So, in my head, Helena genuinely regretted her actions. Because I honestly don't know if it's possible to hate your mother unless she completely abused you or something. And I'm fairly sure Rowena wouldn't have abused Helena, and very sure that Godric wouldn't have allowed it if she did.

Word count: 1769

A dark-haired ghost paused just before the gates into Hogwarts, emotions swirling within her like the leaves in a storm. It was her pride — her godsforsaken pride — that had gotten her into this mess. Her pride that had gotten her killed.

Lips trembling, she looked up at the magnificent castle. One she had once called her home. Terror ripped through her. How would the remaining two Founders react to her return?

Desperately, she hoped her mother would forgive her. As she floated through the bars with a shudder (she wasn't yet used to the feeling of going through things), she wished she could fly up and to her mother's office window.

But she hadn't quite perfected floating more than two feet above the ground, and was slightly afraid of going so high. Drifting across the grounds, she couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for the relationships she'd torn apart.

Ironic, wasn't it? For years she had wanted nothing more than to sprout wings and fly away from her mother's shadow.

As she passed through the doors into the actual castle, the ghost automatically looked around. But to her surprise, there were no students milling about. Confused, she checked the window. No, it was still winter. And it wasn't yet night.

And so she continued on, floating through the corridors, completely bewildered. Where was everybody? The corridors were completely deserted. Nobody — living or dead — was present, not even that stupid dog that had taken a liking to the students a couple years ago.

Her hand pressed against the dark splotch hidden by her robes. The wound that had taken her life. Remembering what had happened after her death, she grinned savagely. He deserved it, she thought, He was a bloody fool for following me. Her stomach flipped slightly. Now he is literally a bloody fool. Stupid bloody baron. . . .

Three girls were sitting in a corridor, whispering among themselves. As she passed, the ghost noticed that they all had Slytherin's crest on their uniforms. They do not look very happy, she thought, frowning. But none of them looked up at her, and as she turned a corner, she heard sobs.

With an unpleasant lurch, she realized she was at her mother's office. Gingerly, she held one finger a centimeter from the door. She really didn't want to go through another door; she might throw up this time. But there was no way she'd be allowed to just float in.

"Lady!"

Was it possible to knock as a ghost? No, of course not, or she'd have brought the diadem for her mother. She wasn't solid.

"Lady in The grey!"

Realizing that, because she was a ghost, she was wearing grey, she turned. "What?" she asked scathingly. Can you not see I am busy? she thought desperately, Can you not see I am panicking?

Her mother was likely to be furious over the loss of her diadem. That is all she ever cared about, she thought bitterly. Godric Gryffindor had died fighting a dragon sometime during the last year; she had heard about it through rumors (it had taken all of her willpower not to drop in for the funeral). Salazar Slytherin had disappeared a little bit before that. Nobody knew if he was alive or dead. But Helga Hufflepuff. . . .

A young boy glared at her, his lower lip quivering. "Why are you trying to get into L- Lady Rav- Ravenclaw's office?" His voice definitely trembled as he said her mother's name.

"Does it matter?" she asked loftily. Put up more walls, keep that mask on, guard your secrets, because there is nothing else you can do.

"If you want to ho- honor her, then go to the dormitory," he said, voice growing rougher. "Professor Hufflepuff has opened the dormitory so that any may enter."

Do you not know who I am? she thought. But, no, he was too small. He was only a first year. She had left before then.

"Well?" he demanded, voice rising.

The office door swung open, and the ghost leaped back, not wanting to get caught inside of it. That would undoubtedly be uncomfortable. But despite being hidden from her, she knew the voice very well. "What do you want, Darien?"

The boy looked at the person in the doorway. "Nothing, Professor Hufflepuff! There was just this ghost that was trying to get in!"

"Every ghost in this castle knows that they cannot get into any of our offices simply by floating in." The door shifted slightly, and Helga Hufflepuff's face appeared. "Helena?" she whispered, shocked.

The ghost just gaped at her, equally stunned. What was she doing in her mother's office? Helga's normally rosy cheeks were sallow, her round face gaunt. Her ginger hair was streaked with white, and the lines around her eyes and lips were deeper and more pronounced. Even her sky-blue eyes had lost some of their sparkle.

Suddenly, Helga rounded on the boy. "Go back to your dormitory! Now!"

The venom in her voice shocked Helena even more. This couldn't be the sweet, gentle Helga. This wasn't the kindness Hufflepuff was known for. The boy, equally terrified by her ferocity, raced off.

"Get in," Helga ordered tightly.

Slightly frightened, Helena hastened to obey, drifting into her mother's study. It was almost exactly as she remembered it, papers scattered everywhere, every surface crammed with books and scrolls, ingredients for potions carefully kept away from any sort of paper.

Helga glared at the ghost, her pale skin flushing. "Where were you?" she hissed.

Helena stared at her. It had been her mother's wrath she'd expected, Helga's protection she'd been sure of. But she felt the familiar stirrings of resentment and anger within her. "Getting killed!" she retorted.

The blue-eyed woman turned away. Were those tears in her eyes? "Why did you not come back?"

"Come back?" Helena hissed, her fingers curling into fists, "Come back? After living in your shadows my whole life? I had people there who actually liked me for who I was!"

"We are your family!"

"They did not care that I was Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter!" the ghost spat, her anger rising, "They respected my powers because I was strong in my own right! I did not have anything to live up to! Why should I choose to live in my mother's shadow, when I can create my own legacy?"

Helga's lips were trembling, and now she was most definitely crying, tears running down her cheeks. "I value loyalty," she whispered, voice breaking, "And you betrayed us, Helena. Your mother most of all."

The dark-haired ghost let out a disbelieving snort, turning away from the Founder in disgust to glare out the window into the darkening grounds. There were no students out. . . . Where were all the students?

"She asked for you to come back!" Helga's voice was strung with pain, and her entire body was trembling.

"She sent the Baron after me," Helena muttered sulkily, "All she wanted was her precious diadem." The word was laced with hate.

"What?"

"All she ever wanted was her precious diadem!" Helena exploded, turning away from the window to glare at the Founder, who was blinking in shock. "She only sent for me to get it back." Her voice quavered and softened. "I never meant anything to her. . . ."

Helga shook her head, confused. "What do you mean?"

Disbelieving, Helena examined her. "You are telling the truth. . . ? Mother never told you I stole the diadem?"

Helga shook her head again, eyes widening in horror. "Merlin have mercy. . . . You took the diadem?"

The anger had drained out of both witches, and Helena narrowed her dark eyes. "Yes," she said, almost defensively.

"You fool," the ginger-haired witch whispered, sinking into the chair that had been sitting by the desk, "Rowena kept you away from it for a reason. . . ."

Startled, Helena cocked her head. "I do not understand."

"It was dangerous, Helena! Dangerous! Do you not understand what it means, for it to give the wearer enhanced wisdom? Terrible things can happen if it fell into the wrong hands. . . ."

"But Mother—"

"She never wore it!" Helga was crying anew now, her shoulders shaking.

The younger witch's hands flew to her mouth. "I did not know. . . ." she whispered, suddenly horrified. Her head snapped up. "Where is Mother? I need to tell her where it is."

Helga's sobs increased. "Oh, Helena! You do not know. . . . Of course you do not. . . ."

Suddenly afraid, though she couldn't say why, Helena leaned closer to the living witch. "What is wrong?" When she got nothing but more tears, the witch hissed, plunging her deathly cold hand through Helga's to snap her out of it, "What happened to my mother?" she demanded. Because, after everything that had happened, underneath all the resentment, she still loved her. Of course she did; she was her mother.

Helga drew in great shuddering gasps. "Helena, Ro- Rowena sent th- the Baron a- after you b- because she w- wa- wanted to s- see y- you one l-last t- time."

Horror, pain, and grief crashed over Helena. "No." And suddenly, the absence of the students, the fact that Helga was in the wrong office, Darien's words, it all made sense.

"Sh- she fell i- ill," Helga stuttered, struggling to control her sobs.

"No!" Helena fell back with a wail, felt her own pearly tears cascading down her cheeks. And despite being dead, despite lacking a heart, she felt it break.

No. . . . Just one thought circled in her head, over and over. I ran away. . . . I never said goodbye. . . . I ran away. . . .

Her sobbing growing more violent, she shook her head, her raven locks flying around her shoulder. But I came back. . . . I came back, Mother!

Despair settled around her as a voice hissed in her ear. Too late.

"I am sorry," she whispered, blindly collapsing onto the floor, "Mother, I am sorry. . . . I never meant. . . . I never dreamt. . . . I was stupid and childish and bitter. . . . Mother, please, forgive me, please! I never meant you harm. . . . Please believe me. . . . Mother, you cannot leave me. . . . You cannot!"

Four words drifted through Hogwarts' walls. Four words that may or may not have existed, four words that shattered Helena's soul, four words that nobody else heard. Four words that were the complete opposite of everything her mother had ever been to her. Four words that were cold and unfeeling. You. Were. Too. Late.

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