It was the early morning of September 1, with the sky cloudless and a bright sun shining down at the castle. It was a morning that would make all witches and wizards stop by their windows for a minute and adore the ability of Nature to be able to fit in complexity and simplicity, together, and yet make the collision of these two worlds look so beautiful before, alas, losing themselves in the hustle and bustle of today's world.
"Such a beautiful work of God, isn't it, Helena?"
Her mother's voice brought Helena back to her senses. Helena had (absent-mindedly) been staring at her mother's diadem which was sitting proudly its cushion on the bed-side table.
"Er...yes. Mother," she began, "I have heard that your diadem gives true knowledge. Is it so?"
Helena felt nervous…her mother might become suspicious. Contrary to this, however, her mother merely chuckled, and then, came and kneeled in front of Helena, took her hand, and with the air of somebody teaching a child 'A' for Alohomora, said, "Sweetheart, true knowledge cannot be found anywhere. Anywhere but inside oneself. Keep that in your mind, dear, and you'll do just fine."
A kind smile curled on the face that Helena despised so much.
+++
"And why do you want a Thestral?" Baron asked.
"That's classified, I'm afraid," Helena replied silkily.
Helena had enough sense (even without her mother's diadem) to make out that she would need to leave the castle after she stole the diadem from her mother's dressing table: which she planned to do that very afternoon. Which she would to that very afternoon.
"I need it by five in the evening." she said, and then seeing that Baron wasn't convinced, continued, "I know they are being readied to bring in the students, but it is very important for me." She added a flirtatious smile to go with this.
"But dear, you'll miss the feast, what could be more important than that?"
"There are many more things important than sitting down and pigging down food with a bunch of morons you've never even seen," said Helena, miffed.
She absent-mindedly ran her hand through her hair, imagining an exquisite piece of jewellery that so many prized, that signified sovereignty and, adding to herself avariciously, all the knowledge of the world. She'd better get over with Baron.
"I have to go somewhere; will you be able to get one for me?"
"Don't tell me then…come at half past four nigh the lake and you'll find your ride," Baron finally agreed, but sounding as though he was committed to do so.
"Farewell, then," said Helena, and made for the staircase leading down to the basement, vaguely wondering of nicking some food, but largely lost in the ecstasy of the dreamt and planned glory of achieving her most cherished desire. She went down to the staircase, leaving a very morose-looking Baron at the end of the corridor.
She cast a glance over her bed again. It was immaculate. Nobody could make out that somebody had slept in it the night before . Her room was likewise, spotless like the HR suite, (named after her) at the Leaky Cauldron. She would be leaving in some time for Albania; she wouldn't have frilly perfumed beds like this there. But that wouldn't matter. She would be the smartest witch in the history of the Wizarding world, (quite literally) stealing the crown from her mother. People would worship her, ask for her blessings—and she, being the kind-hearted person she is, would oblige.
Yes. The good days were coming.
Taking a shufti one last time, Helena turned to look at her mother's bedroom, which was joint to hers, making the combined result's shape slightly like a peanut's. Her mother's half was somehow cozier, richer in colours and warming than hers. The mullioned windows across the walls allowed the sunrays to form a net over her mother's part of the room; over the dressing table; over the diadem that sat over it, its jewels glistening, a sort of sensation of pride, radiating from it and tempting Helena more than ever.
She tensed. Could she do it?
'Of course I can!' Helena thought, shook her head, went over the table, and delicately picked the adored diadem up. For a moment she thought it might blast, ring off an alarm, or anything dramatic might happen, but it remained still. She held it up, letting the sunlight fall over it, savouring the moment, and then lovingly held it close to her chest and murmured, "You are mine."
And suddenly it was over.
After casting her trunk to leave for her destination, hiding the diadem in the folds of her cloak, as she made her way to the lake, Helena had never felt better. Her mother, who would currently be with Aunt Helga (or idiot Helga, as she preferred personally) would never even realize that her diadem—my diadem, she thought, with fierce pride rushing into her body —had been stolen by her daughter herself. Maybe she would, but Helena couldn't care less.
Reaching the side of her lake, she found her Thestral waiting. She'd always found them fascinating. Helena stroked its black mane for a moment, and then gracefully heaved herself onto its silken back. She lodged her knees behind its wing joints, patted it, and said, "Albania, mate."
For a moment the Thestral stared at her, and then with a sweeping moment, its wings on either side extended, and rocketed upwards extremely fast, yet thrillingly. By the time Helena turned around to look at the castle of Hogwarts one last time, it was already shrinking. Sighing, Helena turned around, and as they soared out into the magnificent sundown, she was certain that this was the taste of victory.
