December 1990, Great Britain.
In the weeks before Christmas, Betty's visits to the mysterious room had become a ritual. At first, she had trouble finding it again—but by closing her eyes and focusing on the faint pull she had felt the first time, she eventually found herself on the seventh floor at the far end of the castle. She soon realised that if she passed by the blank stretch of wall three times, thinking carefully about the place she needed, a door would appear. And just like the first time, the room greeted her with high shelves filled with books, a soft glow of candlelight, and a fire quietly crackling, radiating warmth.
By then, she would slip away after lessons almost every day, spending hours alone, experimenting with wandless spells, or testing incantation nonverbally. Time meant nothing there—hours blurred into another, as if the world behind the room's walls were non-existent as if the newly uncovered truth and her fear were non-existent. The faint crackling of the fire, the soothing practise of new spells and magic—wrapped around her like a cozy blanket; all of it quieting her thoughts. Here, she could simply be.
And yet reality found its way back to her. More than once, she lost track of time entirely, missing both breakfast and dinner, returning to the Gryffindor tower long after curfew. One morning, the first golden rays of sun peaked through the high windows, tickling her face, waking her up from a light, dreamless sleep. For a moment, she was disorientated, not entirely knowing where she was. She was curled up on a thin rug, her head resting on a colourful embroidered cushion, her head facing the high window of the window sills, a crimson bound book had slipped next to her. Then it struck her. She shot upright, heart racing; panicking she turned around to check the big clock above the door—ten minutes before class. She grabbed her bag, and stormed off running down the corridors.
By the time she reached Defence Against the Dark Arts, her hair was still tangled, and her tie hung half done around her neck, which she fixed with a flick of her wand. Having slept in her clothes, without a chance to change, she couldn't shake off the uncomfortable feeling clinging to her. She quietly slipped through the door and into the bench next to Katie. Professor Nightshade, forgetful and inattentive as ever, didn't seem to notice her arriving late. Luckily, he had forgotten to set any homework for that day. During the sedative lesson, Betty quickly scribbled something for Transfiguration, which would be next.
Katie, however, did notice. Over the past few weeks, Betty's absences from breakfast and dinner had become impossible to miss. It had almost become ritual—Katie neatly wrapping toast and fruit in a napkin and wordlessly pushing it towards her, so Betty could snack during class without drawing attention—and only to fill her belly during lunch break. Betty was grateful that Katie didn't ask questions—not yet. Still, she felt the tension between them growing. She didn't dare look up, afraid to meet Katie's eyes, yet she could feel her friend's worried gaze; she could almost hear the unspoken thoughts behind it.
Until that day.
"Betty, you look like a ghost," Katie whispered, leaning closer to meet her eyes.
Betty blinked, then quickly looked away, swallowed, and forced a half-hearted smile. "Thanks," she muttered.
"Where have you been all night?" Katie hesitated, as if she was choosing her words. "You weren't in your bed. And you can't keep skipping meals."
Betty bit her upper lip, her eyes fixed on the parchment in front of her—a mess of crossed-out lines and barely legible words. Her hand stilled, but she said nothing. She couldn't explain why she hadn't told Katie about the room, about where she'd been hiding—or why she needed it so desperately. Perhaps she just didn't want to share the only sanctuary she had in the whole castle. A place where she could be alone, unobserved, untouched by expectation. The thought made her feel both awful and guilty.
How could she tell her friend that she needed time for herself—without hurting her? That she needed space to process her family's secrets?
"I just... I was practising Charms in one of the empty classrooms," Betty said quietly. It wasn't even a complete lie. "I fell asleep."
"Seriously, Betty." Katie eyed her, half teasing, half concerned. "If you don't start taking care of yourself, I'll slip a sleeping potion into your pumpkin juice."
"I'll try," Betty murmured. Next time she'd bring her alarm clock with her, setting an alarm to not miss curfew again.
She knew Katie only wanted the best for her—and that made the guilt worse. Katie leaned back over her parchment, scribbling Quidditch tactics, while Betty glanced sideways at her, thoughtfully. Katie had become one of the best friends she'd ever had—alongside the Weasley twins.
She remembered one night back home: the adults laughing over elf wine, a bottle her mother had brought from a work trip to France, when she'd caught Ted watching her. "You've grown so much," he'd said softly, "You're the spitting image of your father." The words had cast a brief silence over the table before he quickly changed the subject.
Betty had wondered ever since how much she truly resembled him—and wether she might one day become like him. A man who had killed his best friend.
Across the table, Katie paused for a moment, her quill hovering in the air, eyes distant, before returning to her notes. Something heavy pressed against Betty's chest as she watched Katie. Would she ever...? She didn't dare to finish this thought.
She turned her head, staring out of the windows. A few crows circled lazily in the greyish winter sky. Her mind drifted, sinking into her thoughts, wandering back to her sanctuary place, and the hours she had spent there yesterday before she fell asleep. The last weeks she had learned, practised and experimented. Now, she mastered basic spells almost effortlessly—closing her bed's curtains, or doors shutting with a small hand movement, lights switching of and off. A wave of pride swelled in her chest, quickly replaced by the dark thoughts she's been trying to avoid, when a nudge against her ellbow pulled her back.
Katie tilted her head towards the front of the classroom, whispering with a supressed giggle, "Looks like he's expecting a boggart to jump out of the cabinet."
Betty followed her gaze. The professor stood stiffly behind his desk, nervously fiddling with his textbook, eyes darting from door to window as if he was waiting for something—or someone. Betty frowned, but before she could have a closer look, the bell rang to mark the end of the lesson.
They packed and made their way to Transfiguration, taking their usual seats at the mid front. Professor McGonagall moved between the tables, collecting each parchment. When she reached Betty's desk, her eyes lingered briefly on the messy handwriting—the half hearted essay—before her eyes flicked up to Betty herself. A barely perceptible shake of her head, but she said nothing. Betty bit her lip, knowing the professor expected more. Still, she felt a small sense of relief—at least she had something to hand over.
After class, they walked the corridors, following the other students down for lunch. When they entered the Great Hall, it had been decorated with mistletoes; floating pine cones bobbed gently in the air, and at the front they saw Hagrid placing fir trees, with Professor Flitwick assisting. Snow fell down from the enchanted ceiling, but unlike real snow, it wasn't wet when it landed on their heads—instead it was dry and warm. It was the Friday before Christmas break; the Hogwarts Express would be leaving tomorrow morning.
The smell of the delicious food made Betty's stomach rumble; she hadn't realised how hungry she was until now. They took seats in beside some older students. Betty piled her plate with wedge potatoes and scooped stew into a bowl; after spotting it had no meat in it, shoving it inside her mouth almost absentmindedly. Katie shook her head with a sigh as she watched her friend. Betty shrugged guiltily, letting her gaze drift over the crowded hall.
Her attention was caught by Professor McGonagall walking purposefully towards the Gryffindor table, stopping not to far away from them next to Charlie Weasley.
"Mr Weasley," she began, her tone serious and firm, "Unfortunately, I must inform you that Mrs Spinnet won't be returning to the team anytime soon."
Charlie looked up from his plate, to look at the professor and groaned.
"I'm sincerely sorry," the professor continued, "but Mrs Spinnet... the unfortunate incident must've undoubtedly frightened her. You will need to find a replacement soon."
Charlie threw his head back. "How are we supposed to get a new one? Alicia was—along with Angelina—by far the best at try outs. By far!"
McGonagall's gaze softened slightly. "I know the solution isn't optimal. And I wish the circumstances were different. But unfortunately, the third best from the try outs must do."
Charlie muttered something under his breath, before turning back to his plate. Betty and Katie exchanged wide eyed looks. Betty made a gesture with her head towards the professor.
"That's your chance to get into the team."
Katie frowned, looking at Betty irritated. "I'm a first year... it's not allowed, remember?"
"You could at least ask," Betty shrugged. "The worst thing she'll say is 'No'."
Katie inhaled deeply, meeting Betty's encouraging gaze, trying to find courage. She turned her head, her eyes fixed on Professor McGonagall who was about to turn back to the High table.
"Professor? Professor McGonagall?"
The professor turned sharply, her stern expression fixed on Katie. "Miss Bell?"
Katie's cheeks flushed. "I... uhm, I have a question."
The professor looked at Katie expectantly. The girl opened her mouth, but no words came out.
"Professor, we've overheard your conversation with Charlie," Betty spoke quickly, words bubbling out. "Katie could join the team. I know, she's only a first year—but she's been the best in flying lessons! Madam Hooch can confirm. She even asked Katie to audition for the team!"
Professor McGonagall studied them both, quiet for a long time. Katie gave a small but resolute nod.
Charlie who must have heard what Betty said joined in.
"Ladies," he said in greeting and nodded to Betty, beaming with joy. "The best from your year, huh?"
He turned to the professor who still seemed to consider the options. "Would you let her join the training tonight, Professor?"
All three pairs of eyes were now fixed on Professor McGonagall, whose mouth subtly softened, and she inclined her head slightly.
"Very well," she said formally, but the corner of her mouth tilted up. "I expect you to demonstrate your skills during practice tonight, Miss Bell. The sooner we find replacement the better."
She gave Charlie a small nod, turned and walked off. Katie's jaw dropped.
Charlie leaned over to Katie. "Does six o'clock out at the pitch suit you?"
Katie, still not able to get a word over her lips, just nodded.
"Excellent! See you later, then."
Betty looked at Katie with a triumphant smile, leaning back in her seat.
"Oh Merlin," Katie whispered eventually, shaking her head in disbelief about what just happened. Her gaze lifted to Betty. "You did it, you actually did it!"
"I did nothing," Betty dismissed, but smiled faintly, "I just told her the truth."
Katie's fingers tightened around her fork. "I... I guess you were right, thank you," she admitted softly, a faint flush lingering on her cheeks, then her eyes lit up. "I'm training with the team tonight—can you believe it!"
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Betty hardly paid attention as Professor Sprout explained how Devil's Snare could constrict anything that touched it—and the methods to escape it. Katie, meanwhile, still glowed with disbelief and excitement over the upcoming Quidditch practice, barely able to focus on the lesson herself.
In the evening, most students had retreated to their dorms, packing trunks for tomorrow's departure. Betty had promised Katie she'd wait for her to return after training, so she curled up in one of the cozy armchairs in a quiet corner of the common room, a book resting on her lap. She'd read the first paragraph nearly five times and still had no idea what it was about. Instead, she watched Mira playing wizard's chess with Garreth Wood, Carl Hopkins, and Cormac, who sat beside them, giving Garreth advice on how to beat Mira—but failing spectacularly. Mira won again.
Betty had barely returned her gaze to the book when she heard the portrait swing open. A mud covered group in crimson cloaks entered the common room. Her eyes immediately found Katie—cheeks flushed from the cold, hair damp and clinging in places—running toward her, eyes wide with excitement. Betty stood to meet her halfway; Katie stopped in front of her, vibrating with joy.
"I'm in, Betty!" She cried, raised her arms as if to hug Betty, but much to Betty's relief, she froze mid air, and didn't. "I'm on the team!"
Betty, infected by Katie's joy and genuinely happy for her friend, beamed at her. Behind them, Angelina, Fred, and George arrived, faces flushed from the cold. Angelina smiled warmly, patting Katie's shoulder.
"Bell did a fabulous job," letting out a relieved sigh. "She's the best replacement we could've hoped for—though I do wish it weren't necessary."
"She is indeed," Charlie exclaimed, who had just appeared behind the others. He gave her a wink. "Excellent tip, Betty. Thanks for your efforts."
Betty nodded shyly.
Soon, the common room quieted, students leaving for the dorms one by one. Betty still hadn't packed herself, but before leaving will do. She lingered a little longer, changing chairs to sit closer to the fire, her gaze fixed on the calming flames.
By the next morning, the Hogwarts Express left punctually at eleven o'clock, carrying them back to London—where parents including Betty's mother were already waiting for them. The weekend passed in a blur; Betty enjoyed the rare quiet her very own bedroom gave her, the familiar, calming scent of sandalwood and lavender lingering in the house. The sky outside had been grey for days, with heavy clouds hanging over London as if it were about to snow.
By Monday midday, Betty found herself freshly bathed, dressed in a dark emerald velvet dress that ended just under her knees, and had once belonged to her mother. She had even let her mother braid her hair into two long plaits. Lucinda wore her own hair in a single braid down her back, her cream silk rope gleaming softly in the light.
They stood in front of the fireplace, ready to floo over to the Tonks. It had become a yearly tradition—celebrating Christmas Eve and Betty's birthday the day after. The early afternoon always began with eating biscuits, a few rounds of exploding snap, and Ted and Lucinda ending up in a duel of wizarding chess. That was one of the rare moments Betty saw her mother blossom.
Lucinda handed her the bag of floo powder. "Ready?"
Betty nodded, tossed a pinch into the flames, and as they turned bright green, she called clearly, "Tonk's cottage." She stepped into the fireplace, whirling around, seeing living rooms passing by, until she saw the right one and stepped out. The smell of pine needles, cinnamon and a hint of cloves hit her. The radio was playing Christmas tunes, interrupted by voices coming from the kitchen. A tall fir tree had already been placed near the fireplace, decorated with colourful baubles, candles placed on the fir tips. The long table behind the couches was yet to decorate. A few moments later, Lucinda arrived behind Betty.
"There you are!"
Tonks came running out of the kitchen, both hands holding filled mugs, nearly slipping over the carpet, but catching herself just in time. Her hair was streaked with green and red strands, and fine pearls were woven into it. She handed over the mugs to the newly arrived guests—spiced mulled wine for Lucinda and hot chocolate for Betty. Betty gratefully accepted the warm container; its content smelled like chocolate with a hint of cinnamon and orange. Just the way she liked it.
"It's your birthday tomorrow, kiddo!" Tonks' eyes widened. "Twelve! You're almost old enough for my teenage advices!"
"Don't take them too seriously—Dora's advices, I mean," came from Ted as he entered the room, carrying a tray piled high with his famous biscuits—cinnamon stars. Delicious, spiced nut biscuits with meringue on top, baked from his grandmother's old German recipe. He set it on the coffee table, then turned to Betty with open arms. She let herself be pulled into a hug, his arms always made her feel safe.
Tonks pulled a playful grimace, sticking out her tongue as Ted turned to Lucinda and drew her into a warm hug. Andromeda appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron. Her dark hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping around her face, and the scent of rosemary clung to her.
"Lucinda, Betty—good to see you," said warmly, leaning in to kiss Lucinda on the cheek and squeezing Betty's shoulder with a smile. "The food's nearly ready. They turkey just needs to go into the oven—apple and pear filling this year."
"Sounds delicious, Andromeda," Lucinda replied with an almost equally warm smile.
Not just Betty, but also her mother had always felt like home with the Tonks family.
At the mention of the turkey, Betty's stomach twisted unpleasantly. She forced a polite smile, she had avoided all kinds of meat, ever since Halloween. Before the thought could settle, Andromeda turned to the windows, gesturing towards the white light beyond the glass.
"It's been snowing all day," she said, "Why don't you two go outside for a bit before dinner?"
Betty followed her gaze. Beyond the window pane, the backyard was covered in a white, even blanket. Thick and soft snowflakes drifted down lazily. Betty's eyes began sparkling. She loved snow.
Tonks quickly ran upstairs to her room to grab a coat, holding a second one for Betty. They quickly wrapped their scarves around their heads and put on gloves.
Tonks grinned. "Come on, birthday girl. Last one outside gets hit first."
Before Betty could protest that her birthday wasn't until tomorrow, Tonks had already bolted toward the door and disappeared into the snow. Betty followed, blinking to adjust to the brightness of the snow, and ducking just in time to avoid being hit by a snowball.
"Just you wait!" she yelled in excitement. Breathing in the cold and crisp air, made her lungs burn int the best way. She crouched, formed a snowball, and aimed it straight at Tonks--who yelped and dogded--only to be hit her right in the back.
"Blimey!" Tonks cried, collapsing into the snow. "No magic, kiddo. That's cheating!"
"I didn't," Betty lied, dropping next to Tonks, laughing as they made snow angels. The cold bit at her cheeks, not unpleasant, however. After a while, Tonks sat up, propping herself up with her arm. Betty saw her face slowly change, the laughter disappearing from her eyes, replaced by concern and guilt, while studying Betty's face.
"Betty... you okay? After what I've told you about--"
"Yep," Betty cut in quickly. She didn't want to talk about it, let alone think about it right now.
She pushed herself to her feet, brushing the snow from her clothes. "Look what I can to," she exclaimed.
Standing with her legs slightly apart, she stretched her arms in a smooth, deliberate motion. The snow around her stirred, lifting with her gestures, swirling around her in a spiral. She tilted her right hand slightly, and the snow gathered into small, evenly shaped clumps, dancing in the air around her.
Tonks watched with wide eyes, a fascinated smile spreading across her face. "Merlin's beard..."
Betty tilted both her hands smoothly, and the snow began spinning faster around her, swirling in tight spirals, melting into fine waterdrops. With an abrupt stretch of her arms, the water solidified almost instantly, forming a thing wall around her.
"That's brilliant!" Tonks grinned.
"You could do it too!" Betty exclaimed. "Doesn't water listen to you as well?"
"It does," Tonks admitted, standing up and brushed the snow off her clothes. "But it takes too much practice. I'm perfectly fine with my wand." She tapped her side, where her wand was tucked away.
Betty dropped her arms, and the thin wall collapsed almost immediately, fine ice scattering to the ground. She looked at the fine ice shards sunk into the snow. Suddenly, she had an idea that made her eyes sparkle. She focused intently, imagining exactly what she wanted, moving her arm and tilting her hands; the snow at her feet began to shift into compact, precise bricks. With a graceful sweep of her arms, and a half turn of her upper body, the bricks stacked themselves neatly into a small, round snow house.
Tonks' eyes widened as she approached the house that reached up to her shoulder.
"Blimey—you actually built a house!"
She circled it once, then morphed herself into an penguin like figure. Betty burst out into giggles and let herself fall back into the snow, watching Tonks crawling through the houses entrance.
"There are no penguins in the Arctic," Betty gasped between giggles.
"Good thing we're in England!" Tonks quacked loudly, which sent Betty in another round of giggles, following Tonks into the house and resting beside her. Tonks shifted herself back into her own self. They lay there quietly for a while. The falling snow muffled every sound around them, until only the sound of their breathing remained.
"Better not to tell Mum, okay?" Betty asked softly. "She won't like me doing magic out school."
"My lips are sealed."
They stayed there a while longer, the snow house glowing faintly from the light outside. Eventually, the cold crept into their limbs, and they crawled back out, walking through the snow towards the warmth of the cottage. Inside, they were greeted by the delicious smell of the Christmas dinner. Andromeda appeared from the kitchen, and handed them each a cup of steaming fruit punch.
At the small side table, Lucinda and Ted were deeply concentrated in a game of wizarding chess. Several pieces lay already defeated by the side or on the floor. Just as Betty glanced over, leaned forward with a triumphant grin.
"Checkmate!"
His queen swung her tiny sword and sent Lucinda's king to the floor with a clatter. Lucinda exhaled sharply through her nose, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Good game, Ted."
"Indeed," Ted said cheerfully, leaning back in his chair. "You're quite an opponent."
Betty bit her lip to hide a grin; her mother never liked losing. Lucinda reached across the table, taking Ted's hand to shake firmly.
"I'm going to beat you after dinner," she replied with a calm voice but her eyes gleaming for the upcoming challenge.
Ted chuckled. "I'm looking forward to it."
Betty and Tonks exchanged giggles, flopping onto the couch, when Andromeda's voice called from the kitchen, "Girls, will you set the table, please?"
With exaggerated groans, they got up and wandered over to the cupboard on the other side of the living room. Tonks flicked her wand, the door swung open, and plates and glasses floated out, clattering loudly as they arranged themselves over the table. Betty raised an eyebrow, lifted her hand to signal Tonks it's her turn, and with another flicker of her hand, the remaining plates glided smoothly into its place, followed by the cutlery and glasses.
"Betty, don't do magic," came from her mother.
Betty glanced towards Tonks and rolled her eyes.
"There's no need to roll your eyes," Lucinda added calmly, without even looking up. Betty sighed, muttering under her breath to Tonks. "How does she even do that?"
"Motherly instincts," Andromeda said, with a knowing smile. The food levitated beside her as she came towards the table. Dishes began landing one by one—rosemary potato wedges, a huge turkey, baked pumpkin, glazed carrots, rich gravy, and Ted's so called gratin surprise—which was just potato gratin with extra cheese, and it was indeed delicious.
They all took their usual seats, Betty at the right end of the table next to Tonks, passing bowls and scooping big portions onto their plates.
"No turkey?" Ted asked, glancing at Betty's plate.
"Oh, no thanks," Betty said quickly, while stabbing the potatoes with her fork.
Andromeda looked up in surprise. "But I made the apple-pear filling—you loved it last year."
"Well, uh...," Betty shifted in her seat, scratching her fork over the plate. "I—I just don't eat meat anymore."
A brief silence followed, only interrupted by the quiet tunes coming from the radio. The adults exchanged short glances, but to Betty's relief, no one pressed further. The conversation continued; they ate until they were full; the laughter mixed with the clinking of the cutlery on plates.
When everyone had finished their plates and leaned back into their chairs, Ted rose and gathered the plates and send them to the kitchen with a flicker of his wand. Moments later, a Christmas pudding appeared.
While they were eating dessert, Ted leaned over to Betty, and asked her with a curious smile.
"So, how do you like Hogwarts? Everything as expected?"
Betty was still chewing, taking a moment before answering.
"It's... big. And sometimes very noisy. But I like it. Most subjects are great, like Charms or Transfiguration. Or flying lessons." Her eyes lit up. "It's the best of it all! But I do hate all the homework. I never had any when Dromeda taught me. Her lessons were so much more interesting." She sighed and glanced over to Andromeda who replied to Betty with a warm smile. "Not so ... boring. Most of the teachers just stand at the front of the class and ramble on about without ever engaging with anyone."
Lucinda gave Betty a sharp look but said nothing.
Tonks laughed and shrugged. "It was a big adjustment for me too back then. But in the big classes at Hogwarts, no one notice you not paying attention. And the best part is, you can play pranks on the mean boys without even noticing."
Ted chuckled. "Well, that sounds very much like you, Dora."
"It does," Andromeda sighed.
"Of course it does," Tonks grinned. "I'm a real expert at it."
A laughter rippled around the table. Ted stood and poured a deep red elf wine for the adults and Andromeda shook her head with a fond smile. "I'll never get that out of her," she murmured.
Lucinda, taking a sip from the glass, then set it down. She tilted her head towards Tonks. "I reckon you're busy with studying for your upcoming NEWTs?"
Tonks hesitated for a moment, then she nodded. "Um, well... I guess so. Still a few months to go."
"Are you still planning on joining the Auror trainee program?" Lucinda pressed, her eyes sharp but curious.
"Oh, yes!" Tonks replied. "In July, there's the pre-exams. If I pass, the trainee program starts in autumn."
"Amazing!" Betty exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly.
"Amazing, indeed," Lucinda replied, a faint smile softening her otherwise composed face. "If you ever need contacts, never hesitate to ask me. I'm befriended with some influential Aurors."
"Uhm, thanks," Tonks said with a grin, clearly pleased.
Betty leaned closer, genuinely curious. "But isn't it hard? To become an auror, I mean?"
Tonks leaned back, the candlelight reflecting in her dark grey eyes. "The pre-exams are supposed to be brutal. Besides the theoretical tests, there's a practical one too," her tone was serious now. "You'll have to duel against Dark Wizards in simulations, face traps and magical creatures, all sorts of challenges. Being a good duellist isn't enough. You must always keep your head clear."
Betty could hardly believe how intense it sounded. She scanned her cousin's face; she realised how much her otherwise goofy and playful cousin has changed; how she kept forgetting, that's she is an adult herself now.
"And you really want to do it?"
Tonks nodded heavily. "Absolutely. I think it's an honour to be part of keeping our world safe. The selection is rough; only the best make it. But I do have some advantages." She smiled mischievously.
"Advantages?" Betty asked curiously.
"My Metamorphmagus skills are indeed very helpful; they help me disguise."
"You know that skill isn't everything, right?" Andromeda considered. "It's also about courage, patience and resilience. The three-year program is no joke."
"Oh, I have enough of this!" Tonks exclaimed.
"She does," Ted said, who had stood and lovingly kissed his daughter on the head.
"Three years?" Betty asked, astonished.
"Yes. You've got to learn everything—defence, tactics, and how to save people in extreme situations."
Betty sank back into her seat. "That sounds... like an adventure. Like an exhausting one."
She stared into the flickering candlelight, thinking of everything Tonks had said, imagining herself in a similar future. She still didn't know what path she would take herself—but she thought she'll have enough time left to figure out.
The conversation now moved to the couch as Ted and Tonks cleared the remaining plates and glasses from the table. Soon after, Lucinda and Ted returned to the chess board, and this time Lucinda actually managed to beat Ted, even if only narrowly; a faint triumphant smile tugging at her lips.
Betty and Tonks settled cross-legged on the carpet, beating each other alternately in Exploding Snap, snacking on Ted's biscuits. Soon, Betty's yawning was impossible to ignore; her eye lids had become heavy. The long day of chatting, and indulging in Christmas treats had clearly left a mark, so they began preparing for bed.
Betty was to sleep in Tonks' room, as always, the spare bed already made up with cozy blankets, while Lucinda claimed the guest room. As soon as Betty's head hit the pillows, she fell into a deep, long sleep.
In the next morning, a loud trumpet blared, having Betty's sit upright in her bed.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KIDDO!" echoed through the room.
Groaning and still half blinded, Betty rubbed her eyes. Tonks stood at the food end of the bed, already fully dressed and smiling brightly.
"It's your birthday, you sleepy head!" Tonks exclaimed, bouncing on her feet. "And the presents are already all set!"
Betty blinked a few times, still trying to orientate herself. A tickling feeling prickled under her skin as she realised where she was and what day it was. She had always loved celebrating her birthday.
"We've got a full day of celebrations ahead! Presents first, breakfast second and maybe some ice skating on the pond before lunch?"
Betty's eyes gleamed. She nodded and let herself being pulled up from the still warm linen from her bed.
They sprinted down the stairs, heading for the living room, where the others were already gathered on the couch, chatting cheeringly. The fire crackled in the fireplace, a soft tune came from the enchanted radio, and soft aroma of clove and cinnamon greeted her.
"Merry Christmas, and a happy birthday!"
One by one, Betty let everyone hug and greet her before looking over at the Christmas tree, which was covered in presents underneath. Tonks had already crawled underneath it, dugging out a small black box wrapped in a velvet red ribbon, which she handed to Betty.
"This is for you," Tonks said, her voice soft, "I thought it would suit you—the colour reminded me a bit of your eyes."
Betty lifted the lid of the small box and found a delicate gold chain with a dark green crystal that shimmered in the light coming from the candles of the tree.
"That's... beautiful," Betty whispered. She let her fingers glide over the cold metal and lifted it carefully. It looked valuable, yet robust. A smile tugged at her lips. "Thank you."
Both girls let themselves slid in front of the tree, handing out the presents one by one.
From Ted and Andromeda, Betty had gotten a thick crimson red scarf, made of extra soft wool that wouldn't itch, according to her Aunt, with matching gloves and a headband; in addition, she was gifted a small, slim book—The Forgotten History of Witches and Wizards in Europe: Muggle Perspectives—which looked fascinating. Betty thought of her dorm mate Holly; she absolutely had to share the stories with her after the holidays.
Betty moved on to the packages that had arrived by owl the previous day. The first was a messily wrapped package, filled with sweets, two boxes of chocolate frogs, and some carefully wrapped cookies. Beneath the sweets, there was a letter, which she unmistakenly identified as the handwriting of Fred and George.
Hi Betty, happy birthday and merry Christmas; have fun with the frogs! We hope you won't pull another Dumbledore.
Mum made these cookies for you, she wishes you a wonderful day. Just like Ginny, who can hardly wait to finally see you again! – Fred and George
Betty smiled, a warm feeling washing over her. The next package was from Katie. The neatly wrapped present contained apart from cauldron cakes, a little homework planner, organised with colour coded tabs and motivational quotes on every page.
Dear Betty, I wish you the best of days. I saw this in Diagon Alley and I knew you would need this. You just tap your wand on it, say 'Nota Pensum' and it automatically notes the assignments. You can do it! – xoxo, Katie
A feeling of guilt grew inside her as she stared at her friend's letter, she knew Katie had the best intentions. But still, she felt a little caught out. She set the planner aside, next to her other presents.
Her mother had kneeled beside her, carrying a long, huge package in her hands.
"Before you open it. It won't be officially sold for a few weeks," Lucinda said calmy a soft glim in her eyes. "I knew someone in the Department for Magical Games and Sports who—let's say—who owed me a favour. You better be descrete about it until it's officially launched."
Betty accepted the gift with growing curiosity; it was significantly heavier than the other ones. She tore away the paper, revealing the sleek dark wood of a broom—the Nimbus 2000.
Her fingers lingered over the smooth, shiny surface, tracing the subtle engravings.
"I know how much flying means to you," Lucinda continued. "And how much this matters to you."
Betty's fingers still lingered on the broomstick, still marvelling at the flawless craftsmanship. It wasn't just a broom; it was a promise, a recognition of her passions, and a gift she hadn't dared hope for. She could feel the weight of it—all of it made her chest tighten.
"It's yours. Fully."
Betty nodded, barely able to speak.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Her eyes swept over the pile of gifts—each one carefully chosen, each one a tiny testament to the people who knew her best. Her chest felt impossibly full, a warm pressure that made her stomach flutter and her eyes water slightly. She exhaled slowly.
By the time breakfast was cleared away, they got dressed. Betty slipped into her new kit uniform for ice skating on the outside. The ice wasn't completely frozen yet, but Andromeda had enchanted the thin ice layer into thick ice; strong enough to hold their weight.
The sky had cleared, and the girls spent the whole day outside ice skating and another snowball fight. The broom, however, remained untouched. Betty didn't dare to try it out just yet; it was too sacred to her.
Evening came, and Betty and Lucinda left to go home with some of the leftovers. Once they had settled in their own living room, both spent the evening reading; Betty in her new book she got; Lucinda in her own new book she had gotten from Ted—on Muggle history and world politics, which she had accepted gratefully.
The living room was lit only by the fire, when Mimi brought in two cups of tea from the kitchen. Outside, it had began snowing again; a soft, faint light glimmer coming through the windows; snowflakes pressing against the glass. Betty had made herself comfortable in the big armchair by the fire, her eyes fixed on the pages, legs dangling over the armrest, and with the other hand, she grabbed on of Ted's biscuits. The clock in the corner struck eleven o'clock.
"Before you run off to your room," Lucinda began, sipping her tea, "there's something I need to talk to you about."
Betty looked up from her book, frowning. "That sounds serious."
Lucinda's gaze softened. "Not serious. But... important." She reached into her robe and drew out a letter. "Professor McGonagall sent me this. She says you have remarkabkle potential—if you'd only use it. She believes you could be one of the best in your year. Particularly in Charms and Transfigurations."
Betty pulled a face, grumbling as she bite off a piece of the biscuit. "And that's why she's writing you?"
"Professor McGonagall sends letters to all parents of her students. As the head of her house, it's her duty."
Betty sighed, her fingers tightening around the biscuit. McGonagall. Of course it had to be her.
"I'm being serious, Betty. It makes me worry you might even fail your first year if this continues."
"I—I'm not going to fail," Betty pressed quickly.
"Are you?" Lucinda asked firmly. "Your essays are often too short—or missing entirely. You rely too much on your practical talent. This won't help you pass your exams at the end of the year."
"No, that's not it," Betty leaned back, pulling one leg onto the chair. "I do remember most things—well, if they interest me. But those essays, those stupid, stupid essays... they feel so slow. I know what's it about and what the professor wants. But—but I can't get it out of my head and on to the parchment."
"Slow doesn't mean bad," Lucinda answered, "but it needs to be done anyway. Knowledge you ignores because it bores you is knowledge you'll miss one day."
Betty looked away, sighed. "I do try! But it's so hard—I just don't know—" She broke off, staring into the fire, not knowing how to explain how it almost felt impossible to sit straight, hold onto the quill and just get it done. She knew her mother wouldn't understand her anyway.
"If it weren't hard, there wouldn't be any improvements."
Betty bit her lip to stop herself from rolling her eyes.
"Did she write anything about Potions?"
Lucinda hesitated a fraction too long. "Moderate," she said finally.
"Moderate?" Betty's voice sharpened, her fingers dugging into the armrest. "That's not fair. I'm doing my best. My potions are almost the perfect colour. Everytime! But Snape never acknowledges it."
"Professor Snape," Lucinda corrected. "Severus has always been... exacting. He doesn't mean harm, Betty. He's the same with everyone."
"No, he's not."
Neither of them said a word.
Lucinda leaned forward, her tone gentler. "He knows what you're capable of. Perhaps that's why he pushes you so hard."
Betty's throat felt tight. That was not it. The way he treated her, or her other classmates. It didn't feel like he actually cared. She didn't answer, only stared into the flames until her vision blurred.
"That's just the way he is. You've known him for years, Betty."
Betty's eyes flashed, and she almost shot upright. "He treats all Gryffindor unfairly! Slytherins get all the praise. Celeste Flint's potion is not as good as mine. Well—almost. We're quite equal. But she gets all the praise, all the points. As well as Adrian Rosier. But Fay and I, we never get points. NEVER! He—he's—" Her words froze for a heartbeat, then she burst out. "He's a bloody idiot."
"Elizabeth!" Lucinda shot her a sharp look. "I did not raise you to call your professor like that."
Betty's lips curled into a bitter twist. "But he is! He's mean, and unfair. He scares Holly. Everybody hates him. The twins call him a grease pot. Why don't you talk to him? Or to Dumbledore? It can't be right that students are afraid of him!"
Lucinda met her gate, but her expression stayed firm. "I understand your sense of justice. But it's not that simple."
"But that's not fair!" Betty cried, her chest heaving. "You work for the Ministry! You have influence. You know him. He knows you. Then do something! Tell him it's not okay how he talks to us. We're children—and he's the teacher!"
Lucinda sighed. "I will not tell anyone how to teach. Not even Severus."
Betty's anger rose, feeling helplessy. "And all you care about is that I called him names, not that he's treating us horribly! You don't care how we feel—how I feel!"
"That's not true," Lucinda said firmly. "You know I only want the best for you."
Betty jumped up, her body tense, fists clenched. "I don't believe you. As long as your reputation stays clean—no trouble, no attention—so no one at the Ministry says anything, right?"
Lucinda straightened. "You will not speak to me like that," she said with a firm voice.
"Yes, I will!" Betty shouted, her voice trembling. "You could do something—but you don't want to! Because he's one of you. Because no one dares to go against him. And if students cry because of him, then that's just how it is!"
Lucinda stayed silent. The firelight cast harsh shadows across her face.
"I understand that you're angry," she said, trying to remain calm. "But what you're accusing me of is wrong. I am your mother. Of course I care about you—and your friends. But I won't make impulsive decisions based on your anger."
Betty's hands balled tighter, nails digging into her palms as her breath hitched. Her voice cracked, raw and trembling. "If you really cared about me, then why have you been lying to me? About Dad—about that night. You never said... you lied to me. AGAIN!"
Lucinda stiffened, her lips parting slightly."How... what do you mean?"
"That he killed his best friend! Peter Pettigrew! You never told me—you lied to me!"
Lucinda froze. "How... how do you know?"
Betty's frown deepened. Her voice trembled. "Does it matter? You never told me! I'm supposed to know myself—but everyone else seems to know more about me than I do!"
"Betty, let me explain. But please calm down first—"
"NO!" Her voice rose into a scream. "I HATE YOU! You don't care about me!" she shouted, her pulse thudded in her throat. Before Lucinda could step closer, Betty spun on her heel and fled—out of the living room, up the stairs, heart hammering in her ears. She burst into her room, threw herself onto the bed, her body trembling. Footsteps followed on the stairs.
"Betty—"
"LEAVE ME—" Betty shouted, the last words stuck in her throat.
Pushing herself upright, she turned toward the door and, with a sharper movement than she meant, slammed it shut. The click of the lock echoed in the silence.
Sobbing, she clutched the bedspread, her whole body shaking with rage and despair. Hot tears ran down her cheeks, staining the fabric beneath her hands. She felt so unbearably lone, so completely misunderstood.
She pulled her face in the pillow, wishing the world and the pain would stop for a while.