End of January 1991, Hogwarts.
The time Katie needed to think seemed to stretch into infinity—at least that's how the following days felt. Repeatedly, Betty caught herself looking up at the sound of Katie's voice or laughter, coming from nearby. Sometimes a reply was on the tip of her tongue until Betty realised that Katie wasn't talking to her but to Alicia or Angelina with whom she had begun spending most of her free time.
"She's basically on the team now. Like—properly," Holly told Betty one afternoon. They were sitting at a table near the windows, Fay across from them. "Alicia found this Muggleborn club—Angelina's older sister helped set it up. They've sort of taken the rest of us under their wing, so we don't make absolute eejits of ourselves. It's grand, honestly."
"That's... thoughtful," Betty replied without looking up from her parchment.
"I know, right?" Holly said, beaming. "She's no time for Quidditch now. And after that injury? I'd say it's put her off a bit. You can't blame her, can you?"
Betty only smiled vaguely and nodded.
Lately she had been doing most of her homework near Fay and Holly, and the latter in particular, often tried to draw her into conversation. Betty was grateful for it; she liked Holly, and even Fay wasn't nearly as annoying as she had initially thought. Still, more often than not, the two girls' conversation slipped into shared jokes and half-finished sentences that Betty couldn't quite follow.
In class, however, she still sat in her assigned seat beside Katie. Every now and then Betty glanced at her from the corner of her eye, but Katie always pretended not to notice.
Whenever Betty wasn't thinking about Katie, her thoughts circled back to the words she had overheard that night. Her initial overthinking and panic had subsided somewhat, and she had realised she might simply have been overthinking—Dumbledore clearly knew something, so why should she worry about it? Still, she couldn't deny that the words she had heard gave her goosebumps. Another feeling was slowly creeping in, replacing her initial fear with ever-growing curiosity. What had she overheard?
Obviously, she couldn't just stumble into the headmaster's office and ask him politely—why would he tell a first year in the first place? And besides, how was she supposed to explain her growing curiosity about the professor's disappearance, given that he had officially resigned? Eventually, she had decided to find out for herself what had happened to him. The only problem was how to do it.
Almost without noticing, she turned her head again and watched Katie laugh loudly at something Angelina had said. Betty turned her gaze before Katie could catch her looking.
Across from her, though, Holly had noticed.
The girl's bright blue eyes lingered on her for a moment—not unkind, but enough to make Betty look away again, dropping her gaze back to the parchment and her Charms book, pretending to read the chapter they were supposed to analyse for their essay.
A moment later Holly leaned down to her bag and pulled out a small, crumpled packet with bright writing on it. She tore it open and placed it on the table between herself and Fay, who carried on as if the conversation had never broken.
"Mum sent these," Holly said with a warm smile.
"Oi, apple drops! My favourites," Fay exclaimed, immediately reaching for the bag and popping two into her mouth at once.
"Sour," she said, pulling a face. "Honestly, why haven't wizards come up with anything half this good?"
"Because they'd probably try to enchant them and ruin it," Holly said lightly. "Can you imagine? Exploding sugar or something."
Fay snorted. "Aye, for sure. Something that screams when you bite it. Honestly, they really overdo everything."
Almost absentmindedly, Holly nudged the packet a little closer towards the centre of the table and cast Betty a quick glance before returning to her essay. After a long moment—too long to be considered natural—Betty reached out and took one of the small red-green sweets. It was indeed sweet and sour.
"Muggles actually study it," Betty said, suddenly. "To get the best flavour out of the ingredients. The sour and the sweet taste—they sort of compensate each other, so it doesn't become too much of either."
Fay blinked and shot Holly a look that Betty couldn't quite make sense of.
Betty hesitated, then added, a little more quietly, lowering her gaze. "It's probably why they're more memorable as well."
Fay let out a small breath through her nose. "Aye..."
Holly's gaze flicked from one to the other, twisting a strand of her blonde curls between her fingers.
"I've never really thought about it," she said after a beat and gave Betty an encouraging smile, "but that actually sounds about right, Betty."
A brief pause settled over them.
Fay gave a short shrug, reaching for another apple drop. "I just think they taste good."
Another reply to Fay was on the tip of her tongue—a little remark about Muggle sweets that Ted had often slipped her when her mother wasn't looking—but then she let it go.
"Thanks for the sweets," Betty murmured instead, and Holly glanced up briefly, smiling.
Eventually she forced herself to look down at the parchment in front of her. Her essay still looked just as empty as it had ten minutes ago. She pulled the book closer, trying once again to reread the first paragraph she had already attempted nearly five times.
She shifted her gaze down at the small homework notebook she had finally started using—the one that she got for her birthday from Katie—and read Professor Flitwick's assignment again.
Name and explain the fundamental charm-casting principles discussed in the chapter...
Betty frowned slightly and glanced back at the chapter, flipping a few pages back, then forward again. The section stretched across nearly ten pages. Quickly, she skimmed from the beginning, then jumped to the end, hoping something would suddenly make sense. However, the more she read, the more the words blurred into one another until they stopped making sense entirely.
But the worst thing was, and what frustrated her most, that she knew all about it. She could perform every charm in the whole book by now without hesitation. The wand movements, the subtle adjustments in intention—even the pronunciation of the incantation—came naturally to her, even if she still slipped into nonverbal casting without thinking.
But having to explain it was a whole different story. She could see the steps vividly in her mind, but when she tried to phrase them into words, she didn't know where to begin. One thought would start, then vanish, replaced by another she couldn't pin down. Every detail seemed important to her; none of it could simply be skipped, but obviously she couldn't just copy the entire chapter.
Her chest tightened, a familiar mix of frustration and guilt pressed down on her. Why wasn't she able to do it? And why did it look so easy, when Fay and Holly did it?
She reached up and glanced at Fay, who was sitting across from her, writing steadily, her quill flowing across the page. Startled by the shadow Betty cast over her, Fay looked up and quickly placed her arms over her parchment to cover it.
"Hey—don't just copy mine, aye?" she called, narrowing her eyes.
"I wasn't... I didn't...," Betty replied quickly. "I was just... trying to figure out how to start."
Fay frowned briefly, then softened. "Just... start at the beginning. Explain the first principle, then move to the next. Don't try to cram it all at once."
Betty nodded and lowered her gaze back to her parchment. Piece by piece. It can't be that difficult. She dipped the quill in the bottle of ink and set it on the paper. Just start at the beginning.
The quill scratched over the parchment, ready to form the first letter—then stilled. There was no correct place to begin. Every principle depended on another; starting anywhere felt inaccurate. She glanced at Fay, who was still working at her brisk pace.
"How do you... explain it?" Betty asked quietly.
"Just tell it like you'd show it to someone. Don't worry about it sounding perfect—just... say it in your way."
Betty chewed her lower lip as she stared at the blank page in front of her. She couldn't reach the words, couldn't catch them before they slipped away. Suddenly, she felt the panic in her stomach tighten.
She threw a glance at Katie, who was sitting across the room, absorbed in her own work, and for a moment considered how easy it had been before—just to copy her friend's answers. No, she could manage it on her own.
The assignment itself wasn't even particularly long—one and a half foot. After a while, arrows connected one idea to another, then doubled back again. Somewhere in the middle of the parchment, she had written 'wand movement', circled it three times, and then surrounded it with the other principles like 'concentration' and 'intention', she wasn't even sure if they were relevant to the initial principle anymore.
Suddenly, she heard Holly groan. "Fay, tell me, did you get what is meant with the fifth principle? The resonance between the performer and their tool... what's that even supposed to mean..."
"Oh, that part's awful," Fay grumbled, leaning closer.
Betty opened her mouth, ready to explain how the harmonious connection between the caster, the wand and the target allowed the magic to flow properly, and the importance of using the right wand—not just as a tool, but a partner—and their symbiotic relationship, necessary in order to achieve the caster's full potential—the very reason why Mr Ollivander took such care on finding the right wand—and how the wand's core and its wood played a crucial were important factors as well.
But when she glanced up, the two girls were already halfway through it, and the explanation got stuck in her throat; she swallowed and closed her mouth.
Resting her head in her hand, she absent-mindedly chewed on her thumbnail and stared out of the window. It was the first beautiful day in weeks; the sky was a clear blue, and Betty began to think about what she might do later, once she finished her essay. She hadn't visited Hagrid in almost a week; he must be wondering where she hadn't been around. Ever since the fight with Katie, she had visited him almost every day. And then there was still the mystery surrounding Nightshade's disappearance...
Suddenly, a rustling sound beside her snapped her out of her thoughts.
Beside her, Holly and Fay began packing up their belongings, having clearly finished their homework, while Betty had barely managed to explain what she would cover in the essay she hadn't even started yet.
Holly leaned in as she walked past.
"Maybe... start with why the principles matter at all," she whispered. "Then do one at a time. For example... wand movement—what it is, why it matters. Next, move on to incantation—don't try the whole thing in one go."
"Thank you," Betty murmured, looking up at her.
"You're welcome," Holly beamed. "Fay and the lads have been begging me for days to show them how to play hockey. When you're done, feel free to join us down the lake."
Betty nodded. The tightness in her chest eased slightly, giving way to a tingling warmth that swept through her body.
"I'll think about it," Betty replied, and a genuine smile curved her lips.
Holly smiled back warmly, then joined Fay, and together they left.
Holly's advice was quite helpful; it didn't take Betty long to explain the introduction, the wand movement, and the incantation—which structured and anchored the magic in its intended form—by then she had already filled more than half a foot of the parchment. Her initial handwriting started off as legible, neat, and consistent letters, shrinking to smaller and messier, barely legible ones as the parchment went on.
Another, and probably one of the most important principles beside incantation is intention...
Betty's hand stilled, her fingers cramped and her wrist began aching. She paused, shaking out her hand and flexing her fingers, trying not to let the discomfort scatter her finally found focus.
...A charm is guided by the caster's will...
Taking a deep breath, she adjusted her posture, leaning slightly back in her chair, then returned to the parchment.
...and by the clarity of the desired outcome...
Frustration welled up inside her; she had finally found a way to make some progress with this essay, and now her hand was letting her down?
She threw her head back and sighed, wishing she had one of those Zonko's self-writing quills, although her mother would never allow her to have one. Only two more principles, and the parchment was already almost full. She lifted the quill again, but her fingers trembled, barely able to grip it.
She stared at her quill. Couldn't it just...
Then, all of a sudden, an idea struck her. Grabbing her bag, she carelessly stuffed her belongings inside, jumped up, and almost running, she made her way through the portrait hole.
Only when she stood in front of the familiar blank stone wall, did she realise she had run all the way up to the seventh floor, having to pause for a moment, panting until her breathing slowed. Then, after pacing up and down three times, she slipped through the door that had appeared. She walked straight to the high shelf on her left, passed down the aisle, letting her gaze wander over them, and finally stopped when she reached the right one. She ran her fingers along the spines of a few books until she found the thick burgundy cover, she had been looking for, and pulled it out. Sitting down windowsill opposite the shelves, she placed the book on the cushions in front of her. Pages rustled quickly beneath her fingers as she flipped through them until she found the right chapter, letting her finger glide over the entries until it came to rest on 'Self-writing Quills'. Betty's eyes moved further down the page and stopped at the incantation. She took out her quill, a blank sheet of parchment and her wand, and placed everything down carefully in front of her.
After a clearing of her throat, she mimicked the movement with her wand as shown in the book, tapped the quill and said, "Scribilio".
The quill twitched slightly, then sprang into the air and hovered a few inches above the book. Startled and surprised that it seemed to have worked on the first try, she gasped.
After a moment's thought about how to proceed, she asked, "Uhm... can you actually write for me?"
The quill immediately dropped on the blank parchment and wrote, Can you actually write for me?
"Fantastic," Betty exclaimed excitedly.
Fantastic, the quill wrote beneath the other sentence.
She frowned. The quill shouldn't write down every single word she said. She looked back at the book, searching for something that explained how to prevent exactly that. Beneath the incantation there was only a brief note:
To adapt the quill to your personal needs, adjust it according to your intention.
Betty scratched her chin and thought for a moment. Then, realising that the parchment could write only if she touched it with her wand while speaking, she sat up straight again, tapped the quill once more and repeated the incantation.
She tapped the parchment with her wand and said, "Test."
The quill dropped smoothly onto the paper and wrote as instructed.
She lifted the tip of her wand and once again said, "Test."
This time, the quill hovered expectantly above the paper but made no attempt to write anything down. Perfect.
Betty took the partially written parchment out of her bag and spread it out on the cushions in front of her. The quill hovered beside it, its tip pointing at the paper, as if waiting.
She lightly touched the parchment with the tip of her wand, where she had last begun with 'Intention'.
"In this matter," Betty slowly carried on where she left off, watching the quill glide across the parchment, "the caster must not only understand... the incantation, uh, with which they summons it... but also... what effect it is intended to have."
The words appeared in tidy strokes. She paused, thinking about the next part. The quill lifted again, hovering just above the paper patiently.
Betty tapped the parchment once more.
"Intention," she said after a moment, "...is what guides the magic... once the charm is cast. The movement and the incantation shape the spell, but... uh, the caster's intention decides... what the magic actually follows."
The quill scratched the sentence neatly onto the parchment, and a small smile forming on her lips. That was exactly what she had just done, she realised.
Betty rested her chin briefly in her hand, thinking.
"If the witch or wizard... doesn't focus clearly... on, uhm, what they actually want the charm to do," she continued, tapping the parchment again so the quill continued, "the spell can end up weak, incomplete… or, uh, do something else entirely."
Betty reread the lines forming on the parchment, then added thoughtfully, "So if the intention isn't clear, the magic can still respond to the charm—but not necessarily in the way the caster expected."
Betty lowered her wand and scanned the paragraph. For the first time the explanation looked… right. Not copied from the book, not tangled in arrows and circles, but actually saying what she meant. In fact, she had done even better than expected—she had linked the principles together and set them into the right context.
Quickly, Betty continued, explaining the next principle—concentration, then and finally, the fifth principle—resonance—the importance of the relationship between a witch or wizard and their wand.
By the time she finished the last lines, Betty leaned back on the windowsill. She shook her head in amazement—why was this so much easier than writing it herself? A small, satisfied smile tugged at her mouth.
Nonetheless, her throat felt a little dry from talking so much.
When she stepped back out into the hallway and finally reached the frozen lake, she still had time to join Holly and Fay, who were already skating around the lake, laughing loudly with Carl and Cormac, whilst Mira and Garreth watched them, acting as referees as they glided across the ice with makeshift sticks, trying to shoot a ball into the improvised goal at the opposite end. Betty hesitated for just a moment before stepping onto the ice, where she was cheerfully waved over by Holly and Cormac. With Betty joining the girls and Garreth joining the boys, it was a close, neck-and-neck match, which the girls eventually won.
For the first time in days, she didn't think about Nightshade's disappearance nor about Katie.
Over the next few days, Betty used her enchanted quill whenever she felt she was unobserved. After a while, however, she realised that dictating to the quill wasn't nearly as effortless than she had first imagined. Every single sentence required her full commitment, thinking carefully about how she would phrase her thoughts the moment they left her lips. At first, she tried to correct herself mid-thought, stopping, backtracking and altering her phrasing, but the quill captured it all. The page was left full of repeated words and tentative ideas, making it feel cluttered and wrong. After a small change to the spell, the Quill began to cross out the wrong word every time it was double tapped. It solved part of the problem.
The second problem, however, was that Betty never felt confident enough to ramble on undisturbed in the common room. Even in the far corner, it was usually so crowded, and every time someone came within earshot, she instinctively stopped and didn't dare carry on.
The library, on the other hand, was much emptier, yet she had the feeling that her words seemed to echo off the shelves and be heard by everyone. She constantly felt as if she were being watched, and that someone was hiding behind the shelves listening to her pathetic self-talk, even though there was no rational reason for it, given how empty the library was.
A few times she had muttered the words so quietly that the quill had picked up the wrong words, writing 'two lace wigged flies' when she had meant 'two lace wing flies'. Betty stifled a giggle, unable to resist picturing two flies wearing flamboyant wigs and lace bonnets.
However, this had also earned her disapproving looks from the older students and Madam Pince.
No matter how often she returned to the seventh floor, she found the mysterious room locked increasingly frequently. As always, she walked past the stone wall three times, but nothing happened. The first time, she had almost doubted her own sanity, thinking she had ended up in the wrong corridor, or even briefly wondered whether it existed at all.
But soon, Betty realised that she didn't seem to be the only one using it; once she witnessed two older students—a Slytherin boy with tousled black hair and a Hufflepuff girl hurriedly straightening her rumpled clothes—leaving a door that, strangely enough, looked different from the one she knew.
After that, she began to linger nearby from time to time, watching the wall from a distance and observing people entering and leaving; more often than not they would look around before stepping in or out.
Perhaps it was a shared space, only accessible to one person—or one group—at a time, used as some sort of secret meeting place. That would explain why it was sometimes locked when she arrived.
The thought of what odd places this castle might be hiding made her smile, and she found herself wondering what other secrets were still left for her to discover.
So, whenever the mysterious library was occupied, Betty had often simply holed up in the dormitory, curtains drawn, and she had been able to do her homework relatively undisturbed—at least until the others came back. While the noise in the common room blurred into a single background hum, the chatter of the girls here made it far harder to concentrate. Eventually, she began circling the dormitory and the common room. At least, the Muffling Charm she began using helped hiding her voice from the others.
The third and main problem, on the other hand, wasn't so easy to resolve. Apart from the hoarse voice Betty had developed from talking more than usual and her desire not having to speak at all, the initial euphoria she had felt at having solved her homework problem had completely faded—she simply couldn't be bothered anymore.
Bored, she would often stare at the ceiling or out of the windows for hours on end, muttering a few half-sentences, and frequently trailing off mid-sentence, usually without realising it.
All too often, her thoughts circled round the mysterious disappearance of her professor, to which she simply could not find an answer. If only someone had seen something. But who? And how would Betty find a possible witness? And, of course, in the very part of the castle where Professor Nightshade's office had been, there were no portraits that Betty could questioned.
But whenever she thought about it for too long, she felt guilty for putting off her homework, leaving her unable to concentrate properly on either one.
Just as she was about to give it another attempt, the door to the dormitory burst open and loud voices broke the quiet.
"—I can't believe what Flint did today, acting like she's all superior," Fay's voice came from the other side of the dorm.
"Honestly," Holly replied, dropping herself on her bed, "she'd be quite pretty to be fair—if she wasn't so nasty."
"Pretty?" Fay snorted. "Aye, maybe compared to her brother—who looks like a troll. And that'd be an insult. For a troll."
Betty caught their laughter, muffled but bright enough to make her pause.
"Talking of pretty—have you ever noticed Snape looks like a giant bat?"
"I reckon, he is one," Fay giggled, "hanging upside down in the dungeons and waiting for some poor wee students to pass—scaring them to death."
"Ah stop," Holly gasped, laughing, "that'd be an awful way to go."
"Or," Fay whispered conspiratorially, "he's a blood sucking vampire."
"A school full of children…," Holly replied, "finally makes sense why he became a teacher, considering how much he hates them."
"Honestly, never got why he's teaching at all."
Both girls giggled again. Betty caught the last bit about a hair tie, something about Fay braiding Holly's hair.
Slightly irritated by the interruption—and knowing she wouldn't be able to concentrate with all the chatter—Betty gathered her parchment and books and stuffed them into her bag, preparing to join the others in the common room.
Just as she pulled the curtains aside and hopped of her bed, she nearly bumped into Katie, who was just as startled as Betty. Katie must have entered the dormitory with the other two, and Betty hadn't noticed her amid the commotion. Her heart skipped a beat, and for a brief moment, the two girls stared at each other in surprise, neither saying a word.
Katie opened her mouth, but before a word came over her lips, Betty had already grabbed her bag hastily and squeezed past Katie, eager to escape the awkward situation as quickly as possible.
With her heart still pounding, Betty sank into a chair in one of the back corners in the common room, opposite the fireplace. She pressed her palm against her forehead, replaying the encounter in her mind, and realised that she might just have missed her chance to have a proper chat with Katie. Why did I just walk off?
She paused for a moment, letting the warmth of the fire and the hum settle around her.
Should I have said something? But what?
She just stared into the flames for a while, until eventually, she dug out her books, opened them to the correct page, and spread her parchment across the table, rereading the assignment Professor Snape had given them:
Explain in detail why mistletoe berries can simply be replaced with Jobberknoll Feathers in the Forgetfulness Potion, but why using the very same ingredient in the Antidote to Common Potions would be fatal.
Resting her chin on her hands, she stared at her quill, trying to calm her thoughts long enough to begin. She didn't want to speak; every word she tried to form felt almost physically painful, so much so that she almost preferred simply to write by hand again.
She laid her arms across the parchment, rested her head on them, and stared into the void.
If only... if only quill could write without me having to use my voice, she thought frustrated.
She watched the flames licking and leaping around the logs, sparks crackling and sizzling as they glowed above the fire and then faded; the darkened wood that, despite the flames, didn't seem to diminish, enchanted to burn endlessly.
Her mind, however, was elsewhere, grasping at some kind of order in the chaos, drifted back to something Mira had said once, almost in passing—about Salazar Slytherin, a born Legilimens, and how he had enchanted the Sorting Hat, originally Godric Gryffindor's, to read the thoughts of whoever wore it, and to sort the arrivals according to their potential.
Still, lost in thought, Betty fiddled with the quill between her fingers.
If the hat could read thoughts… The idea struck her suddenly, making her sit up abruptly. She didn't need to speak. She could make it respond to her mind.
Betty exhaled and lifted her wand. "Scribilio," she murmured, focusing on having to form her thoughts instead of words, and pointed it at the quill.
But it didn't move, not even an inch.
She shifted her posture and thought it over. She tried to picture exactly how the quill reacted to her thoughts—but again, nothing.
Her jaw tightened. Frustration prickled at her, threatening to unravel her focus. It should work. Magic followed intent. Principles didn't change.
Slowly, almost instinctively, she tipped the wand tip to her temple and lowered it toward the quill. A direct link—that had to be it. She tapped it once again.
"Scribilio."
For a moment, nothing happened. Then there was a twitch. She slowly lifted the quill, held it over the parchment, let the tip sink onto the paper, and began to write. Betty's breath caught.
What is happening? Will it work? Wow, yes, it does.
She lifted her head and stared thoughtfully into the void as she went through the essay assignment for Potions with Professor Snape.
Please explain in detail why mistletoe berries can simply be replaced with Jobberknoll Feathers in the Forgetfulness Potion, but why using the very same ingredient in the Antidote to Common Potions would be fatal.
Quite simple, she thought, going through each step, scratching her nose.
She kept staring towards the windows, where she watched Cormac, who had just lowered his gaze, as if she'd caught him staring. She let her gaze wander around the room, pausing briefly on a couple of older students who were sitting on one of the sofas, munching snacks, before she remembered that she was sitting here to do her homework.
Eventually, she looked down on her parchment, she had completely forgotten that quill had been taking notes the whole time.
Jobberknoll feathers act as a memory eraser and cause memory loss if too many are added; therefore, they need a counterpart, such as powdered moonstone...
To her horror, she realised that the quill had not only written down her thoughts on her Potions assignments, but everything that had crossed her mind.
My nose itches... Is Cormac looking at me again? Would he just stop? Cauldron Cake... why am I hungry again? I've just eaten...
I'm missing Katie... bet she must hate me even more now... I shouldn't have just ran away... Oh right, the essay...
Valerian root... I wish I'd have that by hand right now... where was I? Antidote, right. Jobberknoll feathers, in an antidote... that'd lethal...
Wait, the quill is still writing...
And it wouldn't stop. Betty froze.
"Stop—" she murmured under her breath.
Why is it still writing? Why can't it stop?
"Stooop," she whispered, panic rising.
Why won't it stop? What can I do? Please, just stop.
She tried to grab the quill, but it slipped away, drawing long lines across the parchment.
"STOP!" she shouted, her voice echoing across the common room, pointing her wand at the quill. "FINITE!"
The quill jerked violently, froze, and collapsed onto the table like a dead bird.
Betty's chest heaved as if she had run all the way up from the lake. Slowly, impossibly slowly, her gaze dropped to the parchment. Every stray thought, every unguarded, embarrassing inner comment, sprawled across the page in black ink. How on earth could she have forgotten that? Of course, it was only to be expected.
With trembling fingers, she crumbled the parchment into fragments, throwing it instantly into the fire. She could control what words would come out of her mouth, she could not, however, control her thoughts.
When she raised her head, she was horrified to find that half the common room had gone silent—everyone was staring at her. Some were curious, others annoyed by the sudden interruption.
For a moment, Betty just stared back, before the silence subsided and everyone went back to what they were doing. Heat rushed to her face caused by the sudden attention, and she closed her eyes, her head resting on her hands.
A sudden movement and the sound of at least two people to her right and left made her startle.
"Oi, what have we got here? Is this a self-writing quill?" said a familiar voice to her left.
"Was a self-writing quill," said another one to her right.
Betty took her hands away from her face and found to sets of hazel eyes—belonging to two almost identically looking red heads—staring at her in amazement and admiration, both of them grinning from ear to ear.
Fred took the quill, spinning it between his fingers like a miniature wand. "Wait a second... this isn't from Zonko's, is it?"
"Definitely not Zonko's," George interjected, leaning closer to inspect the quill. "Too classy."
"No, it's not," Betty said quietly, "I enchanted it—or rather tried to—myself."
George let out a low, impressed whistle. "Blimey, Betty, that's proper genius. Does it actually do the heavy lifting? Write your essays while you're having a nap?"
"It just... writes what I think," she sighed.
A beat of silence. Then both twins leaned in simultaneously.
"Alright, Betty Brains," Fred said, his mouth agape.
"That is...", George added, equally astonished, "actually genius."
"Well, not really—it didn't quite work," she insisted. "It actually writes what I think. Every single thought."
Fred tilted his head slightly, watching her a moment longer than usual, his gaze flicking between the book and the quill lying motionless on the table.
"Does it only scribble down what's rattling through your mind now," he asked casually, "or could you make it pull thoughts from somewhere else?"
Betty froze, staring at him.
George leaned forward immediately, his eyes gleaming with a sudden, mischievous light. "Oi—like nicking answers straight out of a textbook without actually opening the thing?"
Fred's grin sharpened. "Exactly. Save yourself the trouble and the headache."
"Freddie—thinking what I'm thinking?" George asked, looking at the quill.
"I believe I am, Georgie," Fred beamed. "Imagine it... never having to scrape another one of Binns' awful analyses of the medieval Assembly of European Wizards off the page again."
"Or the Gargoyle Strike of 1911. I've fallen asleep so many times in that class I've started dreaming his monotone voice."
Betty kept glancing back and forth between the twins. Then her eyes drilled through the pages of the book as George's words echoed in her mind. Straight out of a textbook.
Suddenly, George turned to Betty, his playful expression softening just a fraction.
"We've been keeping an eye on you, actually," he said, tilting his head. "You've been doing a lot of solo sitting lately. Bit lonely, isn't it?"
Betty's eyes snapped up. "Huh? Oh... yeah."
Fred nodded. "Katie's still mad? Well, she was when you didn't show up."
Betty stiffened, biting her lower lip and lowered her head again, her stomach tightened unpleasantly.
She gave an almost absently nod.
For a brief instance, there was a moment of awkward silence.
"Anyway—enough of the heavy stuff," George said quickly, glancing from Fred to Betty. "we're here to provide a bit of an uplift—Team Trouble, remember? We've got a reputation to uphold."
"You're looking dangerously studious, Betty. You need more of us." Fred glanced at Betty's potions book in pure disgust. "And significantly less of... that. Speaking of things that rot the brain, have you heard the latest whispers about Snape?"
Betty shook her head absently.
George snorted. "You know... he's always had a massive itch for that Defence Against the Dark Arts post."
"Always," Fred added, "and now that Nightshade has run off, he's probably smelling blood in the water."
"Spot on," George added. "He's gasping for it."
Fred grimaced. "Hard to tell which is the bigger nightmare, really—him breathing down our necks in Potions or him actually being allowed to teach Defence."
George shuddered theatrically. "Imagine both."
"Ugh, don't," Fred muttered. "A double dose of that walking grease-pot? I'd rather have a Common Welsh Green breathing fire down my neck."
But Betty was only half listening. Her minds still cycled about another opportunity. If the information was already there; it was all in the book, she didn't need the quill to read her mind. She needed it to read the book.
"Let's hope Dumbledore finds someone fast," George confirmed, "before our favourite former Death Eater decides to start nesting in the Defence classroom, too."
Betty pushed back her chair so abruptly it scraped loudly against the stone floor.
"Oi—?" George started.
"I have to..." she muttered, snatching up the quill and what remained of her things in one swift movement. "I'll be right back."
She swung her bag on her shoulder, about to head off.
"Before you dash off," Fred called after her, "you're still on for helping with our birthday stunt, right?"
Betty stopped, frowning. "But that's not for another two months, is it?"
"Precisely!" George called back. "Quality destruction requires a long lead time, Bets."
"Sure," she said, shrugging, already halfway to the girl's tower.
In the dormitory, Betty dropped onto her bed, yanked the curtains shut, pulled the first book she could find—A History of Magic—out of her bag and tossed it onto the covers in front of her.
She straightened slowly, her fingers trembling slightly with excitement as she reached for her quill. She placed it carefully in front of her, reached for her wand, closed her eyes, and visualised the desired outcome.
Then, for what must have been the umpteenth time, she tapped the quill.
She read out the assignment that Professor Binns had set them—a summary of medieval witch hunts—then tapped the book. At first, it simply copied everything straight of the book, but after adjusting her intention, it began recording only the key points.
She skimmed through the essay and smiled with satisfaction.
One by one, she finished her Transfiguration, Potions, and Herbology essays the same way. Only Astronomy she kept for herself; she actually enjoyed drawing star charts. Within half an hour, a week's worth of homework was done.
That was easy. Almost too easy.
She stared at the pile of parchment scrolls on her bed, then let herself fall back onto it. For a moment she just lay there, until it dawned on her – she had nothing left to do. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her, and a knot seemed to be untangling. She had nothing left to do—and the whole weekend to do everything she had been meaning to do for ages.
She could try the new book of wandless spells she had found or maybe write to her mother. She should definitely write to her mother at some point. However, she could also go ice skating or meet up with Tonks for something fun, or both. And then there was the mystery of Nightshade's disappearance, still nagging at the back of her mind—she could finally try to figure it out.
Betty's gaze drifted to the window. The blue sky shone through the curtains. She exhaled, finally making a decision. With a small, determined movement, she pushed herself up, gathered her cloak, throwing it over along with her knitting gear and made her way outside.
Outside, the warm sun tickled her face, closing her eyes, as she soaked the light in and despite the cold, it felt surprisingly pleasant. For a moment, she stood motionless, savouring her newfound freedom.
Then, fast and uneven footsteps crunching through the snow approached her, and she flung her eyes open. The brightness forced her to squint her eyes against the bright light reflected from the snow, and she barely had time to register the large shape rushing at her before it hit her with full force.
With a muffled "Ugh", she fell heavily into the snow; a heavy weight landed on top of her, pressing her shoulders into the ground, and a foul, warm breath and an extremely wet tongue licked across her face.
"Fang!" she giggled in surprise, half laughing, half in despair, as she tried to free herself from the huge dog, which kept licking her face.
"Fang!" came a deep voice from somewhere behind. "Get off her—c'mon now! Yer not s'posed ter be jumpin' on students!"
The weight lifted off Betty as Fang was pulled back, although his tail continued to thump excitedly.
"Sorry 'bout that," Hagrid added, reaching out his enormous hands, and pulled her back to her feet. "Oh, hi—'s you, Betty. Nice ter see yeh. Hope yeh don' mind Fang."
"Never," Betty beamed, already crouching back down in the snow, and stroked the belly of the huge Boarhound, which had rolled onto its back in the snow.
"Yeah… Fang's taken a real likin' ter yeh," Hagrid said, watching the dog with a fond smile. "How yeh doin', Betty? Yeh an' Katie—sorted things out yet?"
Betty paused, still crouched in the snow, then tilted her head back to look up at him. She shook it, in a small, resigned motion.
"Ah… it'll come right," Hagrid said gently. "Yeh're a good sort, yeh are. Katie just don' know what she's got in yeh."
Betty gave a short nod, her jaw tightening slightly.
She briefly considered telling Hagrid about the encounter—that it had been her fault, that she might have already missed her chance to have a proper talk with Katie—but the words stalled before they could form.
Instead, she pressed her lips together and said nothing, her hand absently continuing to scratch behind Fang's ears.
"Was jus' headin' back ter me hut, an' brew a cuppa. Fancy a cup o' tea?" he said, turning toward the hut.
Betty nodded and followed him.
The moment she stepped into the hut, the familiar warmth wrapped around her. Hams and pheasants hung from the ceiling, which made Betty wrinkle her nose, a kettle rested over the still-cold hearth, the enormous bed filled one corner, and the heavy wooden table stood by the window.
"Jus' sit wherever yeh like," Hagrid said, already reaching for the pink umbrella leaning against the wall.
He lifted it, pointed it casually toward the fireplace—and with a sudden whoosh, flames came to life, crackling warmly instantly.
Betty stilled.
"Hagrid?" Her eyes flicked from the fire to the umbrella, narrowing slightly. "Is there a wand in there?"
Hagrid froze mid-motion.
Slowly, he lowered the umbrella, drawing it closer to himself. His gaze dropped, and something guarded and an uneasy expression settled over his face.
"Yeh mustn't tell anyone," he said quietly, almost under his breath. "Yeh'll promise me, won't yeh?"
Betty straightened a little, studying him. She had never even considered whether Hagrid could do magic, and she felt a sudden sense of guilt for never having asked.
Then she nodded eagerly.
"You're a wizard, Hagrid?" she asked, almost sheepishly.
Hagrid exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Aye. Got expelled, I did," he said after a moment. "Back then. From Hogwarts. Somethin' I didn' do—but no one believed me. 'Cept Dumbledore. Great man he is." His voice softened. "Gave me this job. But me wand… snapped in two. Officially, I'm not allowed ter do magic."
Betty went still.
The thought weighed heavily on her—for a moment, she couldn't quite grasp it. Although she was quite capable of casting spells without a wand by now, the thought that it could be taken from her left her with an uneasy feeling. Magic, her magic, was part of her; and Hagrid's was part of him. How could they simply take it away from him?
"I'm sorry," she said at last, her voice quiet but steady. "And I won't tell anyone. I promise."
There was a brief pause. Then, almost instinctively, she lifted her hand, tilting her wrist slightly.
The cups on the shelf trembled, then slipped off and floated gently through the air. The kettle followed them, tilting slightly forwards and pouring hot water into the two cups. One by one, they settled neatly onto the table.
Hagrid stared. Then his face broke into a slow, astonished smile.
"Blimey," he breathed, his eyes wide. "Yeh didn' even use a wand."
He shook his head slowly, still staring at the cups. "Tha's… impressive, Betty. Yeh don' see that much, not at that age, mind yeh."
"I taught myself," she said quietly, lowering her hand.
A small pause.
"I'd rather you didn't mention it," she added, smiling gently at him.
Hagrid nodded at once, returning her smile. "Don' worry. Tha' stays righ' here."
Betty settled down next to Fang. The dog panted contentedly on the carpet, curled up and let his tail slap lazily against the floor one last time.
A comfortable silence settled over the hut. Betty always enjoyed being at Hagrid's. There was something soothing about it—here she was far away from the commotion and the constant stress and emotions of the other students pressing on her. She snuggled up against Fang's broad side, rested her head on his shoulders and absent-mindedly scratched him behind the ears, whilst watching Hagrid as he bustled around the hut, rummaging through cupboards and humming softly to himself.
Here, she didn't have to speak—she could simply be. That was the best part.
Finally, she let her thoughts, drifting back to Nightshade's disappearance, that eerie woman, and that weird deep voice speaking those rhythmic lines. If only there were portraits she could ask; she was never awake at this time of night otherwise....
But at night, the castle was empty. No students, no teachers wandering the corridors—only Mrs Norris, and…
The realisation hit her sharply.
Betty straightened so abruptly that Fang let out a startled howl as her hand slipped from his fur.
"Sorry, Fang," she muttered quickly, already pushing herself to her feet.
"What's tha' matter, eh?"
Betty turned around just as she was wrapping her cloak around herself, she whispered, almost inaudibly.
"The ghosts."