Surprise! I'm back! Yeah I said I was going to write something more plot-oriented but too bad, I guess?
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except, y'know, all of this writing.
Helena Ravenclaw knew what standing next to the spotlight meant. Her mother was the witch. Although Morgana LeFay was the most powerful witch of her age, Rowena Ravenclaw was the most famous, the most glamorous, the smartest, and the best. The Witch. She valued knowledge and imagination, creativity and intelligence. And everyone expected her daughter, who must be as bright as her, to walk in her steps and follow her great mother. Truth was, Helena had to beg the sorting hat to be put in Ravenclaw. The hat whispered about her ambition, and her cunning, but she resolutely refused. She heard exactly what her mother thought about Salazar's views, that although she was his friend his views were flawed, impractical and outright morally inept. So she begged, to prove that she was as smart as her mother, to prove she was at least a sliver of her worth. The Sorting Hat sighed in her mind, and told her that it would only end in pain.
And then the Sorting Hat shouted out Ravenclaw and she gracefully walked towards the table. Once she was sat down, only then did she look up at the front of the Hall. Her mother was clapping politely, smiling. No special treatment for her. Good.
But of course, only her mother treated like an actual student. Everyone else idolised her mother, and expected her to be exactly like her. So, when she did not have the aptitude for precise charms, wards and runes, or powerful transfigurations like her mother, their eyes of disapproval did not escape her notice. The one thing she definitely inherited from her mother (as well as her ruthless pride – not that she or Rowena would ever admit it) was her tendency to notice details. She was observant. Too observant.
But no one ever thought that maybe she was an eleven year old with a different skill set. No one ever complimented her on her expertise with magical creatures, or her knack of creating poisons. Well, except one. He was a distasteful boy, and later, a distasteful man. A sharp face with dull eyes, the older Slytherin would on occasion follow her around the castle. He was not aware that she was very aware of his presence, but she put up with it. Creepy, but avoidable. Her few friends thought it was cute. She thought it was a nuisance. He was an idiot who wouldn't notice if he got stabbed if it meant getting closer to her.
So maybe she resented her absent, distant mother. Maybe she hated that obsessive creep Slytherin. Maybe she was frustrated with her lack of a purpose. And maybe she wasn't sure if she wanted to surpass her mother, or be separated from her name, to etch out an identity of her own.
She hated her mother, hated the complimentary creep, hated her ignorant teachers, hated her friends, and hated herself for not being better than anyone, for not being anyone.
And then she saw it. Elegant and beautiful, much like her mother. A part of her whispered that it was much like her to. Only half finished, she could feel the magic on it, it prickled at her skin. She knew that magic well. It was her mothers. Only Rowena would make something so powerful and beautiful, a perfect reflection of her proud and wonderful nature. Helena rolled her eyes, but something, something in her wanted it like she had wanted nothing in her life before. If it was the embodiment of her mother, then it was the embodiment on how much greater her mother was than her. It itched at her skin, ground at her teeth and made her so inexplicably angry. But she never actually did anything. At least not for a while. She just seethed in her own envy and pride as her mother toiled on the diadem.
It was soon finished as Helena finished her schooling, now a fully grown woman. The Slytherin had stopped his advances, apparently some other poor woman had been betrothed to him, and it would not do to see him pine after another woman. She rolled her eyes as she heard the news, though she had a little pity for whatever woman was forced to marry that mongrel. The diadem was Ravenclaw's pride, her joy, and her power. And Helena just wallowed in her own filth of overpowering envy. But still, she did nothing.
Until she did. Her mother was out who knows where once more, and the diadem was just there. It had been residing in Hogwarts, but Rowena took it home once a year. She only ever wore it at special occasions, and never at her house. So Helena went on pure instinct. She took it. It was easy, no charms, no hexes. No one expected anyone to steal it, because it was so well guarded at Hogwarts, and no one ever visited their home. So there was nothing on the diadem itself. Helena knew her mother did not care about her daughter's troubles and problems; she was a mistake that Rowena had to bear. A burden.
So she took it and ran. Far, far away from their home in Scotland. She had heard of the deep forests of Albania, and decided to stay there as her mother found out until the panic had passes and she was forgotten entirely. Then, she would recreate herself with her mother's diadem in hand to become greater than her mother.
Only, things didn't work out that way.
For as observant as Helena was, she didn't realise that not only did Rowena care for her daughter, she was acutely aware of her problems. Namely, a certain Slytherin. By the time she heard his blunderings in the forest, she knew her mistake. She had underestimated her mother's desperation to get the diadem back.
(Part of her hoped it was her she was looking for, not the priceless jewel in her possession. She would never know)
But she was a Ravenclaw, and she would not be caught by that pestering worm of a man. He called for her, shouting lies of forgiveness that would never come. If she went back, she would face the shame of being caught, of being envious and proud. No, she would not yield. Still blustering and obsessive, he meandered through the forest, his loud professions of love getter louder. She knew she was caught, and she found a large tree with a hollow. Stuffing the diadem in, she ran.
But then he found her, and her feelings of hatred towards the man bubbled and boiled. She yelled, and screamed insults at the man. Delusional and enraged, he reached out a knife, leering over her as she was backed up against a tree, her energy spent by petty insults.
And then it was all over for her. That man that had followed her since she was twelve killed her. But she couldn't move on. She was too angry. At herself for getting caught, angry at her mother for being so great, angry at the man who killed her.
Helena Ravenclaw knew what standing next to the spotlight meant. But she was dead now, and every time she closed her eyes she saw her mother's disapproving gaze. She was faced with her killer every day, and the colours and insignia of her mother more often than that. She aimlessly roamed the castle walls, wound on her stomach and emptiness on her chest. Her pride had killed her. So she stayed away from the spotlight, only interacting with the members of her house, helping if she could. After all, she had an eternity to atone for her sins.
Done! I wasn't really happy with the ending, but that's okay.
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Whovian and Proud