Late August 1990,Laikipia National Park, Kenya.
The setting sun covered the land in warm golden light, the shadows of the acacia trees stretched long across the dry ground, and the wind moved through the tall grass; a river shimmered in the distance. A black kite circled in the sky, its wings widely stretched, every movement seemed effortless. Betty sat on the edge of a flat rock, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them. Her eyes followed the bird, envying its quiet elegance and seemingly unlimited freedom. Not because she felt trapped, but because that kind of freedom seemed hard to reach.
Since she was seven, she had spent her summers with Zuberi. He taught at Uagadou—one of the five wizarding schools that welcomed students from all over Africa—though his home was in Kenya, where he trained her each year. Under his guidance she began, slowly, to understand herself and what her abilities were doing to her. As a child, she would sometimes cry without knowing why—only later realising she had been feeling the pain of others as if it were her own.
Fear or anger that was not hers would blur into her own, and when she met someone's gaze, stray fragments of their thoughts would flicker through her mind. She rarely understood the process, only that she knew things she had never been told.
Now she could separate what was hers from what was not. She had learned to keep her magic from being overtaken by emotion—to recognize it, guide it, and use it deliberately. It had become a part of her.
Mastering her natural Legilimency proved more difficult than recognising it. She knew her ability was not the learned kind most witches and wizards trained for—the kind that required a wand, incantations, and years of discipline to search a mind. Hers needed none of that. It was inherited, rare, and far easier to slip into than to hold back.
Restraint was the real discipline. Preventing the accidental slipping demanded deliberate focus and left her with sharp headaches, so she often simply avoided eye contact alltogether. It helped, though not completely; emotions still reached her, faint but not as persistent. To ease it Occlumency helped her with it, serving more than simple concealmeant of her own mind. It allowed her to quiet if the the pressure of other people's feelings became to overwhelming, though constant use was exhausting. Only a properly shielded mind could keep her out.
Here, where few people were near, she rarely needed it. When the noise grew too strong, she sought solitude instead. Professor Snape, who had instructed her in Occlumency for years, often warned her sternly not to sneak around in other people's minds. And yet, curiosity had often overruled her restraint.
Just before she travelled to Kenya this summer, she had her final lesson with him. Nonetheless, she would see him again—this time as her Potions professor at Hogwarts. She had mixed feelings about it.
Though he was a man who never offered her the same warmth Zuberi had, and would often pushed her relentlessly toward her limits, she had endured—and learned. It wasn't just his demeanour—his stern looks or endless expectations—that unsettled her, but the sense that he saw something in her that others seemed to overlook. Something she herself couldn't quite grasp, perhaps because he, too, was a loner who observed the world from a distance.
Compared to Zuberi—who had welcomed her without reservation, whose kindness had been constant, and who had become part of her family—Professor Snape was nothing like that. And she knew almost nothing about him. But having grown up in a complicated family, where silence was used as a shield—something to protect against pain rather than to invite it—secrecy itself wasn't unfamiliar to her. Perhaps that was why his secretive nature felt familiar rather than threatening—and that, in its own way, made him predictable.
Betty remembered the many times when she had trained with him for hours on the technique of blocking her thoughts and emotions.
The professor had stood before her, his arms folded behind his back, and she his dark eyes had pierced hers.
"Black, I have no patience for games," he had said in his usual sharp voice. "One last time. I will try to enter your mind. I expect a ."
That's how the lessons always began. Each time, she had to prove to him once again that she had practised her techniques to completely seal off her mind. By now, this had become easy for her.
Without objection, she had nodded, straightened up and started back with the same unyielding strength.
The professor had raised his wand, his eyes narrowed. "Legilimens!"
The familiar sensation had returned, like a pull on her memories, but instead of being flooded with unfiltered memories, he had as always encountered a firm barrier.
"You can block. But that alone is not enough."
At first the professor had told her to bring order to her mind—to sort every single memory, and lock them away, each behind its own wall. That demanded a linear strucutur and precision. But Betty's thoughts never followed a straight line; they were tangled and jumped from one memory to another before she could catch them, let alone lock them away.
Trying to separate them had seemed impossible, and the harder she tried, the more chaotic her mind seemed to become. It had been her mother who suggested a different approach, watching Betty struggle.
"Try to understand your mind's pattern."
Only then Betty had started to imgine her inner world rather not as a linear path, but as a web—threats that connected memories. It became less about separation and more about connection. She had learned to weave them together, to shield the entire wrap, instead of locking every single one separately. When Professor Snape entered, he would only sense a dense structure, impossible to navigate through it.
Later, as she grew more confident in her skills, they had approached the second step: to isolate single threads—letting him see only what she chose, while the rest of the web stayed hidden.
When he had approach Betty another time, she had been prepared.
"Legilimens!"
Professor Snape had tried again, and this time she let him enter, but only as far as she wanted. She followed the familiar pull inward, moving along the threats, until she reached the one she had chosen. A vivid scene formed in her mind—a harmless moment from her childhood when she had made a paper kite fly in the garden. Her laughter had been loud and genuine as she ran after it.
Snape had abruptly withdrawn, and she saw his eyebrow twitch.
"Deception is an art. But your kind is—" His eyes darted at her. "—immature."
Betty had answered calmly, "But I am a child, am I not?" Then she added, as he looked her over, "What would be more convincing than childish memories?"
Snape narrowed his eyes. "Coldness protects. Too much openness is an invitation to vulnerability."
Betty met his gaze. "Or a weapon."
"Then let us see how good your weapon really is."
He had raised his wand once again, pointing it at her.
"Legilimens!"
This time he tried to reach deeper, searching for insecurities and fears. But yet again Betty had been ready; she felt him moving along the outer of the web, guiding him to that one she would show him. She revealed nothing real but brought up another memory—a sunny afternoon with her mother in a meadow picking flowers.
Snape had withdrawn.
She hadn't shown weaknesses, no pain, no fear. He had found nothing.
"Acceptable."
Betty had nodded. "I take that as praise, sir."
His eyed had narrowed to slits. "Don't."
After that, he had forbidden her to ever mention it to her future classmates.
Still sitting on the plateau, the sun tickled her nose. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. The air was hot and dry, carrying the smell of dust and hot stone. In the distance, she heard a branch snap and the soft hum of insects. At Zuberi's, she was usually alone with him. Occasionally, other children were around, but Betty mostly observed them from afar, or just sought solitude—just like today. Zuberi had instructed her to meditate, but her thoughts were too loud, too restless, and every time she concentrated on letting go, something new popped into her head.
Over the last few days, she had often thought about her departure back to London, which she would be undertaking entirely on her own for the first time. The only thing that reassured her was that she had travelled this route many times with her mother. But that wasn't the only thought weighing heavily on her mind: her soon-to-be new home in the Scottish Highlands, so different from the endless savannah. And unlike the journey back home, this destination was entirely unknown to her.
The heat burned her skin, and sweat ran down her forehead. There was no wind, no refreshing breeze to cool her down. Betty snapped her fingers and turned her wrist in a quick, precise movement. Immediately, a gentle breeze arose, barely perceptible, but just enough to cool her face and neck.
As a child, she had often lost control of her magic—nothing unusual for someone so young. But her own power, and its unpredictability, had frightened her. The accidents, the sudden outbursts she could neither foresee nor stop, had made her frightened of herself. Instinctively, she had begun to suppress it. That had been when her mother sent her to Zuberi.
In most cases, once children learned control, the uncontrolled outbursts disappeared. In Great Britain, however, self-control and precision were not taught until the age of eleven.
But not only that, in Kenya—and more broadly in East Africa—magic was approached differently. Many relied on ancient techniques, practices that had long fallen out of use in other parts of the world or been forgotten entirely. Here, magic wasn't treated as something to be restrained first and understood later, but as something to be acknowledged and practised from the beginning.
One of the less commonly used practices was elemental magic. An essential part of her training had been the understanding of the four elements: fire, water, earth, and air. He explained that while magic came from within the witch or wizard, the elements chose their listeners—or carriers, as he called them. Through practice, a connection could be formed, and once that bond existed, the force could be embraced rather than resisted. And eventhough it was largely forgotten in the Western world, at Uagadou, however, it remained part of the curriculum.
Most witches and wizards were connected to only one element. Some to two. A rare few to three. And only an exceptional handful ever mastered all four. Zuberi carried all of them. For Betty, it had been two—air first, and then water. And she could already hear the faint whisper beneath her feet—earth.
Shortly after arriving in Kenya for the first time, she was seven years old, Zuberi had sent her to the high plateau and gave her only one task—to listen.
At first, she had refused. How could anyone listen to air? But once she had closed her eyes, the wind became more than just a sound in the trees. It brushed against her skin, responded to her breath, shifted with the slightest change of her gestures. When she raised her arm, a breeze followed. And it seemed that her laughter made the wind grow louder.
Then, when she was nine, she had sat alone by the river. The other children had played in the village, but she had, as usual, sought solitude. She had dipped her hands into the water, noticing how the current changed the very moment her fingertips broke the surface. It seemed like the water recognised her. For the first time, she saw the water wrap around her arms like a glove, without her saying a single spell.
Over time, her control deepened. With her hands, Betty could set the air spinning, creating small whirlwinds that stirred leaves and dust. She could unleash sharp blasts of wind that pushed opponents back or cleared obstacles in her path. Betty learned to use air to dampen sound coming from her, moving almost silently, and to make her body lighter, allowing her to perform small, agile leaps that helped her dodge and move with ease.
She could draw moisture from the air, condense it into small droplets, and gather them into a sphere of water between her palms. With focus, she could warm the water until it was damp, or freeze it into sharp shards of ice. She could form a bubble of air around her head so she could breathe underwater; in there, she felt free and weightless, able to twist and dive as if the water itself accepted her as part of its own. She often shaped currents to push her faster or swirl around her.
Zuberi always reminded her that true power didn't come from sheer force but from harmony with the elements. And once Betty understood her two elements, the accidental magical outbursts disappeared and the fear of herself and her powers with it. Now, at eleven, she sensed both elements like companions that responded to her mood.
Watching the black kite dart into a dive, her thoughts wandered back to Hogwarts, now only a few days away. Soon she would be in an old Scottish castle, among other children, she didn't know and with rules she wasn't used to. She would have to use a wand even though she had channelled her magic without a tool for years.
And that was exactly the problem.
Wizards and witches, especially those in Britain, relied on their wands. A child who performed magic with bare hands, who could control the elements if they wanted to something like that would be rare and strange.
Her mother had phrased it carefully, but Betty had read between the lines.
"Hogwarts is a safe place, but that doesn't mean everyone there will understand it."
And what would happen if someone like her stood out? A girl who mastered magic without a wand, who could perform magic her peers couldn't?
People with power were either feared or used. And Betty wanted neither.
She drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. A lump formed in her throat as she looked at the last rays of the sun. What if nobody likes me at Hogwarts?
Her mother had always said she was a smart, strong girl, but Betty knew she wasn't like other children, not quite. When she was six, she had friends—real friends. But only for a short time, until it happened. Her magic had erupted uncontrollably, and someone had been hurt. It was an accident; no one had blamed her. Nonetheless, Betty had struggled to forgive herself. She never wanted to hurt anyone again, and since that day she had withdrawn. Mimi, their old houseelf, had become her only real friend. And books. Books weren't afraid of her.
While other children played, she mostly read. While others played with friends their age, Betty was send to Kenya, practising and controlling herself. Her world had become small —full of discipline, and the effort not to get too close to anyone. What if I'll be seen as strange? What if I'll remain alone?
She sighed quietly, sliding down from the rock. The ground beneath her feet was dry, coating her bare soles in dust. Leaving the ledge behind, she moved through the tall grass that tickled her ankles, heading toward Zuberi's house that was only a short walk away. The sun had dropped below the horizon and twilight was beginning to take over.
The small village where Zuberi lived lay tucked against the boundary of the National Park, remote and easily overlooked in the vastness of the savannah. The trees cast long shadows in the fading light. Betty moved like a shadow herself, invisible to anyone who wasn't looking for her. She had practiced the Disillusionment Charm intensively with Zuberi, along with other techniques to hide from strangers. It took a lot of focus, but she enjoyed to be moving unnoticed and not being perceived at all.
The house rose slightly above its surroundings. It was simply built, with thick reddish-gold clay walls that absorbed the heat of the day when temperatures dropped at night. A wooden frame supported the structure, and the roof—sealed with clay and magically treated fibres—extended outwards, covering the terrace and keeping out the rain during the rainy season. Instead of walls surrounding the terrace in front of the house, there were light, bright fabric panels that were pulled back in the evening to let in air and light. The kitchen and dining area flowed seamlessly into the terrace under the roof, transforming it into an outdoor dining area. Smoke rose from a narrow chimney, a sign that dinner was already being prepared. Zuberi lived here alone, though neighbours from the nearby village visited from time to time.
Betty crept up to the terrace where Zuberi was already setting the table, his back turned, ready to surprise him. She paused behind the tall tree beside the stone-floored terrace and watched him for a while. His wide, flowing clothes—a long, loose, indigo coloured cloak worn over wide-cut trousers—swayed around him, and the necklaces made a soft, clinking sound with each movement. Plates and bowls floated smoothly around him, settling onto the wooden table one by one. With a small movement of his wrist, he illuminated the countless tiny lanterns that fluttered beneath the ceiling like fireflies, instantly bathing the table and clay walls in a warm glow.
Betty came out of her hiding place, creeping slowly and quietly, not a single sound could be heard, but before she was even close enough to shout, "Booh!" Zuberi paused his movements.
"You try it every time, but I always notice you," he said, turning around, looking at her with an amused smile.
In the flickering light of the lanterns, his light grey eyes shimmered almost like silver in contrast to his dark skin. Short, grey-streaked curls in the colour of his eyes framed his face, and the ease of his movements made him appear younger than he actually was.
"You are good, but you need more practise. More focus. Otherwise experienced wizards will notice the trace you leave."
Slightly dissapointed, she ended the spell, and approached the dark wooden table.
"You didn't even see me," she said frustrated and plopped down on the stool.
Two plates were set with steamig roasted roots, wild greens, and something she couldn't quite name, but looked familiar.
"Magic leaves traces that cannot only be seen with the eyes," he said calmly, and placed a bowl of roasted nuts between them. "You are late. You were watching the black kite again, were you?"
Betty nodded slowly and leaned back, picking up a nut to roll it between her fingers. "It just let the air carry it. It didn't flap its wings once."
"You envy him, do you not?"
"He can fly wherever he wants," she murmured, stuffing the food into her mouth with her fingers. "No expectations, nor stupid rules. He doesn't have to hide."
Zuberi smiled. "Even a free bird must adapt to survive. One that does not know any storm will not fly long."
They ate in silence for a while. The crickets had begun to chirp, twilight deepened, and somewhere in the distance an animal called. It was one of those transitional moments from day to night hat Betty always particularly liked.
"I wonder if one can learn that. Just gliding, without struggling."
He raised his eyebrows and took a nut for himself. "You mean how to live?"
"Yes."
"Struggling is part of life. What matters is getting back up every time and keep going. That is what shapes you."
Betty sighed. He had said this every time when she was close to quite.
"How was your meditation?" Zuberi asked after a while.
Betty shrugged. "I couldn't really concentrate."
Zuberi looked at her briefly, then turned his gaze back to the horizon. "You were too focused on other things."
She didn't answer right away. Then she nodded. "It was loud. In my head, I mean."
Betty pushed her plate a little to the side, rested her elbows on the table, and let her gaze wander into the darkening sky. The sun had completely set, only a thin orange line hung over the horizon.
"You are afraid of Hogwarts," he stated after a pause.
"Maybe." Betty twisted her mouth slightly.
"You have not said 'maybe' since you were nine."
He gave her a warm smile, then scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"It is normal to be nervous," he continued softly. "But you forget what you have learned. Adaptation, control, the ability to go with the flow instead of against it."
Betty let her head sink her folded hands. "I am supposed to hide."
"No." He shook his head slightly. "You are supposed to be smart. You are more than your abilities. Magic is a tool, but your mind, your heart, that is what makes you special. When the time comes, you will know when you can show yourself."
Betty sighed, and drew her knees close.
"I'm not used to being around by so many people. What if they don't like me? What if I don't fit in? What if they do not understand me? And what if too much and I just want to be alone?"
Zuberi pushed his bowl aside, leaned over the table, looking at her.
"There are plenty of places at Hogwarts where you can be alone," he said with a wink.
Betty pushed a nut over the table edge with her thumb, let it fall into the grass beside the stone floor, and watched it disappear. With a flick of her wrist, it lifted up again, and caught it with her other hand.
"Maybe I won't be going to Hogwarts," she murmured. "Maybe I will be going to Uagadou after all. Maybe I won't get a letter from Hogwarts. Maybe it'll be from Uagadou."
"That's many maybes," Zuberi smiled gently. "Magical children in East Africa do not get their invitations by owl like in Great Britain. Their invitation comes in a dream. A dream messenger brings it. This happens at the second full moon after the summer solstice." He paused briefly. "Did you have such a dream?"
Betty said nothing for a while. Finally, she sighed and answered in a very quiet voice, "No."
Zuberi simply nodded. "Your mother will be glad. She does not like it when you are away from her for too long."
Betty sighed. "Yes, I know. But I won't see much her when I'm at Hogwarts either."
"What do you not like about Hogwarts?" he asked calmly. "I can tell, there is something else that troubles you."
Betty hesitated for a moment.
"They wear uniforms there." She made a face and looked down at the light, airy clothes she was wearing—just the same Zuberi worn them—in a deep green, and Betty liked how it matched her eyes. But what she liked most was that they were comfortable, and unrestricting.
"And itchy wool jumpers," she added with a hint of distaste. "And ties."
Zuberi laughed softly. "You will get used to it. Humans are remarkably adaptable creatures."
"It's cold in Scotland," she said. "And it's always raining. I don't want to get used to that."
Zuberi chuckled. "I am sure you will. And if you have trouble, then you will learn spells that keep you warm and dry."
He paused briefly. "I did not like Uagadou in my first year. It was very big and too loud. But I stayed because it changed me, not because it was comfortable. And I wanted to learn."
He kept looking at her for a long time. "What you have learned here," he continued, "you will use there. Hogwarts will not be the end, mtoto wangu. It will be the beginning."
He smiled warmly at her. "And you will always be able to return to this place. Next summer you will be here again. And you will be stronger than you can imagine now."
She looked at him, feeling a strange mix of relief and sadness inside. She would indeed come back. But for now, there was only one day left before she had to leave. Tomorrow she would return to London, wehre it would be cold and raining, and the thought made her chest tighten. Although was sad to leave Kenya and Zuberi behind, she was looking forward to seeing her mother again after such a long time of staying here.
Once they had finished eating, Zuberi waved his hand and the dirty dishes fishes into the kitchen, floating into a stone basin on the sideboard filled with steaming water.
The sky had turned black and the first stars began to twinkle overhead. They got up and went to the small fireplace next to the terrace. Betty sat cross-legged on the dry floor.
"This one here," he said quietly, pointing his finger at a row of stars, "is Orion's Belt. You can see it in Scotland too, but it might look a bit different depending on the time of year."
Betty followed his gaze, tracing the faint shapes of the stars.
"When you feel far from home, just find those three stars in a row. They will remind you that some things do not change, no matter where you are."
She nodded, and a smile tugged at her mouth. A feeling of comfort at the thought rose in her. For a moment, the distance between her two worlds seemed smaller, closed by the stars above.
With a fluid gesture of his hands, Zuberi summoned nearby twigs and branches. They floated towards them, arranging themselves neatly inside the circle of stones. He moved his hand again, and the fire lit instantly, casting shadows on their faces.
As the fire crackled, and Betty stared into the flames as if in a trance, Zuberi began to tell one of the tales he often told on evenings like this.
She leaned back on the side, curling herself up, wrapped in the warmth of the fire, she listenend.
"Many years ago, in a remote village, there lived a young witch named Amara. She was known for her extraordinary magic, especially for her ability to influence the elements. But Amara had a great secret: she could never truly allow herself to feel her emotions apart from joy. Anger, sorrow and fear. All these feelings she tried to hide in order not to endanger her power. She had learned that true wizards had to control their emotions if they didn't want to appear weak. In truth, however, she was haunted by her own suppressed feelings, having buried her grief over the loss of her parents, the anger at the injustice of the world, and the fear of never being enough, deep inside. She thought that if she ignored these feelings and kept them hidden, she could reveal her true strength.
One day, Amara heard of a mountain known as the "Mountain of Inner Storms". It was said to be the place where the greatest magicians found their true strength. To achieve it, a wizard had to dare to confront their deepest emotions. Many who tried to climb it without facing their true selves never returned. Amara, however, ignored the warning. Inspired by the idea of unlocking her power, she decided to climb this mountain. She spent days on the path, fighting against the steep slopes and the icy wind. The mountain wasn't only physically challenging but also mentally demanding. The higher she climbed, the more difficult the climb became. Her buried anger over the loss of her family simmered deep within her, yet she repressed it, fighting against it. The fear of never being good enough beat inside her, but she held it back. Her heart raced from the effort, and yet she refused to face her own sorrow.
When Amara finally reached the top, something happened that she hadn't expected. The mountain began to shake. At first it was a slight vibration, but then it grew stronger and stronger. The wind howled, and suddenly storms broke loose, covering the top in darkness. Amara felt the air around her charge with the anger, fear, and sorrow she had long suppressed. It was as if the mountain itself had sensed her inner storms she had ignored for so long flooded through her like uncontrollable waves. When the storm grew ever stronger, Amara felt as if the anger and sorrow would crush her, no longer being able to hold onto the mountain. The elements she had once mastered began to turn against her.
In that moment, she remembered her grandmother's words she never wanted to believe: "Emotions are like the elements, Amara. If you try to suppress them, they will eventually consume you. But if you accept them and learn to live with them, you can use their true power."
Amara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She allowed the feelings she had locked away for so long to come through, feeling the anger, sorrow, and fear not as a threat, but as a part of herself. She let these emotions flow through her, but instead of suppressing them, she redirected their energy. With a deep breath, Amara opened her eyes and stretched out her hands into the storm. She felt the elements calm around her as she came into harmony with her own emotion. The anger turned into determined energy that pushed her forward. The sorrow gave her the depth and wisdom she needed to understand the mountain. The fear helped her to be cautious and choose the right path. She was no longer a victim of her emotions but had learned to guide them. The storm slowed down, and the mountain became still.
Amara stood there on the top, stronger and wiser than ever before. She hadn't only conquered the mountain but had found herself in her emotions, which she finally accepted as part of her magic."
"Like Amara, Betty," Zuberi said wisely, "you have to learn to live with your emotions. They are not your enemies. They are your allies if you understand them and use them deliberately."
Betty's gaze often wandered into the fire as if she wanted to search for hidden meanings in the flames. The story of Amara stayed with her for a long time, even though she didn't understand everything yet.
Then she asked quietly without looking up. "What if you don't even know what you feel? If everything is too much at once?"
Zuberi didn't answer immediately. Like he always did when he sensed that a question was meant not just for conversation but for something deeper.
"Then it is like the wind," he finally replied. "When it is still, you hardly hear it. And when it is too strong, you cannot hold it. But you can learn to read it. In the leaves, in the dust, on your skin."
Betty was quite again.
"If one day you forget what you can do with your feelings—remember your breath."
She frowned. "My breath?"
"Yes. You cannot control it if you try to force it. But you can go with it. You can guide it. And it will guide you back. To yourself." He twisted his hand slighlty, to add more branches to the fire. "You do not have to understand your feelings immediately. You do not have to like them either. But you have to feel them. When you feel them, breathe—and listen—then they remind you who you are. And what kind of magic lives inside you." He pointed at her chest. "And if that does not help either—eat something. Nobody thinks clearly on an empty stomach."
Betty laughed quietly, then nodded. She lifted her head and let her gaze rest on Orion's Belt once more.
Maybe her new life at Hogwarts wouldn't be so bad after all.