in his deep purple robes, his gaze sweeping across the room with a warm smile; he met Betty's gaze and winked. McGonagall chattered quietly with Professor Sprout; Hagrid laughed heartily alongside Flitwick, who looked far too small beside him. At the far end, Professor Snape sat stiffly in his chair, looking as if he would have preferred to vanish entirely; but there was something else she couldn't quite name. Professor Nightshade's seat stayed empty, and some students murmured that he had locked himself in his office, he was supposedly too nervous to appear.
The girls took their seats at the Gryffindor table, and with a collective gasp the feast appeared. Platters upon platters spread across the tables—roast beef, turkey, different kinds of potatoes, carrots glazed in honey, rich gravy steaming in silver boats. Betty's stomach growled at the sight, and she piled her plate high.
The sight made her think of other feasts—of Andromeda's kitchen covered with delicious and mouth watering smells. Pumpkin-stuffed roast, cranberry sauce, and her pumpkin pie, spiced so perfectly. Yet even there, laughter sometimes cracked. Betty remembered how Andromeda would drift away mid-conversation, her smile faltering, only to pull herself back together and brighten the room for the girls again. Once, Betty had accidentally slipped into Ted's mind. She hadn't meant to, but there it was—a flash of a younger Andromeda, laughing beside a dark-haired boy slightly older than Betty herself playing with toddler Tonks, followed by another memory of Andromeda, her face crumpled as she whispered—or maybe screamed—"No, no not Sirius. He would never—" Betty had pulled away immediately, shaken about the memories and the feeling that had come with them. Something about it had made her too afraid to look further, too afraid to uncover more she couldn't undone.
Fay nudged a slice of roasted beef toward Holly. "Here, try some—it's delicious!"
Holly shook her head and pressed her lips pressed in a thin line. "I don't eat meat, thanks."
Katie looked up from her plate, blinked and looked at Holly, confused. "But why? It's... food."
"They were living creatures once," Holly said firmly. "I just couldn't. I couldn't eat them knowing that it used to have eyes... and feelings."
Betty froze mid-bite, looking down at her own plate—roast beef, chicken wings, beans wrapped in bacon. Fay rolled her eyes, clearly used to this conversation, shoving mashed potatoes and chicken wings into her mouth.
"It's just pork. Who cares?"
"Pigs are very intelligent animals," Holly replied, then turning slightly to meet Betty's gaze. "Sensitive too. They feel fear... pain. I've read about it."
Betty stared at her own plate. For a moment, she imagined the cow in the field, how pigs wallowed in the mud and little piglets snuggled up to their mother. She had always loved animals, healing injured birds with healing spells as she had learned, and protecting frogs in the garden from being trampled. But she had never looked at the meat on her plate in the same way. How could she eat creatures she had protected her whole life? It felt odd, thinking of those animals als food. Her stomach churned, but it wasn't just nausea—the realisation shocked Betty. What had she been thinking all this time? She had always known that living creatures felt fear and pain, but somehow, she had drawn an invisible line when it came to meals. Her chest tightened. What had she expected meat to be? Just pieces of food, devoid of life? How naive—and careless—had she been?
Slowly, she pushed her plate aside, feeling a mix of guilt and nausea. Her appetite had vanished. Betty glanced at Holly, who met her eyes with a small, understanding smile.
Katie frowned, eyebrows knitting together. "You're not eating it either?"
Betty shook her head, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I'm not hungry."
Fay shrugged, unimpressed. "More for us then." She picked up Betty's half eaten slide of roasted meat with her fork.
Holly's eyes softened giving Betty a knowing look. "It's alright. Not everyone understands yet."
Betty nodded, feeling a strange warmth toward Holly. Katie shrugged and went back to her food, Fay picked at her pork with mild disgust at Holly's "strangeness," but Betty didn't move her fork again. A few seats away, Mira sat with Cormac, Carl Hopkins, and Garreth Wood, caught up in a lively discussion that caught Betty's attention when she heard a name dropped.
"Harry Potter fought him," Cormac said loudly, almost bragging. Betty's ears perked up at the name, and she started listening.
"He was just a baby," Mira rolled her eyes.
"A baby that somehow survived the killing curse," Garreth insisted, shrugging.
Carl leaned forward. "There's no counter spell. It's impossible to survive it."
Cormac smirked. "If it wasn't baby Potter, then there must've been someone else. I'd reckon there was someone hiding in his nursery and attacked you-know-who from behind."
Betty's let her goblet hovered mid-air. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. They're treating a tragedy like a game. Her stomach twisted. Her shoulders pressed up toward her ears. The clatter of plates and chatter around her seemed louder all at once. She tapped her fingers against the table. Do they even think about the lives lost?
Holly who had been listening to the same conversation leaned over to Fay, nudging her. "What are they talking about?"
Fay, still chewing her pork, shrugged. "Huh?"
Holly pressed. "These lads are talking about a baby who fought that Dark Wizard? Wait... what was his name? And why does no say it?"
Fay began, hesitating. "Actually, no one—"
"It's Voldemort." It slipped out of Betty a little too loudly.
Everyone within earshot froze, some flinched. Some heads turned towards Betty, some of the conversations around her fell silent. Katie had been frozen mid-bite, still staring at Betty wide-eyed. Betty lowered her gaze, aware of the tension she'd stirred. Her jaw tightened, and she pressed her fingertips into the palms of her hands, then let them rest in her lap, twisting a corner of her robe instead. She'd known that the name was still feared; she herself didn't quite understand. It was just a name; it wasn't like saying his name would bring him back. Her mother had told her to not say his name, just out of respect to other wizards and witches, and Betty mostly obeyed—though she had never expected to trigger such a reaction.
Holly's eyes lingered on Betty for a moment, then drifted around at the others at the table, as if she understood why no one mentioned that name and what it triggered. She leaned in to Fay as if get the attention away from Betty.
"Uhmm, and... he tried to kill a baby? Why would anyone do that?", she whispered.
Fay who still stared at Betty for a moment, then gave a resigned shrug. "Oh, aye... he tried, but he failed. That's why they call Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived. He's got a scar on his forehead," she added, almost as if she were repeating a story she'd told countless times.
Holly's eyes widened. "And... how?"
Fay waved a hand vaguely. "No one really knows. Some say it was a rebounding curse, others say his mother knew ancient protective magic. And why... Doesn't matter. The important thing is—we got rid of him."
Betty's goblet slid trhough her fingers, and fell onto the table with a loud clatter. Her chest felt tight; the muscles along her back ached from how tense she'd been holding herself together. Heads turned again, this time with more curiosity than alarm.
"Doesn't matter? On that day, Harry's parents died!"
Fay blinked at Betty. "Yes, but... I didn't mean to... I mean," she stumbled, "that was nearly ten years ago. It's tragic, but it's not like you lost them yourself."
Betty's heart raced. She remembered going to the Potters' grave in Godric's Hollow every Halloween, laying flowers onto their grave. Her mother never showed much emotion, but Betty could feel the weight of her grief. She would let her mother hold her hand tightly, feeling the pressure of her fingers pressing back—sometimes so hard it hurt—but Betty never said a word. She barely remembered Lily and James Potter herself, only the very few stories she had been told. Afterward, her mother would leave her at the Tonks' house and disappear for the rest of the day. No one knew what she did, and as always Betty never dared to ask.
Then it hit her even harder; a long lost memory, something that Harry had told her when she first met him years ago—Harry Potter whose mother died while protecting him—thought his parents died in a car accident. Betty thought of how little Harry must know about his own parents, and how the wizarding world must know more about him than he himself did.
The thought made her throat tighten, her shoulders tensing further, fingers clenching lightly, then releasing. The noise of cutlery scraping on plates, the smacking sounds of students eating, the chatter around her—everything seemed to become louder, the noise pressing against her ears.
Katie leaned over, noticing Betty staring into nothing. "Betty? You okay?"
Betty gathered herself, her fingers still clenching on her robes, then turned directly to Fay, her voice as steady as she could make it.
"But I did... they were my family."
Betty could barely see Fay's expression turning into shock. Without waiting for questions, Betty stood and walked out of the Great Hall, her steps echoing as she climbed the grand staircase towards the Gryffindor tower. The noises from the Hall faded, but the tension in her body didn't ease. She wasn't hungry anyway. But she was tired. So incredibly tired.