𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 | 𝐝.𝐦.

seventeen

wattpad lagged and deleted two chapters in my book so here i am rewriting it :)) so grateful rn !!!!!!! please bear with how bored i am writing this

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Days have floated by miserably since the last time she spoke to Malfoy.

Betty has devoted those lonely days to keeping herself cooped up in her empty dorm, laying out her dull board across her bed, dazedly racking her brain for new ideas she could use to good.

Her board was starting to fill up now - that was something she could be thankful of - with newspaper clippings accumulated from the Daily Prophet she had yield to subscribe to, tattered parchments where she could write down the ideas that come to mind, and blurry images she's taken - derived from the camera she's received from Malfoy.

Despite their dispute and cold war, she couldn't bring herself to neglect the camera he had bought for her. It was one of the most pricey, newest brand as of late, one that she could never afford even with the amount of money she's saved up back at her old home.

Anyway, she has resorted to bringing along her camera to Feasts in the Great Hall, which she has stopped skipping, due to Ron's persistence and the latest squabble they had gotten into about Ron being unable to enjoy the scrumptious feast since he was stuck in the hospital while Betty was able to, but chose not to.

It finally ended with Betty giving in, out of guilt and pity for Ron's grim circumstances, and she had ended up promising the boy that she wouldn't miss a single dinner feast on his behalf - at least until he is discharged.

Dinner at the Great Hall was the only time Betty could get close to Dumbledore - close enough, at least, to capture a photograph of him that she could add it to her collection on the board.

With the disbandment of Malfoy and her alliance, she is able to fixate herself entirely on protecting Dumbledore and defying the orders placed on her by the Dark Wizards.

She spent days studying the photographs, until one day, she had discovered an odd piece of photograph she had taken, capturing a speck of Dumbledore's weakness.

Taking a closer look, she could see the vague tinge of blackness on his fingers against the orange light, drawing up almost to his palm.

It was unusual, but it was obvious, too, that Dumbledore was trying to conceal it from the students. In most photographs she had of him, his fingers were always shielded behind his back or placed in the pockets of his long cloak.

The darkness in his fingers seemed to be eating him up from inside, like a poison slowly placing its effects on the old man.

No wonder he had been more withdrawn, reticent this past year. He barely stepped out of his office, unless it was during dinners which sometimes, he wouldn't even attend either. He was starting to look more frail and ill as months went by.

Other students were completely oblivious to this. Even Harry, who had the most contact with the potent Headmaster - or maybe he knew but never bothered telling his friends.

Betty suspects that the root of this affliction was a poison that slowly spreads through the man's body, killing him in front of everyone's naive eyes.

She also had a clue who might be the culprit of this.

There was only a pair of professors in this school who were professionals at Potions, and certainly knew a thing or two about brewing malignant potions.

First, there was Slughorn. The new professor who was simply too heedless and hearty to comprehend such things, much less commit them. He was a close friend to Dumbledore, too, so it was mostly impossible he would be the cause for Dumbledore's gradual demise.