𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 | 𝐝.𝐦.

thirty seven

Betty rushes to the caretaker's tiny office at the last hour of the day, bidding Luna farewell indignantly as the other girl returns to the dorm for rest.

Things have gotten better, she thinks.

With Neville, especially, since the last Transfiguration class. They were not so much as friends as acquaintances, but Betty could tolerate that if it meant that he was talking to her - they had to pick up their old, fractured friendship somewhere, and she had to regain his trust again.

The boy is still skeptical about which side Betty was on, still had the protective wall standing between them every time someone mentioned something about Death Eaters or Harry Potter. But he wasn't as spiteful as before, would even wave to her when she passes by, offer her the table next to him in classes.

Ginny, however, is an entirely different story. She hasn't made much progress like Neville, hasn't made much efforts to forgive Betty for what happened to her brother, Bill, still intent on the idea that Betty had been the cause for death eaters spewing the ground of Hogwarts.

The redhead does not scorn her two friends, though, for reconciling their friendships with Betty, hadn't mentioned it much as she was quite busy with reopening Dumbledore's Army, together with Neville.

Betty had heard about it, waited to no avail, for them to include her after her avid participation back in their fifth year.

Although, she couldn't say she was surprised that they hadn't mentioned it to her. She only hopes it would be a matter of time before she could return to her old life, return to the warm arms of her old friends.

The route to Filch's office is dark and forsaken, due to the caretaker's refusal to have his office close to the teachers and the students, instead wanting a desolated room to stay in which Dumbledore gladly granted.

She is nervous as she scurries to the office, nervous because she is gravely aware of who she will be meeting there, not because of the chore of shining trophies - that shouldn't be a problem.

She would have to face Draco, be trapped in a room with him for an entire hour - which she knows would feel like a nerve-wracking eternity.

"You're late," the caretaker points out, disgruntled as usual, when Betty barges into the room, is greeted by the musky smell of cat food and unwashed laundry.

Her eyes immediately fall on Draco who stands across Filch, hands glued into his pocket as always, and examining the numerous cat portraits of Mrs Norris that litter the patterned walls.

He is early, which spurts her surprise.

She doesn't recall seeing him at dinner earlier, eating delectably at the Great Hall, perhaps that is why.

"Just my luck to be stuck with this lucky bunch," Filch mumbles under his breath with a heavy sigh, which the pair don't think they should be hearing.

She feels Draco looking to her, imagines the amusement that wreathes with the suppressed smile he is probably wearing. The imagination is so lucid, she thinks she is staring right at him, but he is a far distance behind her.

"Alright, come along. We haven't got much time left before your curfews end."

Filch staggers forward, stalking past Betty as he swings the door to his office open while the old, unfriendly cat trails behind.

Betty does the same, dragging her feet unwillingly as the janitor leads them to the trophy room, removes a key from his tattered coat and sticks it into the doorknob.

The lights flicker on immediately, dust pours over their heads and mist creeps onto the glass of the cabinets, fogging up the trophies inside as a cold draft blows past them.