Summary: "No one can defeat death, little Helena. Not the bravest wizard in the world, not the cleverest witch in the universe. All we can do is live, and I have not done that that for a very long time, child, a very ling time…"

Helga Hufflepuff is dying, and only one witch can save her. But will she be able to make it in time?

Author's Rant: This is the final installment in my Founders Four series, a last one shot revolving around Helga even if told through Helena's prospective. It somehow seemed fitting that her own story not be told through her seeing as she never did have much to say all her life (at least the way I see it). Again, my view of the diadem story is different from canon and if you have any questions/comments/concerns regarding it please drop me a PM or a review and I would be happy to discuss it with you.

To those who wonder if Godric really did what you think he did, the answer is – yes, sadly he did.

And lastly, I do not own the founders – Rowling does. I do however own this series and am quite proud of these little one shots. If you have read them all so far, I thank you. If you're only reading this one, its okay, you don't need to really know the events of the other fics to catch up.

The Price of Peace

Sleep, little Helena. It's our sweet escape, lucky are those who can sleep, blessed are the eyelids that can close as the heads rests upon the pillow. It's not a privilege given to all so we should appreciate it while it lasts. Sleep, Helena, sleep.

These were Helena Ravenclaw's earliest memories of her aunt Helga. She wasn't sure how old she was when her aunt had told this to her, or if her aunt had just kept repeating it every night until she was old enough to understand them. She was also privy to the fact that her aunt had trouble sleeping, and refused any help her mother or anyone else offered on the subject. Though her aunt had never said it, Helena always felt her aunt thought herself unworthy of falling asleep, of peace.

And now, Aunt Helga was dying. There was no point in denying it anymore. The Healers had said it was out of their hands, Uncle Godric wore a grave expression these days no matter where he went, and even her mother couldn't do anything.

Or wouldn't do anything…

It could be a mistake; her mother probably just hadn't thought of that. She might be intelligent, nearly omnipresent, but not God. Didn't Aunt Helga say something about mistakes when Helena was but a little girl?

Everyone makes mistakes child, some are accidental, others happen because there isn't another option. But the worst mistake of all is watching others do it, and do nothing to stop them. Because you aren't brave enough, strong enough. You would rather watch your family be torn apart than voice out an objection…

"I'm brave, dearest Aunt. I won't stand by and let you die; I will do whatever it takes to keep my family here, to keep you here."

Helena crept closer to her mother's chambers, trying to be as silent as Ra'k, the raven her mother loved more than anyone else in the world. Fear and expectation gripped her insides as she inched her way to the stone door, not even daring to breathe in case her mother was on the other side, seeing right through her with the coal black eyes they shared, the silent shadow of the raven always on her left shoulder.

She wondered if what she was about to do was brave or foolish. But in the end, she knew it mattered not. If being absurd would save the only women who had ever come close to being a mother to her, then she would forgo courage every time.

"Don't say that child; she is your mother after all."

"No she isn't, aunty. How can that piece of stone be a mother to anyone?"

"Beloved, she is just as aggrieved as you are, inside. She has learned to hide it. She even fools herself these days, but she cannot fool me or you if you look closely enough"

Helena had not understood then what her Aunt had been trying to say, and nor did she give the matter much thought now. She didn't care if her mother was sad or not. The important thing was that Aunt Helga didn't have much time. Steadying her shaking fingers, she pulled out her wand and undid the wards to her mother's sleeping quarters.

The circular stone room was lit by dull moonlight, illuminating her mother's modest belongings in a pale silvery glow. The chamber – Helena noted thankfully – was devoid of her mother's sleeping form. Her mother was probably deep in the forest surrounding the school or at the bottom of the lake, studying some rare and far off creature only she knew existed. Her mother had always put research above family, and for the first time, Helena was thankful for it.

The witch searched slowly and methodically, not even letting the most apparent of places go unsearched. She was well aware that her mind would never be up to par with her mother's, but as the great Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter, she was privy to certain information.

"Cleverness is not everything, little Helena. Believe me, there are much worse things you can be then not of sharp wit. You could have a coward's heart, silent regret, a lost brother…"

"But Aunt Helga, you don't have any brothers."

"I once did, dearest, a very ling time ago."

"What happened to him?"

"I wasn't strong enough to ask him to stay... or leave with him…"

Where can it be? She was sure her mother kept it close by. She wouldn't trust anyone to look after it for her. And, knowing her mother and her ingenious techniques at hiding, it would be right in front of everyone's eyes while eluding their mind at the same time. Cleverness might not be everything, but it did have its benefits, especially when one was about to steal from the most intelligent witch of her age.

The room was sparsely furnished. A comfortable bed, a dresser, a wardrobe and a desk of modest make, were all in the name of equipment. Decoration was equally sparse; the most elaborate display being a model of the galaxy etched on the ceiling, constantly moving – Helena had no doubt – to mimic the patterns of the universe. Her mother probably liked going to sleep with the thought that the universe couldn't keep a secret from her. Helena wouldn't put it past her.

She had already gone through the wardrobe and the other nooks and crannies but to no avail. Her mother didn't give up her secrets easily, but Helena had never been more determined that she was now to uncover one of them. She would not let Aunt Helga die, she would not!

"There's no hope for me now, Helena. It's too late. I've lived my life and death will be all too peaceful and easy for me. For it is my life that I regret, child. I can only wish that I had lived it better, lived it by my rules and not someone else's."

"It's not too late; I will not permit it to be", whispered the enraged girl, wiping furious tears from her check at the thought of the woman who had nursed her since her birth leaving this world forever.

Helena had had a father, she saw him in portraits and people said he was a great man. He had died before she was one and her mother had ignored her, probably busy with the funeral arrangements. Before Helena was three, Hogwarts had started gaining more popularity than ever before and her mother had neglected her in favour of the classes she had to teach and the teachers she had to hire. At Helena's fifth birthday, her mother had seen fit to be on some far off country who's name her little girl couldn't pronounce yet and managed to miss the event altogether. Before she was seven, she had learned that mother should not be disturbed under any circumstances, be it a bruised knee, missing tooth, or one of those games Uncle Godric liked to play that hurt a lot more. Aunt Helga was the one who always picked her up, charmed her knee clean, cried with her, and gave her as many sweets as she asked for.

Helena glanced desperately into the heavens etched on the stone ceiling above, praying for an answer. She knew it was in this very room; she could feel that much in her very heart. The only question remaining was exactly where.

The dull gold orb representing the sun was the only stationary star on the ceiling, all other planets orbited around it. It was no coincidence that Uncle Godric had chosen the sun's colours to represent his house. Who wouldn't want to be as majestic and incomparable as the brightest star in the sky? Helena wished fervently that she was in Gryffindor, she had begged her mother and Uncle Godric when she was eleven but both had declined, mostly due to her mother she long since suspected. Her mother did not like Uncle Godric and though the reason was never clear to Helena, she suspected it was because her mother was jealous of a man with less wit than her claiming more popularity than she could ever hope to attain in her life.

The Sun…

Godric Gryffindor….

The one man her mother actually despised… no, it couldn't be that obvious…

But, knowing her mother, it probably was…

Pulling her mother's straight, hard backed wooden chair from the desk to the middle of the room, Helena carefully climbed it and stood on the seat, her toes perilously close to the narrow edge of it. She reached upward with her wand and could just reach the very tip of it to the enchanted ceiling. She rose slightly on her tip toes, feeling the chair going just slightly off balance, and tapped her wand to the face of the dull golden sun. Even in the gathering moonlight, the star seemed to emit a tiny albeit steady glow of its own. Impossible to see from more than two feet away but still there, as ever-present as its huge replica somewhere in the night skies.

Sure enough, after seven taps, the smooth surface of stone slid aside, perfectly silent, and it came floating down; the answer to all her troubles. The device that will make sure Aunt Helga never has to die, that she could be healthy again. She might even be happy because of this.

Her mother's diadem.

Finger's trembling; Helena reached for the crown like a trophy hovering just out of reach. Helena was very well aware that if touched by a hand that didn't contain her mother's bloodline, the diadem would not only vanish and her mother would be alerted immediately, but her own personal health would be at great risk. But now, her mother's blood, something she had never truly wanted or appreciated before, came to her aid.

Holding the diadem carefully, as though it might break at any moment, she dropped lightly to the stone floor and pulling her cloak more closely about her, hiding her treasure. She exited the door as quietly as she had entered it.

"No one can defeat death, little Helena. Not the bravest wizard in the world, not the cleverest witch in the universe. All we can do is live, and I have not done that that for a very long time, child, a very ling time…"

You'll live again, Aunt Helga; I promise you that.