Disclaimer: This universe and the characters within it are not my own. They belong to Warner Bros. Entertainment, J.K. Rowling, and all other not aforementioned respective owners. This is a work of fanfiction that no one will be profiting off of. No copyright infringement is intended.
Guilt Long Maintained is a Ghost's Greatest Pain
"They were right. You are, by far, the prettiest ghost I've ever seen. Your eyes... you'd expect them to be hollow, but they're deep, and bright. They sparkle with intelligence. It is no wonder that you're the Ravenclaw ghost. You certainly seem like a Ravenclaw. Proud, solumn... Were you awlays this way?"
"Flattery will get you no where," she told him, her tone distant, though the sudden shift in the opaqueness of her cheeks told otherwise.
"You're right... it hasn't gotten me to where I'd like it to. You see... no, I shouldn't say it..."
Curiosity could be a fault.
"Don't worry, I will not speak of it to a living soul." The young mans face seemed to soften at this. "You have my word."
"Have you ever... have you ever wanted something? Wanted a sort of, a sort of power? Wanted it so bad, you would do anything for it... hurt anyone for it... No, I, I don't suppose you have. What I strive for-- I'm alone in my suffering... I'm sure of it..."
"Do not be so sure."
A silence. Then she spoke again.
"You said, before, 'they were right.' Who are 'they?' Friends of yours?"
"No. I have no friends. No one... No one understands me. I simply have people who I know. Who are fond of me. People who are useful, who I can depend on. I have yet to meet an equal."
Do not be so sure. This time it was not spoken aloud, instead it hung in the air.
"You are looking for information on the diadem of Ravenclaw. Deny you this?"
"No. I do not hide my intentions. You are clearly much too smart for such a juvenile attempt at deceit."
"I really should not tell you."
"But we both know that you're about to."
Again, silence.
"Did 'they' call me 'the Gray Lady.'"
"Yes. I assume you did not always go by such a name, as you were, I again assume, not always gray, just as you were, I assume, not always transparent."
"You are correct. By life I was known as Helena Ravenclaw."
Silence.
"Why are you not surprised? Had you assumed this, too?"
"No, but it's a rather fitting name, is it not? You are smart, therefore your last name is that of a witch known for her cleverness."
"My first name?"
"That, too, is fitting. Helena. You have heard of the battle of Troy, and how it was fought, supposedly, over the most beautiful woman alive. Her name was very close to your own."
"I am hardly the most beautiful woman alive."
"No, you hardly are. You are, however, most certainly the most beautiful witch who isn't."
"Touche. You possess a sharp tongue, and yet your features are so soft."
His warm, gentle brown eyes.
"And yet you claim that I am the one who flatters."
"I maintain that claim. Anyway, I do understand."
"Do you?"
"I do. My last name is not Ravenclaw by coincidence. My mother's name was Rowena. My father's name was Dymirian...
"Pallius Osvulnero!"
"Declivox! Congelo Universus!"
A woman with deep blue eyes and faded blond hair fell to the floor. Her chest did not heave up and down. Her heart did not beat. No thoughts occurred. And yet her attacker knew she was not dead. Not physically.
Not a word was spoken. Sound could not be heard from outside the room, do to a spell previously cast, but if one were inside the room they would hear the gentle pat of flat shoes. The swishing of a cloak. The rustle of that faded blond hair as a glittering tiara was removed from where it had so long been seated. It came to rest on a new head, and this action, too, made a soft sound. One would not be able to hear the triumph, but it, too, was there.
After a moment, there was the sound of wood colliding gently with something more metallic.
"...then I changed it from a diadem to a common, unremarkable hat."
"Did you go through the castle as you left? Did anyone take notice?"
"No, I do not think they did. It was far from unusual for me to take midnight strolls."
"But she did wake up?"
"Oh, yes. After a day or two she was perfectly conscious."
"Could she remember what you'd done?"
"Naturally. I do not know, however, if she saw me change it, or if she saw anything while she was indisposed. The Congelius spell was something she had, herself, discovered, and I had never had it used on me."
"Did she look for you?"
"Not for some time. But I did go into hiding..."
Footsteps could be heard, their presence betrayed by the noise made by crushed leaves.
"Helena?"
There was no answer.
"Fillyne Deprehensio."
A nearby twig shook for a moment, then it's features altered until it could no longer be called a twig.
A witch then stood, before a wizard.
"Your mother has fallen ill."
"Make no mistake, I do not have a cure."
"The bed she is confined to is one that she will assuredly die in."
"That is a shame. Still, this is something that I am unable to change. Why have you so saught me? I will forever decline your request."
"I have a new request, and it is hardly my own. You mother begs that you come with me to see her. One last time. I am not here on my own accord."
"I thought you already understood that I would sooner die than go anywhere with you."
A moment passed. No expressions changed. And then something snapped. For the first time since the witch has entered the forest, it was not a twig.
A look of horror crossed the witch's face as it dawned on her that the wizard had taken her words to heart.
And then her heart, like his had long been, was broken. Penetrated by something cold, though she could not feel it. She could not feel anything, only fear. Fear of death.
This time a look of horror crossed the wizard's face, as it dawned on him that she had taken his sword to heart.
And then his heart, not for the first time, was broken. Penetrated by something warm with blood, and he supposed this though he could not feel it. The contents of her heart were in his. It was not as the wizard had wanted it to be. He no longer felt with his senses. His emotions took over entirely. One emotion in particular. Regret. He would give anything to return to the world and make things right. He did not deserve this easy escape. He deserved to suffer for as long as was possible.
"What an awful, awful man."
"Yes, truly awful. You can see why I would not ever have him."
"And the diadem? No one ever came looking for you both and found it?"
"Our bodies were never found, and as far as I am aware, neither was the diadem. It is still a weathered hat, in the whole of a tree."
Silence, charged with thought.
"You are going to look for it, are you not?"
"Yes, yes I am."
"We will speak again, will we not?"
"I truly hope we will, but I am not in a position to promise anything."
Silence.
"I trusted you with my name. In turn, tell me yours."
"I do not like my name."
"I have asked nothing of you thus far."
"Tom Marvolo Riddle."
"I had thought so."
"I'm sure you had."
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