Written for Auction - Character: Helena Ravenclaw; word count: 1661 words
(It said she never fell in love - but what if she didn't know it?)
Hovering just above the bright lights in the Ravenclaw Common Room, Helena Ravenclaw peers down at the newest members of her house. As always, they seem so small – she's certain she had never been so tiny. Although, she supposes, she had once been eleven too. All small and spindly, curious beyond words and wanting to know more than she ever would be able to. Such worship of knowledge had been, of course, cultivated by her mother and her own hero worship of her. And how could Helena not worship her mother? She had been an amazing witch, one of the best.
Nowadays, Helena wonders what life may have been like if she hadn't been so caught up in books, in pursuit of knowledge, in trying to be exactly like her mother to the point where she isolated herself from her peers – and her own family.
With a silent sight, Helena rises, turning away from the Ravenclaw Tower and towards the Grand Hall where the other ghosts most certainly gather. It's a yearly ritual – after seeing their newest students and their returning ones, to meet up for one reason or another.
As is the norm, Helena is there first, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington arriving shortly after her. "My dear Helena, how goes it all?" He asks in a loud voice, a tilt of his head as if acknowledging her position in a society that no longer exists.
Helena offers a small smile back, barely a curl of lips, but it makes Nicholas grin. "It has been an easy night so far," she replies, considering the new first years. "I suspect there will be few, if no, problems for the Prefects and current Head of House in Ravenclaw. How go the Gryffindors?"
"As ever, they will face the night with strength," Nicholas chuckles. "But, between you and me, I do suspect that my Head of House will be remarkably short-tempered if she does not get her morning tea tomorrow."
Helena likes Minerva McGonagall, and would be willing to bet the woman could have been one of her Ravenclaws, so she smiles and nods, and says, "Good luck to her, this evening then."
"Indeed," Nicholas says, words a bare echo of what could be. Glancing around, Nicholas leans closer, a glimmer of amusement overtaking his face. "I do suspect that our dear friends will take their time getting here, we are – as ever – far too early. Perhaps a stroll around the castle? Hogwarts is beautiful at night, you must admit."
Helena considers it. Nicholas is right in that the Far Friar and Blood Baron are usually late, arriving closer to midnight than any other time. Last time, Nicholas and her had been forced to wait for three hours, struggling between topics and conversations until the others arrive. Not that Helena minded too much, of course. Nicholas is bearable, when he doesn't go on about the unfortunate circumstance of his head – much better than the Baron, in any case, who always comes minutes after the Friar. Helena is fairly certain such a thing had been calculated on the Baron's behalf. Conversation between them has been stilted for centuries on end, and the Friar managed to soothe things over in a way that Nicholas could not.
"It is," Helena admits, allowing herself to be drawn into the conversation. "A stroll sounds like a marvellous idea." Nicholas offers her his arm, and she takes it. "Where do we go?"
"The Black Lake, I thought," Nicholas says, leading the way. Rather than cutting through the walls, he leads them through many of Hogwarts' silent and dark halls. "I do find it unfortunate that Hogwarts numbers have suffered in recent decades. I remember when there were student populations above a thousand. I could barely get anywhere unless I went over people's heads, since going through them feels rather awkward."
"Better times, that's for sure," Helena replies. "Hogwarts has fallen from her grandeur, somewhat. I can't imagine any of the Founders would have been overjoyed by this. Salazar, at the very least, would be quite upset."
Nicholas inclines his head. "Salazar would throw a fit," he agrees. "And I'd imagine Helga would as well in regards to the many social changes that have caused… unwanted development in society. Then again, none of them could have predicted the evolution of the human race."
"Why, Nicholas, that sounds like a phrase stolen from one of mine," Helena says, partially delighted. Nicholas has always striven to make himself more educated to provide better conversation with anyone – especially the newest students. "But yes, you would be right. Helga would certainly enjoy duelling many of the governing officials of today's world. You know full well, though, Godric would be right behind her. My mother… Well, I'm certain she'd have half a dozen plans to implement and be sharing them with the others the moment she thought of them."
Nicholas chuckles. "Too true," he agrees as they float gently through a pane of stained glass. Beneath them, the Black Lake glistens in the moonlight, offering a perfect reflection of the night sky – stars, ghosts, and the moon. It really is a beautiful night. "Splendid view," Nicholas says, words echoing Helena's own thoughts. "The lack of wind certainly makes the Black Lake a mirror."
"Certainly," Helena agrees, finding herself suddenly wanting to run fingers through the water and feel it. She shifts, rising in the air. It is foolish to have such desires when she is incorporeal. Alongside her, Nicholas gains height as well, understanding flashing across his face. They are both ghosts, and so stuck here. Helena can never forget that, but she doesn't regret the company she has.
"Did you wish to speak to me about something?" She asks as they start walking around the edge of the Black Lake. "Not that I don't enjoy your company, but you seem… uncertain, almost. Of course, only if you were capable of such a thing."
"Bravery, my dear Helena, is not constant," Nicholas replies gravely, "enough of my house's key attribute, though. You were right – I do have something I wish to discuss with you. You must agree to wait and hear me out, though."
Something serious then, Helena predicts. "I will," she agrees without prompting, but finds herself hesitating as Nicholas fixes her with a steady and stern gaze.
"I mean it Helena, I do not wish to have you run from this… Hear me out, if nothing else. I will not say a word of it to anyone or anything, even if something comes from this," Nicholas says.
Helena meets his eyes, and swallows. She runs from many things – from her mother, from consequences, from her mistakes, but she will not run from this. "I will listen to what you say," she agrees, because Nicholas has never harmed her on purpose. They have had their arguments, as all friends do, but they have never severed their friendship due to such things.
"I was walking around through the Gryffindor Tower sometime last year, when I came across an intriguing conversation. We have spoken, briefly, of romantic inclinations. Or, well, I spoke at some length and you passed over your own feelings and lack thereof. I'm sure you remember. Nonetheless, we know there are a variety of different sexuality and romantic designations, the wizarding world is knowledgeable and accepting of such small concepts. But someone mentioned the terms 'aromantic' and 'asexual'. Have you heard of such terms?"
Helena shakes her head, silent heart caught in her throat. She trusts Nicholas, he holds to his vows and promises if nothing else. She had spoken to him about her confusion of her love life she had been alive – her lack of one, to be exact. Her perplexity at not quite understanding the infatuation people held for one another – including the Baron's own perception of her. She knows enough to be wary of it, to be uneasy about it, to distrust it, but not anything else.
Pulling herself together, she straightens her spin and reminds herself that she is not an eleven-year-old. "I have not heard of such terms," she tells Nicholas, and berates herself for her falter in composure.
"I do believe such terms are relatively new to the English language, you know how much it changes," Nicholas continues conversationally. "But, one of my students explained it quite well, succinctly; I doubt I will be capable of doing the same, but I will try my best. Asexuality refers to a lack of sexual desire or attraction. Aromantic refers to a person who doesn't experience romantic attraction. Such sexuality and romantic inclinations are on a spectrum, and are individualistic in nature, but… Well. Not feeling romantic love isn't abnormal or any such thing. It's uncommon, but many things are."
"Aromantic," Helena says, testing the word on her tongue. "Asexuality." She considers the terms. They don't sound like anything she's heard, but the meanings are easy enough to understand. The words centre themselves in her mind, and they don't form part of her identity nor does she immediately connect with them or think they're right but—
It's a start, and it eases something within her. Maybe the terms are right for her and maybe they're not, but she knows she isn't alone.
"Thank you," Helena finally says, the word breathy with emotion, caught up and tangled in the significance that she can't quite dictate.
Nicholas has a pleased expression on her face and whirls her around, falling into dance moves as easily as she does. She can't quite find it within herself to be displeased with Nicholas' dancing, although she often is when he drags her into a dance randomly and without prior warning. "I'm happy for you," he says, smiling.
Laughing, Helena spins Nicholas around and they twirl and glide above the Black Lake, the stars glittering above them and below them. She cannot bring herself to regret the evening and their conversations; she has no doubt she never will.