In the following days, Betty found herself studying with Cormac more often than not. There was no formal arrangement or agreement; he simply kept appearing in her corner of the library, sliding into the chair across from her with a self-evidence that Betty eventually just accepted. Yet to her surprise, it worked. Quickly they developed a rhythm that perfectly complemented each other's strengths: they would gather the necessary information, read the passages, then Cormac would ask her questions, which she answered and discussed, and he would take notes and formulate an essay that Betty could copy.
This new routine distracted her from the thoughts that had been haunting her for days. She was still trying to make sense of Nearly Headless Nick's words, but she had not come up with any new ideas about what exactly had driven Professor Nightshade away—let alone how. She had considered further investigation, but she could not think of where to continue. So she had—rather reluctantly—decided to wait until Nick came to her with new information. But he was taking his time. Until then, she had no choice but to focus on her lessons and try not to let the weight of unanswered questions crush her.
Eventually Valentine's Day arrived, catching Betty completely off guard. She only realised what day it was when, at breakfast, significantly more owls than usual circled through the Great Hall in a slightly more chaotic but still organised manner, creating a veritable rain of pink envelopes and the occasional splash of pumpkin juice when a particularly clumsy owl missed its target and hit one of the goblets.
Betty, who had no expectations for this day, let alone thought that anyone might send her a letter, was therefore completely unprepared when an unfamiliar owl dropped a small piece of parchment directly into her bowl of porridge.
With disgust, she fished the letter out of her bowl with spread fingers, scraped the last remnants of porridge off with her spoon, then carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the slightly damp parchment.
Zncertain what to expect, she unfolded the paper with slightly trembling hands—and as she read the first lines, her jaw nearly dropped.
In disbelief, she scanned the lines, read them once, then a second time, then a third, as if the content might transform into something else upon closer inspection.
"Dear Betty, I actually wanted to write you a poem for Valentine's Day. But the only thing that rhymes with Betty is spaghetti and sweaty, and I didn't think that was appropriate, so I left it. What I wanted to tell you nonetheless: I think you're pretty cool, brilliant and funny, and you don't care what others think of you. I like that, I like you. Happy Valentine's Day. Yours, Cormac"
She continued to stare at the lines before her, she could have thought of quite a few more words, such as jetty, confetti, petty… then she slowly raised her gaze and looked over at Cormac, who was watching her from a few seats away.
His posture was slightly tense, his gaze expectant, and when their eyes met, he gave her a vague smile. Betty raised her arm in a tentative greeting, a brief, uncertain lift of her hand—and then let it sink again, as if she didn't know what she had intended to achieve with this gesture.
Before she could spare even a single thought to what this letter might mean or how she should respond, two figures dropped onto the bench to her left.
"Happy Valentine's Day, kiddo!"
Tonks, whose hair shimmered in a soft light pink, leaned towards her with a wide grin. Julian, who sat down next to Tonks and casually placed his arm around her shoulders, nodded curiously at the folded letter in Betty's hand.
"Looks like you have a secret admirer."
Betty sighed. "Unfortunately, he's anything but secret."
Tonks chuckled and exchanged a knowing look with Julian, while Betty made an effort to appear as indifferent as possible, keeping her gaze fixed on her bowl and shoving a spoonful of porridge into her mouth.
"So, who is it?" Tonks asked, leaning forward curiously.
Betty shoved the letter hastily into her pocket, as if that could make it invisible. "No one," she said, but her cheeks betrayed her. "Just... a friend."
Julian raised an eyebrow. "A friend who writes you letters on Valentine's Day?"
"It's nothing special," Betty murmured, focusing with exaggerated attention on her porridge. "We just study together sometimes."
"Looks like he has a secret crush on you," Tonks giggled, nudging her side.
"Again—anything but secret."
Julian snorted and Tonks joined in.
"So an admirer after all," Tonks grinned widely.
Without answering the question, and changing the subject as quickly as possible, Betty asked: "Do you have anything special planned today?"
"Oh, we," Tonks said, her cheeks colouring slightly, "we want to go down to the village."
"A new café opened in Hogsmeade," Julian added, clicking his tongue enthusiastically, "and before all the students swarm there on the weekend, we want to take our chance!"
Betty's eyes lit up. "Oh, can I come with you? Please!"
She had never been to Hogsmeade, but she remembered all the stories Tonks had told her about Zonko's and Honeydukes. In her mind's eye, she could already see herself walking through the village with bags full of sweets.
"I'd love to take you, kiddo," Tonks said quickly, exchanging a glance with Julian, "but you're not old enough yet—not even in third year."
"I'm really good at Disillusionment Charms! I can hide. No one will catch me."
Again Tonks and Julian exchanged a look, and Betty already knew the answer before Tonks opened her mouth.
"Really, Betty... absolutely not. Your mother will kill me if we get caught."
Betty crossed her arms in front of her chest and let her gaze drop.
"You just don't want me there," she muttered.
"That's not what I meant, Betty," Tonks tried to soothe her. "We're already meeting Frankie and Isabel for a double date."
But Betty had stopped listening; she didn't bother to ask who Isabel was. Her gaze had wandered to Julian's hand, still so casually resting on Tonks's shoulder, to the way he leaned towards her, how she leaned against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was nothing big—just these small, casual gestures of familiarity that struck Betty like a stab in the chest.
She didn't know why it affected her so much. Perhaps because she wasn't used to seeing her cousin like that. Perhaps because she wondered if Tonks would now prefer to spend time with Julian—instead of with her. Of all people, why did it have to be Tonks?
Tonks noticed her gaze and frowned. "Betty? Everything alright?"
Betty snapped out of her thoughts and forced a smile onto her lips.
"Yes. Fine." She grabbed her spoon and tossed it in her porridge without really looking. "Really. Have fun."
Tonks and Julian exchanged another look, but this time it wasn't the amused one from before. Tonks placed her hand on Betty's back and let it glide over gently.
"We'll bring you something," she said softly. "Promise."
Betty nodded without looking up. "Thanks."
For a while, Tonks watched her from the side.
"Have you heard the latest news?" she asked, as if trying to change topic. "Dumbledore has finally found a replacement for Nightshade."
It worked.
"Oh, what?" Betty said, and her expression brightened slightly. "Who?"
"Someone quite young," Julian explained. "Some Olivia Green. Apparently she worked at the Ministry."
"Ah," Betty replied, making an effort not to look at him.
"She's supposed to have practical experience," Tonks said. "She was an Unspeakable."
Betty was immediately intrigued. She had never met an Unspeakable, but she had heard of them—the mysterious witches and wizards who worked in the Department of Mysteries, researching the deepest, most secretive corners of magic. They were so secretive that even their job title was a secret, and no one outside the department knew what they actually did. The very idea of it sent a thrill through her.
Yet something about the name had always struck her as almost paradoxical.
Unspeakables, she thought, and yet everyone knew they existed—which rather defeated the purpose, didn't it? Like advertising that one had a secret and then being surprised people were curious.
At least, that's the effect it had on Betty.
"An Unspeakable?" she repeated. "Really?"
Tonks nodded. "That's what I heard. Which means she knows her stuff. She's not just a theorist like Nightshade."
"Don't start me with him," Julian scoffed. "He actually tried to describe how we theoretically defeat dark wizards without teaching us a single actually useful spell."
He wrinkled his nose and reached for a piece of toast.
"The guy was a real coward," he continued. "Nose in a book all day, but no idea how to actually do anything." He was really getting into it now. "And then he flinched at every little sound, as if something was waiting to jump out and scare him."
"He probably had his reasons," Betty murmured, thinking of the eerie voice, and again wondering who could have been behind it, the one who had been haunting the professor for months.
Betty had long considered involving Tonks in her investigations—yet a glance at her cousin, who was staring at Julian with a mixture of rapture and amusement as if he were the most interesting person she had ever met, told her that she would be far too biased for this. Tonks's eyes followed every one of his gestures, and she laughed at things Betty didn't find amusing in the slightest.
No, she wouldn't be able to talk to Tonks about Nightshade—not while Julian was around. Perhaps not at all.
She shot Julian a rather angry look. He didn't notice, though.
He was far too busy expressing his opinion—the way he spoke particularly annoyed Betty. He always took a loud breath, as if he was sucking air in with his mouth, before he was about to say something important, as if he had to do it in order to speak properly. And then there was that annoying head-tilt, where he turned his head to one side to flip the long, dark hair that was constantly falling across his forehead out of his eyes. Once, Betty watched him do it four times in the span of two minutes without him even realising it.
But what irritated Betty most was the way he chewed the toast. He left his mouth open while moving his jaw in circles, as if he were a ruminant—like the giraffes Betty had enjoyed watching so much in Kenya, as they spent hours calmly plucking leaves from the acacia trees with rhythmic chewing movements. Except that Julian's chewing movements were anything but soothing. They were indiscreet and accompanied by a wet smacking sound that made Betty flinch in disgust every time.
Tonks either didn't seem to notice or didn't seem to mind. Betty didn't know which she found more confusing.
Betty imagined how she could cast a silence spell on Julian, or better still, make his tongue stick to the back of his mouth—the thought made her giggle briefly, an unintentional sound that escaped her before she could suppress it.
Julian, mistaking this for agreement, exclaimed cheerfully, "Exactly!"
Betty forced herself not to roll her eyes. She tried her best to keep a straight face.
He went on for a while longer about Professor Nightshade—his alleged cowardice, his lack of practical experience, his strange habits. Tonks let out a laugh now and then, but Betty was barely listening. She seriously wondered what her cousin saw in him.
She was therefore relieved when Tonks and Julian finally said goodbye and left the table.
That afternoon, when Betty entered the library, she headed straight to the place where Cormac and she had been working together for the past few days. She had got a strange feeling in her stomach ever since reading the letter that morning—what was she supposed to say now? Did he have expectations of her? Would it be awkward? She didn't know how to react and what was expected of her when someone told her so openly that someone liked her. Especially when it was Cormac.
Perhaps she should just ignore it, just as she had ignored all his previous attempts to impress her.
But when she approached the row of tables where they usually met, she found something worse than an eagerly awaiting Cormac. In the far corner, right in Betty's favourite spot—close to the window, with enough light to read by and far enough away from the main aisle to work in peace—sat a whole group of students. Books and parchments were scattered across the table, and their whispers carried softly through the shelves.
Betty stopped.
She hadn't expected there to be so many people. In fact, she hadn't expected anyone at all. Cormac, perhaps, but not a whole crowd of people she barely knew. Her first impulse was to turn round and slip away before anyone noticed her.
But just as she was about to turn away, she heard a familiar voice.
"Betty!"
She froze.
Cormac jumped to his feet and walked towards her. "I've brought a bit of company today."
"Why?"
Cormac blinked.
"Erm, well, because. It's Valentine's Day, after all," he replied, slightly uncertain, "you shouldn't be alone on a day like this."
Betty scanned the group, recognising Garreth and Carl from her house, as well as a blonde Hufflepuff girl and a dark-haired boy from Ravenclaw. At least he hadn't expected her to want to spend Valentine's Day alone with her, but to bring a whole bunch of people along? Betty wasn't sure if that was the better option—she had rather spent it alone.
Then she looked back at Cormac. He was grinning almost as usual—but there was something else behind it. She could sense the slight tension coming from him.
Had he brought all these people along just so he wouldn't have to be alone with her?
Cormac turned to face the group, placing a hand on Betty's shoulder. She felt a strong urge to pull away from his touch—but she didn't want to put him in an awkward position. So she just remained there, frozen. To her relief, he withdrew his hand almost immediately, as if he had realised himself that he had gone a little too far.
"Everyone, this is Betty. Betty—you already know Wood and Hopkins."
He pointed to the two of them, who were bent over a book together. They looked up briefly; Garreth let out a "Hey" and gave her a quick smile; Carl nodded shyly at her.
"And this is Imara Clark," Cormac pointed to the blonde girl first, then to the dark-haired boy, "and that's Eddie Carmichael."
"Hi," said Betty, raising her hand in a rather awkward greeting.
Eddie Carmichael glanced up at her briefly, nodded, and then bent over his sheet of parchment again; Imara Clark beamed at Betty.
Betty forced herself to smile back.
She leaned slightly towards Cormac and murmured, "How come you know so many people?"
Cormac gave a brief chuckle. "So many? The others aren't even here yet."
Before Betty could ask what he meant, he raised his arm and waved to someone approaching from the other side of the library.
"There they are."
Betty turned round and saw Mira coming towards her, flanked by two Ravenclaw girls. She recognised one of them instantly as Cho Chang, the girl who had been top of the class in their Transfiguration lessons before Betty had caught up. The other girl had reddish-blonde hair and a few freckles on her nose, but Betty couldn't remember her name, only that she had seen her a few times in the corridors.
Mira smiled at Betty before making her way over to the table and sitting down in one of the empty chairs. Cho and the other girl settled down at the other end of the table.
Cormac sat back down in his seat. Betty stood frozen in place. She clutched her bag to her chest and had no idea what to do or what was expected of her.
"Sit down," Cormac said, and gestured vaguely towards the full table.
Betty hesitated; the table was already full of students and she didn't know where she was supposed to squeeze in. Fortunately for her, Imara suddenly made room between herself and Carl, beckoned her over and invited her to sit down beside her. Feeling uncertain but grateful, Betty walked slowly towards the chair, sank down onto it and slowly took her things out of her bag to spread them out on the table in front of her, a surface that was far too little.
Cormac cleared his throat.
"Before I forget." He let his gaze wander around the group. "Imara is our expert on herbology. So if you ever want to know why your mandrake isn't growing, ask her."
Imara smiled and shrugged.
"Mira teaches History and Astronomy. And Eddie, Cho and Marietta are Ravenclaws—they're good at everything anyway."
Cho gave Betty a shy smile. Marietta was already absorbed in her homework. Eddie looked up briefly and snorted, but said nothing.
"Wood and Hopkins are useless, but they're still sitting here. Mostly just copying from others."
Garreth looked up and rolled his eyes dramatically. "We can hear you."
"I know," said Cormac with a grin. "I'm, of course, the expert on History. And Betty," he continued, looking round the group again, "is our expert on Potions and Magic."
The others looked up again and gave her a curious glance. Betty looked down at the pile of books in front of her, feeling slightly discomforted.
"Don't you dare ask her about the History of Magic. Otherwise she'll give you a lecture on why the English translation is useless and why you should read the original version instead."
Feeling embarrassed, Betty lowered her gaze to her hands.
"Oh, come on." It was Eddie who had looked up and was staring interestingly at her. "Do you speak several languages?"
Betty nodded once, quickly, and turned her gaze to the table.
She let her eyes wander across it, over the scattered parchment scrolls and open textbooks. It was chaotic and far too cluttered, but there was something about it that made her chest tighten in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on. Yet something wasn't quite right.
"No one for Defence Against the Dark Arts?" she asked quietly.
Cormac frowned. "Huh?"
Betty tilted her head. "You've listed all the subjects. Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, Herbology, History of Magic. You didn't mention Defence Against the Dark Arts."
"Oh. Well," he said, shrugging apologetically. "It doesn't matter, does it? We don't have a professor anyway. Just ask the Ravenclaws."
Imara leaned forward. "The new professor's starting next week, isn't she?"
Betty nodded.
"I hear she's an Unspeakable," she said quietly.
"Oh, come on," Eddie said, looking at her with even greater interest.
Now everyone turned to look at her. Uncomfortable with the sudden attention, Betty muttered, "At least, that's what my cousin said."
Eddie leaned back. "An Unspeakable? So, someone who works in the mysterious? And she's teaching at Hogwarts now?"
"Why not?" Imara retorted. "Maybe she's a good teacher."
"Or she did a poor job and was transferred," Eddie interjected.
Garreth shrugged. "As long as she's not like Nightshade."
At the mention of that name, a brief silence fell over the table—all eyes turned to Carl, who was clearly uncomfortable with the sudden attention and quickly lowered his gaze to his book. Betty glanced briefly at Carl and sensed the tension building in his body as he felt uncomfortable. She knew the feeling. She looked down and said nothing, but wondered how well he had coped with the incident.
Imara broke the silence. "So, what are we doing today? History?"
A collective groan rippled through the table.
Betty heard Garreth make a joke comparing Professor Binns to the screeching of dying crows—but she missed the punchline. Or perhaps she simply hadn't understood it. The others laughed as if it were the funniest thing they had ever heard. Betty smiled stiffly, hoping no one would notice. Her gaze wandered uncertainly over the amused faces, then she cast a furtive glance down the corridor, fearing that Madame Pince might jump out from between the bookshelves at any moment and tell them to be silent.
Cormac grinned. "All right, then. I suppose we'll start with Potions." He leaned across the table and pulled a book towards him. "Betty, I'm sure you've got something to say about this."
Betty blinked and felt her cheeks grow hot. "Why me?"
"Because you're the best," Cormac explained.
Betty didn't know what to say in reply, so she remained silent and instead leaned over the book he'd pushed towards her. She could feel their eyes on her, curious and expectant.
It's only one afternoon, Betty thought to herself, you'll survive one afternoon.
To her relief, most of them were working on their own and had only a few questions about Professor Snape's essay; most helped one another or asked questions to the group, which were usually answered by Eddie or Cho.
It was only Carl, sitting next to her, who occasionally asked her questions, which she answered almost with relief—such as why the porcupine quills were only to be added to the Boil Cure once the heat had been turned down. She explained to him in detail the reactions that would occur if the heat were too high and what the consequences would be if one got it wrong. Carl nodded, seeming to understand, and Betty watched him as he bent over his parchment once more. She thought of his earlier reaction at the mention of the professor. Fiddling with the sleeve of her cloak she glanced at Carl again, but eventually she let it go and didn't dare to ask him.
The group session continued, more inside jokes and laughter shared, Betty wasn't able to participate, making her wish for it to end soon.
Only later, when she was walking back to the Gryffindor Tower on her own, did it occur to her that this might mean she would now have to study with the new group every afternoon. Betty sighed. She would have to come up with a new study strategy.
Over the following weeks, however, Betty realised that it wasn't quite as bad as she had feared. The Ravenclaws usually sat a little apart and were absorbed in their work, but were always willing to help if she had any questions. Betty usually sat with Cho and Marietta as they were quiet and didn't chatter on constantly. Sometimes even Holly and Fay joined, much to Betty's delight.
Even so, there were moments she would rather have avoided—especially when Eddie sat down next to her and bombarded her with persistent questions whenever the opportunity allowed. On one occasion, he had pressed her on what it was like to have a house-elf—whether it dressed her, whether it cooked for her, whether Betty even regarded it as a person at all.
Betty had replied curtly: "Her name is Mimi. She brings me tea and tells me bedtime stories."
This had triggered a wave of "Ohhhs" from the girls.
"Still like a slave," Eddie hsd pressed.
"She's a house-elf," Betty had insisted. "Not my slave."
"She works for you, doesn't she? Does she get paid? Is she doing it of her own free will?"
Betty opened her mouth to say something—then closed it again.
She had never really thought about it. Mimi had been there for as long as Betty could remember; She had simply been part of the house that had been bequeathed to her mother. She tried to push the thought out of her mind, but it wouldn't let her go.
Still, Eddie's curiosity about her wasn't satisfied yet; after all, he wanted to know exactly how she had cast a spell on her quill.
It was Imara who finally silenced him with a sharp, "You're a Ravenclaw for a reason—use your brain."
Betty was grateful to her for that.
And yet, she missed the time when it had just been her and Cormac. She could hardly believe she was actually thinking that—him, of all people. But she had preferred the silence between them to the constant chatter around her now.
Most of all, however, she missed Katie.
She missed the light-heartedness they had once shared—the effortless companionship, the laughter at Cormac's latest embarrassing remark, the way Katie would pull her out of the library without a word when she had been lost in her thoughts for too long. She missed the little gestures: Katie's casual way of slipping a napkin with toast her way when once again she had missed breakfast; the feeling that there was someone here who cared about her.
Weeks had passed since Katie had said she needed some time to think. Betty had noticed that Katie would glance at her now and then, that her gaze would linger on her for a brief moment, only to drop immediately as soon as Betty returned it. And yet Katie hadn't taken a single step towards her.
Perhaps, Katie simply no longer wanted to be Betty's friend. She had Angelina and Alicia, who shared the same interests, who loved Quidditch just as much as she did, and who were always there when Katie needed them.
What did Betty really have to offer?
Sure, she had encouraged Katie to try out for the Quidditch team—but apart from that? Betty had become increasingly withdrawn over the previous few months. She had never explained why she disappeared so often, had never said she needed some time to herself, had never even tried to let her friend in on her thoughts and struggles. She had simply assumed that Katie would understand—and perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps she had simply been a bad friend to Katie. And after all, Betty had broken her promise to be there for her when she had needed her most. Betty's desperate attempt to not hurt her former friend had caused the opposite.
She had realised this all too painfully, when on one occasion, an interchange almost happened.
It had been during the new Professor Green's first lesson. Betty could hardly wait to finally meet the woman, who must surely have had a fascinating job at the Ministry. But her excitement was quickly replaced with disappointment. The professor introduced herself to the class as Olivia, which Betty thought was far too unprofessional and unconventional. Although the young woman would prove to be far more competent than her predecessor, Betty missed the sternness she was used to from Professor McGonagall and her own mother.
"Before we start: How do you fight the dark?" Professor Green had asked the class during the first lesson, and when no one answered, she replied to her own question with a wink, "Well, with light."
A few students had giggled. Betty had pulled a face and let out a soft snort.
"Perhaps we should suggest to explain next how to defend yourself against a vampire by asking him very nicely to leave you alone."
Unsure whether the joke was directed at her, Betty had looked over at Katie in surprise, and their gaze met. She usually avoided looking others directly in the eyes; it was easier that way—other people's thoughts didn't intrude on her mind if she looked only at the tip of their nose or between their eyebrows. Only with Professor Snape could she look him in the eyes without running the risk of slipping into his thoughts.
With Katie, however, it was different. A ray of sunshine had found its way through the window, catching her eyes and warming them to amber colour, and Betty couldn't look away. For a brief moment it felt as though she were about to lose herself in them, as if there were nothing else in the world.
She had felt the familiar pull trying to lure her into Katie's mind—a sensation she had learnt to recognise and resist over the past few years, one that still demanded an immense amount of effort and concentration from her. She tried to raise her barriers, to fight against the pull, but it was as if Katie's eyes were holding her captive, and Betty could have counted the tiny gold flecks in her irises if she had wanted to. The pull was too strong, and she forgot everything around her, even her efforts to resist. She finally drowned in Katie's memories and saw herself as Katie saw her: the library, the corner table, laughing with Cormac and the other students he had brought along. Betty realised, Katie had been watching her, wanting to come over, holding herself back—as if Katie thought she had already been replaced.
In that very moment, Betty felt the emotions radiating from Katie: aversion, confusion and underneath it all—pain.
Betty pulled back like she had been slapped. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt it in her throat. She blinked disoriented and saw Katie blinking too. Confusion flickered across the other girl's face, then she shook her head quickly and looked away.
Betty had been in too long, and had seen too much. And Katie knew something had happened—even if she didn't know what.
Betty opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.
Underneath, a realisation crept up inside of her—Had Katie expected Betty to approach her this whole time?
But it had been Katie who had said she needed time to think. She had expected Katie to come to her when she was ready—hadn't she? She had wanted to give Katie the time she had asked for and didn't want to pressure her. But now Betty was no longer sure whether she'd been right. And now it felt as if it was too late.
Even as the weeks went by and everyday life began to take over again, she couldn't stop thinking about Katie.
But when the Easter holidays arrived, they came with a new kind of distraction. Lucinda had informed Betty that she would be away in India for a conference while Betty would stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Betty had hopes of finally finding out the truth about Nightshade's disappearance, however, the unresolved mysteries quickly faded into the distance, as did her concern for Katie. The teachers had loaded them up with a pile of assignments—essays, and repetition of things Betty had long since understood.
When someone eventually groaned, "But it's only March, and the exams aren't until the end of June," Percy had simply responded, "You can never start revising too early."
So, there was no time for further investigation. Nick still hadn't returned with any new information and Betty who had run out of ideas as to how she could continue her own investigations even considered whether she should perhaps take a look inside Nightshade's old office after all—but the mere thought of it made her heart race.
Perhaps later, she thought. Perhaps when the opportunity arises.
Instead, she spent her free time helping Fred and George plan their birthday prank. Over the past few months, the twins had amassed a mountain of Filibusters fireworks—when Betty asked where they got them from, the two had merely grinned mischievously.
One afternoon, the twins had cornered her and reminded her that she had long since agreed to help them with their birthday prank—a promise Betty now briefly regretted.
"First of April," Fred had said, as if that explained everything.
"Our thirteenth birthday," George had added, in case it did not explain everything.
"And we want to do something special," Fred had concluded. "Something unforgettable."
Over the months, by observing the twins, Betty had learnt that "unforgettable" usually meant "will probably lead to point deduction and detention". But she had also learnt that there was no point arguing when they had that particular gleam in their eyes, Betty couldn't simply resist. So she helped them with the planning, sketching floor plans and marking out possible escape routes, whilst trying not to think about what Professor McGonagall would say if she ever found out.
Finally, the moment arrived.
They stood beneath the gallery on the third floor, just behind the armour with the cracked visor. The air was cool; Betty could see her own breath in front of her face. Everything was still quiet. In the distance, Betty heard the distant slam of a door, but decided it was irrelevant. The twins had taken up position in the bathroom, which they had chosen as the setting for their fireworks display. Lee and Betty were keeping watch outside, making sure no one came by unexpectedly.
Lee leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets, looking slightly restless.
He turned his head towards her. "Tell me, Betty," he began suddenly, "how in Merlin's beard do you actually keep those two apart?"
Betty blinked. "You mean Fred and George?"
"Obviously. Two years, and I still get it wrong, I just say 'Weasley'."
She considered it. "Fred's louder. And George... he lets me finish speaking."
Lee chuckled. "He lets you finish speaking?"
"Yup. Doesn't he let you?"
"Neither of them does." He shook his head, half in admiration, half at a loss. "And Fred is… louder?"
Betty nodded. "Yes. And he often stands half a step forward. And… George's voice is a bit deeper. And he sometimes hesitates before he says something—as if he's thinking about how it'll come across. It wouldn't do Fred any harm to follow his example."
Lee laughed, then stared at her as if she had just told him how to tame a dragon. "And you just notice that?"
Betty shrugged. "I just pay attention."
Lee shook his head, visibly amused. "Next you'll tell me they sneeze differently."
Betty frowned, genuinely considering it. "I've never actually noticed. Do they?"
Lee blinked. Then he laughed. "That was a joke."
"Oh." Betty felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Right."
She looked away, embarrassed. Before she could say anything else, the door to the washroom opened and the twins stepped out, their faces brightened from ear to ear.
"This is our masterpiece, Georgie," Fred whispered in a conspiratorial tone. George nodded with a broad grin.
The group withdrew to a dark corner of the corridor, far enough away not to be directly linked to the event, yet close enough to witness it perfectly. No soon after they had hidden themselves than it happened.
Suddenly, clouds of smoke rose up and transformed into dazzling, glowing lettering.
"Happy Birthday!"
Beneath that, even bigger and impossible to miss:
"Filch stinks!"
A shower of sparkling fireworks bounced over the threshold and exploded with a series of loud, little bangs. The entire corridor glowed with colourful light, reflecting off the walls in a dancing pattern. Just then, a horrified, gasping scream rang out from the distance.
"Come on," whispered Lee. "Filch's on his way!"
The four of them ran, each in a different direction, just as they had planned—Filch mustn't catch all four of them under any circumstances. Fred and George turned left, whilst Betty and Lee sprinted to the right.
But they had barely taken a few steps when they heard Filch's voice from ahead, hoarse with rage.
"I HEARD YOU! I know you're here!"
Betty's heart skipped a beat. Filch was right in front of them. She and Lee had planned for this—mapped out hiding places depending on which direction Filch might come from. Now this was their only chance.
"Over there," Lee gasped, pointing to the two niches opposite.
They split up, each heading for one of the small recesses behind the suits of armour. With a sweeping gesture of her hand, Betty cast a Disillusionment Charm over herself, whilst Lee pressed himself flat behind the armour.
The footsteps grew louder; Filch was getting near. Betty pressed herself flat against the wall, barely daring to breathe; her heart was beating so loudly she was convinced he must hear it. But Filch stormed past them without noticing them and disappeared into the restroom, where he was hunting for the remains of the fireworks.
Betty breathed a sigh of relief.
She had just crawled out of her corner—carefully, so as not to accidentally knock over the armour—when someone else came padding down the corridor—straight towards Lee's hiding place, with an unsettling confidence, as if fully aware that one of the culprits was hiding right there.
Lee had noticed too and was desperately trying to scare her off with low but insistent hisses. But Mrs Norris wouldn't be fooled and stopped, staring intently at his hiding place with her glowing yellow eyes.
Without hesitation, Betty snapped out of her illusion, dropped to her knees and moved slowly towards the cat, her heart pounding against her ribs. When she was close enough, she reached out a hand—her fingers trembling slightly—and forced herself to breathe calmly.
"Hey, Mrs Norris," she whispered, her voice as gentle as she could manage. "Come to me, little girl. Come on."
Mrs Norris's ears pricked up, her head turned slowly towards Betty, and her eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made Betty's blood run cold. For a long, endless moment, she didn't move, and Betty hardly dared to breathe, her hand remaining outstretched in the air.
Then, almost imperceptibly, the cat took a hesitant step towards her.
Mrs Norris sniffed cautiously at her fingers—and at that very moment, Betty felt a hand wrap round her upper arm from behind.
"Right," growled Filch, his voice hoarse with triumph. "Got you."
Betty froze as Filch yanked her to her feet before she'd even had a chance to stand up properly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lee staring at her from his hiding place, his eyes wide with horror as well as gratitude.
"You thought you could get away from me, didn't you?" hissed Filch, his grip on her arm tightening. "Come with me!"
"I don't know what you're talking about—" Betty began, but Filch cut her off, his bony fingers digging painfully into her arm.
"Liar," he hissed, dragging her towards his office.
Betty stumbled, trying to keep her balance as Filch dragged her along the corridor. She tried to free herself from his painful grip, but the caretaker had more strength than he appeared to have. Eventually, she gave up in resignation as any kind of resitance would make it worse. Just as they rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of Lee crawling out of his shelter and running off in the direction the twins had fled. Betty cursed inwardly that they should all have run in the same direction—then perhaps they would all be safe by now, instead of her having to face the consequences by herself.
Feverishly, she brainstormed excuses that might get her out of this dilemma.
As Filch pushed her through the door to his office, Betty let her gaze wander around the small space. It wasn't really an office—more like a cramped storage room that happened to contain a desk. The shelves along the walls were crammed with dusty files, old catalogues and boxes that looked as if no one had opened them in years. In one corner stood a scuffed filing cabinet, its drawers half-open and spilling with yellowed papers. Hanging on the wall, almost lovingly, was a list of students who had already ended up in his files—the twins already had their own section.
But what caught Betty's attention most was the collection of chains and manacles mounted beside the cabinet, their metal dull but free of rust, as if they were cleaned regularly. Next to them stood a mop bucket, the water long gone murky. Betty wrinkled her nose.
A small, narrow door led away from the office, and Betty wondered if he slept in there—she imagined it would be uncomfortable, cold and unwelcoming, just like the rest of the room.
Filch walked around the desk, crammed with far too many things, where piles of files and scattered items left hardly any space, and sank into his chair with a heavy sigh. Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, Betty lowered herself into the chair opposite. She looked at him for a moment—his face pale and exhausted, his skin grey and wrinkled, his eyes ringed with dark circles. He rested his head in his hands and looked at her with narrowed eyes.
"Right," he said at last, "do you have anything else to say to me before I decide on a punishment for you?"
Betty's heart hammered against her ribs. Her eyes darted to the chains, then away.
He wouldn't actually use them, would he?
The thought made her stomach lurch. She forced herself to breathe, to keep her face still, and desperately tried to think of some excuse—anything that might make him let her go.
She opened her mouth to start an explanation—but then something unexpected happened.
Mrs Norris walked slowly towards her and, with a quick leap, jumped straight onto Betty's lap.
Betty froze. She felt the warm weight on her thighs, and for a moment she didn't know what to do. Filch's eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. His expression shifted between bewilderment and incredulous horror, darting back and forth between Mrs Norris and Betty.
"Mrs Norris!" he gasped. "What—? Get down from there, right now!"
But the cat ignored him completely. Instead, she purred, nudged Betty's chest with her nose, then curled up and rubbed her head against Betty's hand, as if demanding a stroke, whilst Betty, having recovered from her initial shock, reached out a hand and gently stroked her behind the ears.
"She… she's never done that before," Filch stuttered, his voice hollow. "Not to anyone."
He stared at Betty as if she had performed dark magic. Then his expression shifted—from disbelief to something harder. Suspicion.
"Why would she choose you?"
Betty looked up. Her gaze met Filch's, and she put on as innocent a look as she could.
"Well," she said gently, "it seems Mrs Norris believes me when I say I had nothing to do with it."
The caretaker continued to stare at her in disbelief. His mouth opened, then closed and opened again. His hands, gripping the edge of the desk, trembled slightly. He looked from Mrs Norris to Betty and back again, as if expecting the cat to suddenly remember herself and hiss.
The cat, however, had made itself more than comfortable on Betty's lap and was enjoying being stroked behind the ears. A loud purr confirmed her contentment.
Watching him closely, and the room he was living in, she realised he was just an bitter and lonely man. A poor old man who catalogued students to make himself feel important—to fill the void his life must have left behind. A man who wanted to be noticed, to be seen—not so different from herself. Something inside Betty tightened.
"Mr Filch," Betty began, "I was only trying to help. I saw someone running away—that wasn't a crime, was it? So I thought I could catch the culprits and report them to you, so you could sort the matter out."
Filch, who was still staring at his cat in utter horror, turned his gaze back to Betty.
His eyes narrowed. "Why would you want to help me?"
Betty tilted her head slightly. "Well… I'm sure you've got a lot on your shoulders. You must be working so hard. And to be honest, most students don't even appreciate it." She sighed softly. "It's so unfair."
Filch blinked, looking confused. "Unfair?"
Betty nodded emphatically. "Of course! You keep everything in order, but does anyone ever say thank you? No. And then there are students who think they can do whatever they like." She shook her head. "It really is a shame. You have so much responsibility. You should really be given a raise!"
Filch seemed to be considering this. His shoulders slumped slightly, and the tension in his face eased.
"Well," he grumbled at last, "well… you're not wrong. I do deserve a raise—"
He rested his elbows on the table and ran both hands over his face. "They really don't appreciate me. Day in, day out. I clear up their mess, I keep things in order—and what do I get? Nothing but ingratitude. Nobody says thank you. Nobody even notices me. I'm just the caretaker. But without me, this castle would descend into chaos!"
Betty nodded gently. "You poor thing," she said softly, scratching the purring Mrs Norris behind her ears. "It really isn't fair."
Filch looked up at her, and for a moment the suspicious look in his eyes vanished—replaced by something that almost looked like gratitude.
At that moment, a dull bang sounded in the distance. Betty startled, and Mrs Norris jumped up in her lap. Then a second bang was heard.
"What on earth…?" Filch spun round, his head snapping towards the door, and for a moment the weariness on his face was once again contorted by sheer rage.
"Oh no! They've done it again!" Betty cried, feigning horror, as if this was the final proof, she had been innocent all along.
Without another word, Filch stormed off, his cloak fluttering behind him, and disappeared in the direction of the noise without looking back.
Betty sat motionless for a moment. She looked down at the cat, which was slowly straightening up in her lap.
"Thank you, Mrs Norris," Betty whispered.
The cat meowed once—then leapt from Betty's lap and followed her master, her tail held slightly aloft, as if she had fulfilled her duty.
Betty rose slowly and left the office, surprised at how easily she had got away with it. She walked through the dim corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the stone, and found herself pausing at a window overlooking the grounds.
She thought of Mrs Norris. The cat everyone hated, the one they hissed at and shooed away and blamed for every little thing that went wrong—but Mrs Norris had come to her, had curled up in her lap and purred like she had been waiting for someone to notice her all along.
How could anyone hate her?
She was just a cat, after all—she watched simply because that's what cats do. She followed Filch as her master. She wasn't cruel for the sake of it; she was loyal to him because he treated her well. No one ever tried to understand her; everyone just saw nothing but a source of annoyance and decided that was all she was, never stopping to wonder what might be underneath, if they simply tried.
And Filch, too—everyone sneered at him and laughed behind his back. But he kept the castle running, didn't he? He cared about rules because, someone had to. And no one else seemed to care about him. Maybe that was all he really wanted—to be acknowledged and to matter to someone.
Betty understood that. She understood it better than she would ever want to admit.
Still lost in thought, she had just reached the seventh floor when, as she rounded the corner towards the Gryffindor Tower, a voice suddenly snapped her out of her thoughts, making her jump in fright.
"Miss Black, my child. I have some news for you that might interest you."