XLV
Rowena stirred stiffly, and her lovely dark eyes found Helga's face. "Where…is…Helena?" she asked. She had taken to fazing in and out of lucidity; this was a clear moment.
"She is on her way," Helga said, flicking her wand to cool the cloth on Rowena's forehead.
Rowena sighed painfully. "Do you…know…why…I called her…Helena?" she asked, struggling for breath.
"No," Helga whispered.
"Because…of you," Rowena rasped. "She has…part of…my name—the end…so that she might…be wise…but the first…part is…yours…so that she might…first…be good."
Helga burst into tears. Rowena reached up weakly to touch Helga's face, and smiled.
"Wake…me…when…when Helena…arrives…" she whispered.
XLVI
Her neck and back aching badly, Helga raised her head from where she had fallen asleep on Rowena's mattress. She drew her wand and flicked it, lighting the candles in the chamber. She leaned over Rowena.
"Rowena," she said softly. Rowena did not answer. "Oh, no, no," Helga said, feeling tears rise.
One might have thought Rowena simply slept. Her long, gray hair fell over her shoulder in a thick braid, and she wore her favorite, oldest dressing gown. But, even Helga's infinitely hopeful heart could not deny the cool pallor of the thin, lined face.
Rowena Ravenclaw was dead.
XLVII
Helga folded Rowena's hands across her chest, tucking her wand securely beneath them. Her lip quivered. For lying in state, she had dressed Rowena in her favorite blue gown, decorated with gold stars.
"Helga," said Godric urgently, from behind her. "Helga, look."
She turned. "What—?" Then she gasped, clasping a hand to her heart. "Helena."
"Where is my mother?" asked the tall, beautiful ghost, her eyes full of tears.
"She h-has already p-passed," Helga stammered, stepping aside.
With an anguished, terrible scream, Helena's ghost threw herself against the body, sobbing madly as she tried vainly to embrace her mother.