January 1991, Hogwarts.
Betty collapsed into the armchair in the common room, her chest heaved, her lungs burned and her heart raced as if she was still running.
A murderer roams the corridors unpunished.
The words returned, circling in her mind like crows—restless and persistent—a constant presence she couldn't silence no matter how hard she tried, pecking in her mind again and again.
One in four meets their death. One who was thought returns.
After the professor had stormed through the corridors into the night, Betty had stood against the wall for what felt like an eternity. And although she could no longer hear a sound except for the howling wind—not even from the professor's office—Betty hadn't dared to peek inside. And when she awoke from her paralysis of fear, she just ran. She ran as fast as she could, without really thinking, ignoring the pain in her lungs, the stabbing at her sides. Only when she reached the common room did she dare to slow down.
The words she had heard—clearly not meant for her ears—hung over her like a shadow.
She pressed her head into her hands, banging them against her forehead as if the pressure would calm her thoughts. However, the harder she tried to push the thoughts away, the more they seemed to burn themselves into her mind. Someone will die, and their murderer will be running free.
At this thought, Betty's stomach lurched. Should she tell someone? Someone had to know, but how could she tell someone without revealing that she had been in the corridors after curfew? Betty rubbed her temples and stared into the softly crackling fire beside her, oblivious to her thoughts and what she had just witnessed, warming her face.
Then she remembered the other words Nightshade had said. Dumbledore must understand. Did that mean the headmaster knew about it? Or at least he would tell him? Surely Professor Nightshade wouldn't just leave the castle without informing the headmaster.
Betty slowly sank back into her armchair. No, she wouldn't have to tell anyone; the adults would sort it out wouldn't they?
Everything will be fine; she kept telling herself. Everything. Will. Be. Fine.
She exhaled deeply, and her pulse slowly calmed down.
She sat like that for a while before slowly getting up, raised and slowly made her way up the spiral staircase to the first-year girls' dormitory.
Upstairs, the girls were already in deep sleep. Careful not to wake anyone, she quietly tiptoed towards her bed. She heard Katie murmuring softly in her sleep, the girl lying stretched out on all fours in her bed, making Betty smile at the sight. As she passed one of the large windows, she noticed that the sky had cleared; the moon was shining brightly over the silent and unmoving forest, illuminating the landscape in a beautifully sombre light.
Hoping the weather would stay like this for tomorrow's match, she yawned.
She quietly took off her uniform, dropping it carelessly next to her bed, put on her pyjamas and slipped under the cold duvet. Curling up under her blanket, her thoughts returned to the eerie woman she had seen in Nightshade's thoughts, with her flowing robes, who had spoken the disturbing words in a deep, calm voice. Before she could wonder where the voice had come from and recall that the room had seemed empty after Nightshade had taken off, she drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, she was awakened by a loud rustling sound, coming from the left side of her bed. Still half asleep, she turned in the direction of the noise and slowly opened her eyes.
Katie was standing with her back to Betty, crouching in front of her trunk and rummaging through it carelessly.
Betty yawned. She sat up in bed, stretched and looked around briefly. The other girls had already left the dormitory. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached under it, fumbling around in her trunk for a sock.
She suddenly remembered what had happened last night, and it was as if a heavy feeling was pressing her into her mattress. She wondered whether she should tell Katie about it. After all, even though they had never said it out loud, Katie knew that Betty often didn't return to the Gryffindor Tower on time.
"I—um, I saw something last night," Betty started, and hesitantly waited for her friend's reaction.
Katie, however, didn't respond. Betty sensed that something was wrong.
Of course, Katie had to be excited—it was her first match, after all. But something didn't quite add up. Betty's gaze fell on the clock next to her bed; it was already a little before nine, the match would start at eleven. She watched Katie for a while longer, who still had her back turned to Betty.
"Shouldn't you be at breakfast already?" Betty said to Katie with a frown. "The game is about to start in two hours, and you still need to warm up."
Katie suddenly paused, then slowly turned around. Her face lacked the usual warmth that it usually carried; instead, she eyed Betty dismissively.
Betty's impression that something was terribly wrong grew stronger.
"You really forgot about it."
Betty's heart started beating a little faster, but still half asleep, she didn't understand right away.
"Forgot about what?" she asked carefully.
"The match was yesterday."
Betty froze. The sentence hit her like a slap.
For a heartbeat she simply stared at Katie who had turned back to her drunk, her mind scrambling, searching through memories that should have been there—didn't Katie say it was Sunday? Did she actually say it was a Saturday?
Her stomach dropped. She must have misheard by mistake.
"You probably don't really care anyway, but we won," Katie said flatly.
She didn't wait for a response. With a hasty movement she grabbed her red-gold scarf from the foot of her bed, threw it around her neck, and walked past Betty without a glance. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing loudly.
Betty remained frozen on the edge of her bed.
They won. Yesterday.
And she had completely missed it—the roar of the crowd, the opportunity to cheer for her friend, and see her scoring. While Betty had been locked herself, again, she had messed up.
Her chest tightened. Despite the fire in the fireplace and the sunlight streaming in through the windows and onto her face, she was suddenly shivering with cold.
Betty stared at the closed door for a long moment, her fingers curling into the blanket. The unease from the night before crept back in, a painful knot tightened in her stomach, accompanied by a strong, painful feeling of hunger.
Slowly, she put on the sock she was still holding in her hand. She carelessly pulled on the rest of her clothes that lay on the floor, her movements automatic, as if her body knew what to do while her mind was elsewhere. Finally, she left the dormitory, walked down the spiral staircase, and stepped out of Gryffindor Tower.
She didn't want to see Katie. The thought alone made her chest tighten. She didn't want to see the disappointment on her friend's face. For a moment, she considered turning back.
Pretty cowardly for a Gryffindor, came a voice from her mind. The Sorting Hat should have put you in a house for whining cowards.
Betty gritted her teeth. No, she would face Katie. She had faced her greatest fear only weeks ago; it couldn't be worse than that. She would confront Katie, explain and apologise. That was the least she owed her friend—a genuine apology.
So, she didn't turn back. Lost in thoughts of how to start her explanation, she let her feet carry her forward through familiar corridors and down familiar staircases. Without making a conscious decision, she found herself heading towards the Great Hall. She knew the way by heart now.
By the time she reached the Great Hall, most of the students were already seated, chattering loudly with their friends, while owls swooped overhead delivering letters and parcels. Betty barely registered any of it. Head up, shoulders back, back straight—just like her mother had taught her. Without hesitation, she made her way straight towards Katie who was sitting with her back turned, Angelina and Alicia in front of her.
When Betty stopped beside them, Alicia looked up first. She immediately glanced at Katie, who looked up and followed Alicia's gaze, shot Betty a brief sideways look, and turned back to her plate.
Betty took a deep breath. "Can we talk?" she asked quietly.
Katie didn't look up.
"Now you suddenly want to talk?" she said flatly, poking the sausages with her fork a little more forcibly than necessary.
Betty's throat tightened, but she wouldn't let herself be defeated easily. She chewed her lower lip, forcing herself to stay calm.
"I... I need to apologise," she began, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. "I just... I had a lot on my mind."
Katie's fingers tightened around her fork. She let out a short, disbelieving breath.
"So did I," she blurted out. "All week."
Betty flinched slightly, and she dug her nails into her palms.
"It was just one mistake," she added quickly, as if the words might stop the damage she had caused from spreading. "I mixed the dates up. I didn't forget on purpose."
Katie finally looked at her. There was no anger in her face—only disappointment, and it hit Betty harder than shouting would have.
"I was looking for you," she said, her voice sharper now. "During the match. I kept checking the stands." She paused, taking a breath. "Thought you would have been somewhere in amongst the others. But Alicia didn't see you either. Neither did the others."
Alicia's gaze immediately fell on her porridge, and she hunched her shoulders as if wishing she hadn't been dragged into the argument.
Betty's stomach dropped. She forced herself to stay where she was, even as every word she had spoken replayed in her mind, sounding weaker than she had meant them to.
"It wasn't about you. I'm really sorry—"
"I thought maybe you got stuck somewhere," Katie went on, her eyes fixed on the plate before her. "Or that something had happened. But you just—forgot."
Angelina leant back slightly, folded her arms and watched Betty with open suspicion, as if she would rush to Katie's aid at any moment.
"I mixed the dates up," Betty repeated, her voice low. "I didn't mean to miss it, I swear."
"Do you have any idea what that felt like? Not just the missed match."
Betty swallowed. She shook her head once.
"You're always gone. Always somewhere else. And never tell me where you go," Katie said slowly. "I kept telling myself it's fine, that you don't do it on purpose—but I needed you. Yesterday. Just to be there. That's all."
Her voice dropped slightly.
"And this... this isn't the first time, Betty. You keep forgetting. I can't keep pretending it doesn't matter anymore."
Betty's chest tightened. "I know," she whispered, voice barely audible.
She wanted to explain that it wasn't Katie's fault, that it was never about her, but she couldn't think of any words that could make it any better.
"I thought we were friends," Katie said, quietly. "Friends show up."
"I wanted to," Betty said, her voice breaking. "I just... I'm here now."
"A bit too late, don't you think? I... I need time to think about it."
Katie looked at her for a long moment, then turned back to her plate, signalling that the conversation was over.
Without saying another word and ignoring Angelina and Alicia, who were whispering to each other, she turned and forced herself to keep her face straight, fighting against tears blurring her vision. Under no circumstances would she allow herself to cry in the middle of all students. Forcing herself not to let anything on, she dug her nails further into her palm, walking quietly down the rows.
A few seats further on, she saw Fred and George laughing out loud with Lee, bent over something she couldn't see. George looked up briefly, smiled and waved. Betty managed a weak smile in return, but she wasn't in the mood for their loud jokes. It just felt out of place.
Quietly, pulling her robe tighter around her shoulders, she passed down the long table. At the far end, she spotted Fay and Holly, seated together, quietly chatting over their breakfast. The space next to Holly was empty. Betty hesitated, unsure if she wanted to join them, but at least here she could eat in peace.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.
Holly looked up, smiled warmly, and slipped to make enough room for Betty. "Sure."
Fay paused mid-bite, glancing at Betty sceptically.
"Is Katie still mad with ye?" she asked, frowning.
Betty's lips pressed together, shaking her head slightly without meeting Fay's gaze. She had no intention of talking about it. Least of all with Fay. Holly threw her friend a quieting look, and then gave Betty a small, sympathetic smile, as if telling her it was okay to stay silent.
Betty took a bowl and scooped some porridge into it. Her stomach ached painfully from not having eaten the day before, but despite having no appetite, she forced herself to take a few bites. The taste was bland and the texture even worse. She reached for the jam, which made the flavour a little better, yet the texture made it hard for her to get the food down. She had always loved it, but now it tasted like the worst food she had ever eaten.
Beside her, Holly hummed softly, chatting quietly with Fay and glancing at Betty occasionally, as if to make sure she didn't feel left out. Half-heartedly, Betty chewed on a piece of toast. At least she managed to get that one down better.
Then suddenly there was a clearing of the throat.
"Dear students, may I have your attention," a calm, deep voice drowned out the chatter of the student, drawing immediate attention.
Heads instinctively turned towards the high table, where the headmaster stood, and lively conversation faltered into quiet murmurs, and the clink of cutlery against plates seemed louder than usual.
Professor Dumbledore's sharp, bright eyes looked seriously over his glasses as he swept his gaze over the students, and his long, midnight blue robes swayed with his slow movements. His serious expression and quiet authority made even the usually restless Fred and George pause for a moment.
"I have a rather sad announcement to make," be began, his voice calm but serious, "Professor Jasper Nightshade has—quite unexpectedly—resigned from his position here at Hogwarts."
A murmur went through the hall and some voices grew louder as the first rumours began to spread. However, hardly anyone reacted with shock—no one seemed particularly surprised.
"Unexpectedly. Aye, for sure," Fay murmured to Holly, shaking her head in disbelief.
Dumbledore raised his hand, and silence fell almost instantly.
"I am currently seeking a suitable replacement," he continued, "In the meantime, the heads of your houses will supervise the spare time and will use them for their own lessons. Or, if they are otherwise occupied, assign you appropriate tasks."
Low groans broke the silence, especially from those who must have been hoping for a free period. Others began to whisper excitedly, speculating about the reasons for Nightshade's sudden disappearance.
The headmaster lifted his hands once more, and the hall quieted again.
"I ask you all to respect Professor Nightshade's privacy regarding his resignation. Speculation and rumors will serve no one, and I expect the same decency from you that you always uphold in these halls."
Then his spirit lifted again and a beaming smile appeared on his face.
"Nevertheless, there's nothing to worry about. I'm sure we'll all get on with our daily lives," he said solemnly, "and delight us with your magical talents. And I really hope one of you has collected the most chocolate frog cards of me by now—let me know!"
He scanned the room one last time, nodded briefly, and sank back into his chair.
Betty wondered—briefly—how much Dumbledore already knew, did he know anything at all, she wondered. Doubts began to creep in. Shouldn't she speak up? Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table. She was the only one who had seen him fleeing, her mind replayed the image—the professor, panic-driven, disappearing down the corridors, and then that unfamiliar voice—and a shiver ran through her, half fear, half unease. But that wouldn't do any good, she thought. If she hadn't been there, nobody would have noticed, and she should never have been there in the first place.
She kept her head down, chewing some more bits from her toast, while Holly and Fay whispered, bent to each other.
"He just... left? That's all?" Holly's brow furrowed.
"Resigned... I reckon he was fired," Fay said, shaking her head, "'cause Carl's parents have been complaining. That's exactly why he's away. They won't risk another incident."
Betty's gaze drifted a few rows up, to where Carl was sitting with his friends, and laughed, almost as if nothing had happened. He had recovered from the incident quite quickly; Madam Pomfrey, the matron of the hospital wing, had him back on his feet in no time. She thought of what her own mother would have set in motion if it had hit Betty in his place.
"Poor Nightshade. He did look a bit... off, I think, like he was losing it," Holly murmured, and cast an uncertain glance at the professor's empty chair. "Do you think he's alright? I think he needs a hand. He didn't seem like he meant anyone harm."
Betty's mouth suddenly felt dry. The professor definitely hadn't looked as if he would be alright; more as he had been deeply frightened. As if something—or someone—had been tormenting him for some time. She thought of his panicked eyes as he ran away—a murderer is roaming freely. There was no way she could ignore it, but how would she explain to the professors. She would surely be thrown out of Hogwarts, and Betty knew how much that would disappoint her mother. Her stomach tightened. There must be another way.
Fay's expression softened a little, and she put her hand on Holly's forearm.
"Sure, aye, but still... I don't think he should be teaching bairns, not like that," Fay concluded firmly, "But Carl... he could've been seriously hurt. Lucky, if Dumbledore can steady Nightshade. Either way, I doubt it was really his decision."
"Actually, he wasn't fired," Betty exclaimed, instantly wishing she could take the words back, and bite her tongue.
Fay and Holly, both bent towards each other, turned their heads to Betty as if they had forgotten that she was there listening too.
"Oh, he was not?" Fay asked, frowning.
"Um," Betty thought feverishly about what she could say to avoid making herself a suspect, revealing more than she was supposed to. "Um, well... why would Dumbledore sign Nightshade off without finding a replacement first?"
"Aye," Fay stumbled, tilting her head slightly, "that is indeed... odd. Specially when you consider that the job is rumoured to be cursed, and that doesn't exactly make it a popular position."
"Right," Betty nodded.
"Cursed?" Holly asked, glancing between Betty and Fay.
"Oh aye," Fay explained, "this post hasn't been filled for more than a year or two in nearly forty years. If you ask me, that's nonsense."
"I'm telling you, he probably just had a bad conscience," Holly continued. "You've seen him. He looked very miserable after what happened to Carl. Poor old chap."
Fay rolled her eyes, laughing. "You'd rescue a cat even after it bit you bloody," she said fondly.
"That's out of question!" Holly laughed, "'course I would."
Betty turned away and nibbled on the remains of the toast. She wrapped toast, an apple, and a bit more food into a napkin, folding it carefully before slipping it into the pocket of her cloak to eat later. She doubted she would manage more now.
After breakfast, the students began to leave the Great Hall in a slow, loud stream. Benches scraped, conversations mingled, students pushing past each other. Betty lingered a while, waiting for the others to pass by, unsure where she was supposed to go, then stood and fell in behind Fay and Holly a step behind them.
They had just passed the threshold when a shrill voice echoed through the Entrance Hall.
Peeves swooped over the heads of the students, somersaulting and spinning wildly.
"Nightshade—oh Nightshade—" he shrieked, nearly colliding with a tall boy's head, "What made you flee?"
Some heads turned upwards, and a few students flinched.
"Hardly recognisable—" Peeves somersaulted, cackling loudly, "—a whimpering Wee!"
Some of the students giggled.
"Peeves!" one of prefects shouted, yet it only encouraged the poltergeist to screech even louder.
"Months of larks—months of mischief—" Peeves clanged two stolen spoons together, hanging from the ceiling upside down now, "—made you a coward!"
Betty felt the sound vibrate in her skull. She tucked her shoulders in and pressed her hands against her ears, climbing the grand staircase.
"Defence Professor? In reality—unpowered!" Peeves swooped low, pointing an accusing finger at the retreating crowd. "Attacked a poor student, what an awful display!"
Holly spun around. "Peeves, just shut it."
Peeves spun around in the air, stuck his tongue out at her and threw the spoon at her. Holly ducked just in time.
"Sobbing like a baby—" he cackled, "—and running away!"
"Ignore him," Fay said curtly, grabbing Holly's sleeve and pulling her along. "That's exactly what he wants."
Peeves cackled, looping above their heads as the students pushed through the corridors. At the next parting of the ways, Betty turned right into one of the dark corridors, away from the others.
Betty drifted through the stony passages without direction, letting her feet decide for her. She passed staircases without counting them, ignored familiar turns, until the air grew colder and sharper, causing her to pull her cloak tightly around her shoulders. She fumbled in the pocket of her cloak, took out her wand and muttered the warming spell that Percy had shown her after the sorting. The cold became a little more bearable.
A cold breeze ruffled her hair as she stepped through the doorway, standing at the foot of the owlery; she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Cold, biting air filled her lungs, easing the heaviness that had settled in her chest since the morning.
Betty climbed the stone steps, her hand brushing the wall for balance, and paused near the upper openings. The wind whistled and howled through the tower's unglazed windows. For a Sunday, it was almost empty. Most of the owls were out, leaving the remaining ones resting and sleeping on their perches. Betty stepped over the straw-covered floor and wrinkled her nose as she avoided stepping on the owl droppings and the regurgitated skeletons of mice and other animals.
She lifted her head and watched one of them—a small brown owl—had turned its head toward her, its dark eyes fixed on her face. Without further thought, Betty stretched out her arm.
The owl fluttered over, landing gently on her hand, its claws wrapping tightly around her finger. Betty's lips curled into a soft smile.
"I don't have a letter for you," she murmured, gently stroking the owl's head, "I hope you don't mind."
The owl clicked its beak and pecked gently at her stretched. For the first time since waking up, something in her chest loosened a little.
Still holding the owl in her hand, she approached one of the window openings and looked out over the grounds. Below, the lake lay frozen, students skating across it others laughed and the wind carried their voices and laughter upwards. Up there, everything felt distant, far away from the events of the last few hours. Far away from everything that set her thoughts spinning. Up there, everything felt a little bit lighter.
Snow began to fall again—slow, deliberate flakes drifting down over the grounds, and muting the sounds.
Despite the warming spell, the cold slowly began creeping into her limbs and she realised her fingers were stiffening. She stroked the owl's plumage gently one last time, then pushed it gently, causing the small animal to stretch its wings and fly to the next perch. Slowly, she turned and made her way down the stairs.
She wandered through one of the dimly lit corridors, unsure where to go next, until something blocked her path. Two yellow eyes stared at her from the shadows; the gentle flickering of the torches reflected in their alert eyes.
"Hey there," Betty whispered.
She had tried before to lure the cat closer, with little success. But today, she had walked the corridors prepared. She reached into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out the crumpled napkin with the food she had packed earlier. Carefully, she unfolded it, revealing pieces of bacon and sausages she had saved just for this. She laid the food on the stone floor and stepped back, hunched, her eyes fixed on the cat.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then, slowly, Mrs Norris approached, sniffing cautiously on the laid out food. Betty held her breath.
Then, almost unexpectedly, the cat opened its jaw and began to nibble on the sausage, keeping it steady with a paw.
Betty's face lit up. She watched as the cat also devoured the bacon; hesitant, Betty took a few small steps forward. She stopped, uncertain, before finally crouching slightly. Her hand hovered in the air, unsure whether to reach out. Deciding not to tempt her fate, she instead watched as Mrs Norris devoured the last bite, licked her mouth and then her paws.
"I'm not good at making friends, you know," she said softly, almost to herself, convinced that the cat wouldn't understand her anyway, "I guess... we have something in common."
Mrs Norris lifted her head for a fraction of a second, meeting Betty's eyes, and slightly tilted her head as if she had understood, nonetheless.
As if she had understood after all, she slowly approached Betty, walked close past her, and Betty could feel the gentle pressure on her calves before the cat vanished behind the next corner.