Religious Education, task 2: Write about spending time with a ghost
Word Count: 987
It takes several moments for Helena to understand. Everything seems to blur within her mind, becoming little more than nonsensical flickers with no meaning. She remembers the baron Septimus, the knife, the screaming, the pain, and then…
She lifts her hand to smooth it over her hair, only to realize how light and airy it feels; it's almost like it isn't really there. Her eyes flicker, and she screams. In her years, she has seen her share of ghosts; their wispy forms are unmistakable. Her arm is translucent and reminiscent of smoke.
"Oh."
The pieces fit together now. After the scoundrel had stabbed her, the darkness hadn't lasted long. She remembers the light, the impossible whiteness, the choice. In the end, she could not bring herself to take that leap of faith. Despite her thirst for knowledge, Helena had opted to not learn what waits on the other side of death.
Only now does she truly pay attention to her surroundings. It is clear that her soul hadn't stayed in Albania. She recognizes the familiar stone walls of Hogwarts castle, and a small smile plays at her lips. Even in death, she is drawn back to the castle that has served as her home for much of her life.
The smile quickly fades as she remembers why she had run off to Albania. According to her murderer, Helena's disappearance had broken her mother's heart. He had told her that the great and mighty Rowena Ravenclaw is at death's door, so sick from grief.
Is it possible for ghosts to still feel shame?
She drifts along, careful to keep out of sight of anyone who might recognize her. No one knows of her death yet, and she would like to keep it that way as long as possible.
Helena doesn't really think about a destination. She wanders along until she reaches her mother's chamber. Helena remembers playing here as a child. It had given her such joy to run through corridors, laughing and searching for the cure to boredom. Now, she feels something different, something she cannot quite name.
She could turn away and hide. No one has to know her spirit has returned.
Helena shakes her head. Her life had been riddled with regrets in the end. Perhaps this is her chance for absolution.
She takes a deep breathe–a nervous habit left over from life, for there are no lungs in this form, and it does her no good–and passes through her mother's door.
Septimus had been telling the truth. Helena had suspected he had been lying, desperately trying to trick her and force her back to the castle against her will.
Her mother looks nothing like Helena remembers. Rowena has always been so elegant and strong with her dark hair and fierce eyes. Now, bedridden, she is just a shell of that. Her pale skin has taken on a sickly sort of pallor and become so paper-thin that Helena fears the soft touch might break her; her bones are visible beneath the skin. Is it truly a broken heart? Can something so simple truly manifest itself so horribly?
"I should have brought you flowers." She moves closer. "I wonder if I could even pick them now."
Her mother's eyes open, and she groans. "H-Helena?" She sits up, wincing visibly with the effort; her frail body is too weak, and she collapses. "I knew Septimus would bring you back safely."
"Oh, Mother." Helena stands by the woman's bed. "The world is cruel."
Her mother seems to truly see her now. An agonized cry escapes her lips before turning into a violent cough. "My baby," she says, her voice weak and breaking. "What has happened to you?"
"I spurned his proposal," Helena answers. "He was not happy with that."
She doesn't go into detail. Her mother is so close to death, and if Helena can spare even an ounce of pain, she will.
"Please do not cry. There is no shame in dying for nothing," Helena adds. "That's why most people die."
Silence hangs between them. Helena wonders if she shouldn't have come. Her presence must be a shock that does more harm than good. Still, she cannot bring herself to leave the chamber yet. Her mother doesn't have much time left. The least Helena can do is make sure she does not die alone.
"I always thought you would outlive me," her mother says quietly. "You should have taken my place at the school, carry on the Ravenclaw legacy."
"I'm sorry, Mother."
Her mother's thin, cracked lips pull into a faint smile. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I always wanted too much from you." She closes her eyes.
The silence falls again. Helena drifts through the room, restless. Moving as a ghost feels strange, and she doesn't get any satisfaction from it; it's just a way to pass the time.
"Helena!"
Her mother's sudden cry draws Helena out of her thoughts. Helena rushes back. If she still had one, she might say her heart breaks at the sight of her mother twisting this way and that, wailing with pain.
"Don't leave," her mother pleads, reaching desperately for Helena. "Stay with me."
"I will. I promise." It's an easy promise to make because she knows her mother doesn't have long left.
She stands vigilant at her mother's bedside, helpless as the older woman coughs and convulses. It feels like years passes before the light leaves her mother's eyes.
Helena waits.
And waits.
And waits.
Her mother knows she is here. She'll return for Helena, and they will spend an eternity together, making up for lost time. Helena will finally be able to forgive herself, and they will carry the Ravenclaw legacy together, imparting their wisdom upon generation after generation.
But her mother never returns. Eventually Helena realizes there's no use waiting anymore. Defeated and more alone than ever, she hangs her head and wanders the corridors.