Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Cycle nor the Harry Potter series. The two series are owned, respectively, by Christopher Paolini and Joanne Rowling. I have just taken the liberty of playing with their works.

Slowly, And Then All At Once

Beta'ed by Byakko no Akuba

Chapter Twenty: A Girl Named Helichrysa

~ BWaC ~

Eragon was looking for Helena. It was some time past noon, and he hadn't seen her anywhere. Not even Carver, the boy who had followed them around the day before, could tell him her location. According to him, he had gone to her chambers that morning as he did every morning, but she had dismissed him, telling him that she wouldn't need him for the day. She hadn't given any other explanation.

According to what Eragon had overheard, Helena hadn't been idle. While she had spent a significant amount of time in the library, she had been seen and heard during the last month; she healed people in the medical clinic, she had befriended Ajihad's daughter, Nasuada, and she had taken a shining to the orphans, spending time each day to entertain them. The latter didn't surprise Eragon at all, as he still fondly remembered Helena slipping a handful of crowns to those homeless children in Teirm. Still, it begged the question of where in the world she was.

Eragon had begun his day with somewhat of a startle. He had been eating his oatmeal in one of the handful of dining halls in use (trying to do so without being bothered by the many people who shamelessly gawked at him), when Orik had run up to him and told that the dwarven monarch was expecting him. Eragon, of course, had known that he would need to speak with King Hrothgar, but he had been expecting a little more warning. As it was, he had abandoned his half-eaten bowl, wiped his mouth, and followed Orik down below the Nexus Hall (as Helena had dubbed the room below the Star Rose) to King Hrothgar's throne room.

King Hrothgar had been very curious about Eragon. That was to be expected, with Eragon being a Rider and all. Still, it had seemed like more, and when Eragon had carefully inquired about it after King Hrothgar had been satisfied with Eragon's answers, King Hrothgar had simply said that 'Lady Potter has made a good impression on the dwarven people. She implied that you were a good man.' He hadn't elaborated, and the audience was over before Eragon could ask about it.

Helena had indeed not been idle.

It was Eragon's third day there, and as many challenges as he had already faced since his arrival, it quickly became clear that without Helena, he would've been met with many more. Helena had fought a political battle for the last month, carving a space for the Dragon Riders alongside the Varden, but not part of it. She also seemed to have set some ground rules as to when and how they should be approached, so they wouldn't get swarmed by the mob.

That, however, had not stopped a woman from grabbing his foot when he had been about to mount Saphira after his visit with Angela, and demand that he bless a child. Now he was impressed by her boldness, but at the time he had been frightened. She had been more than intense. He would've denied her, but Ajihad's words had echoed in his mind as a small crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. So, he had blessed her in the Ancient Language – and then Saphira had done something even she couldn't explain and left a silver marking (not unlike the gedwëy ignasia) on the child's forehead.

To say that Helena hadn't been pleased would be putting it lightly. Somehow, she had managed to track him down a mere twenty minutes after the fact and had greeted him with a none-too-light slap to the back of his neck and a 'What in Morgana's name did you do!?'. After he had explained himself to her, she had gotten that tight look on her face that she got when there was nothing she could do. She had pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something along the lines of 'Only twenty-four hours in Tronjheim, and you're already stirring up trouble'. Eragon wouldn't lie; he had been affronted by that. He hadn't hesitated to defend himself and explained things to her. Her response had been less than pleased, but she had sighed heavily, telling there was nothing to do about it – but also told him not to bless anyone else.

Helena could be preachy, Eragon knew that. She was far from infallible, and while she had made things easier for him in the Varden, he didn't approve of everything she had done. She was abrasive and stubborn, and when some of the powers in the Varden had tried to get her to do things, she had brushed them off. Honestly, she was dangerous. It was outweighed by her pure heart – thank the gods – but that didn't mean she couldn't do harm without intention.

It was strange being together with Helena again. Strange, but a good change. He was so grateful that Saphira had gotten him out of his stupor after Brom's death because recalling how he had begun to blame Helena… He was in a dark place, and that blame had slowly been turning into animosity towards his fellow Rider. He hadn't lied to Helena when he had told her he didn't blame her anymore, but neither had he lied when he had said that it wasn't 'just like that'. He wouldn't be able to forget, and, even now, at times he got angry with Helena. And with himself. And Godric. Just the whole situation. It was iniquitous that Brom was dead, and Eragon would most likely carry an anger over that for a long while.

Arriving at the Varden, the thought hadn't crossed Eragon's mind that Helena might be there. He didn't believe he could be blamed for that oversight; the flight from Gil'ead with a dying elf strapped on Saphira and a horde of kull at his heels had overshadowed everything. That was why he had frozen as he had when he had spotted her outside of Ajihad's office. A thousand-and-one thoughts had rushed through his mind.

Then Helena had hugged him. Tightly.

That had been more than unexpected. Helena had never shied away from him and hadn't been afraid of taking him by the arm, or, more often, swatting him when he was 'being a prat' (he still had absolutely no idea what that word meant). But in these last days, she had hugged him more times (and even pecked him on the cheek that one time up in the Dragonhold) than she had in the entirety of their time together between Teirm and Dras-Leona. It was nice.

Maybe he was just imagining things. Eragon honestly didn't know. That Helena was something of an enigma wasn't news. He was just relieved to be reunited with her.

Thinking of Helena inevitably made him think of Arya. It was no secret that he had become slightly obsessed with the elf; but, come on, any person would be if they had literally been hunted in their dreams by her. Finding her battered and bruised, clear signs of torture on her broken body had been a major shock to his system, and as they had rescued and healed her, Eragon had felt a surge of protectiveness for her. Eragon had spent far too much time with the women of Carvahall and Helena to think that women were fragile, and he had kept in mind what Brom had told of the elven people, but he couldn't help but feel what he felt. Women might not be inherently fragile, but any person, man or woman, would be after going through what Arya had gone through. Eragon would hope that if Arya had been a man, that he would have felt just as protective. He couldn't say for sure, but he honestly hoped for it.

Getting Arya to the Varden in time had been a close call. Now that he knew that she was conscious, he almost couldn't wait to meet her face to face; he had communicated with her mind directly – and if it hadn't for his experiences with Helena's foreign mind, he would've been much more shocked at the time –, but he wanted to have an actual, verbal conversation with her, and he wanted to see with his own eyes that she was not going to die. He would never assume that she would be even remotely 'alright' after the ordeal at Gil'ead, but if she wasn't going to die, she would have a chance of becoming 'alright', and perhaps even 'good'.

Eragon chuckled out loud. Between Saphira, Helena, and Arya, it seemed that he was bound to have headstrong females in his life. And he was okay with that. Even more, he was sure it was making him a better person.

It was no wonder, then, that when he spent every waking – and unconscious – moment with Saphira, and couldn't talk to Arya, that Eragon wanted to spend time with his fellow Rider. Not that Helena necessarily came third. Helena came… Eragon wasn't sure where she placed. He just knew that she was important to him, and he wanted to be with her.

Yes, in more ways than just one.

Eragon had walked halfway around Tronjheim (or it felt like that) without spotting Helena, when he came across Orik.

"Eragon!" Orik greeted him heartily with a pat on the back that made Eragon stumble. "I heard good things about yer audience. Ye did well."

Eragon shot a wry smile to Orik. "I do believe Helena made it easier for me."

"Ye shouldn't sell yerself short, lad," Orik told him. "Lady Potter might've influenced my uncle's expectations some, but he judges ye for yer own worth."

"Many of your people seem to hold Helena in high regard," Eragon noted.

"Some do, aye," Orik confirmed, and even he had a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "Ye heard of how she arrived here?" Eragon nodded. "She chose to turn down a summon to the Varden to keep her word to the King. None too many humans have or would do that. While we are allied with the Varden, many thinks that the humans have gotten a tad too comfortable here in our capital. Lady Potter gave us a chance to remind them that this is our capital."

"There seems to be a lot of friction between the Varden and the dwarves."

"Don't ye worry, lad," Orik grinned at him and patted him on the arm. "While we might bicker a bit, the dwarves and the Varden are committed to seeing the end of the Black King."

That was a relief to hear.

"Have you seen Helena today?" Eragon then asked Orik. "Or perhaps know where her chambers are?"

Orik frowned. "Now that ye mention it, I haven't seen the lass about. Strange." The dwarf shook his head. "Lady Potter has chosen a room someway up Tronjheim. She lived in the Dragonhold for a while, but after the wee lad was assigned to her, she moved further down. I'm thinking she took pity on his legs. Come now, I'll show ye the way."

After having walked up a fair few stories on the Endless Staircase, Eragon didn't have to ask when they were nearing Helena's chambers. Despite being as far up Tronjheim as they were (which were still some stories below Angela's chambers), a crowd of people were filling up the hallway. Humans and dwarves were chattering and pointing. Making their way through the crowd, Eragon's confusion was replaced by surprise and shock.

"Barzul," Orik exclaimed. Eragon didn't blame him.

In place of the door to Helena's chambers was instead a giant painting, half again as tall as Eragon and standing near a dozen feet wide. That alone wasn't what was most surprising, however; the painting was alive.

It depicted four persons sitting around a round wooden table, two men and two women, all of them looking to be middle-aged. The man furthermost to the left was a muscular man with a lion-like mane of red hair and a beard to match, with a set of piercing green eyes that looked oddly familiar. Beside him on his left sat an indeed very beautiful yet austere-looking and slightly intimidating woman; she had midnight-black hair tied up in elaborate braids and eyes to match. Another woman sat beside her again but looking the opposite very much; this woman was round and plump, with curly cobber hair and striking blue eyes. Lastly, sitting on the left of the plump woman and across from the lion-like man was another man; he was thin and not-quite gaunt, bald with piercing brown eyes, and a long thin, greying beard that had once been brown. All of them wore robes the likes Helena had once shown him, and, when he looked, he could spot a wooden stick on each of them – wands. They were witches and wizards, Eragon surmised. Several strange objects, that Eragon couldn't identify for the world, were strewn upon the table, along with what Eragon believed was a deck of cards. This was further proven when each of the four persons was sitting with a few cards in their hands each.

Eragon let out a half-laugh. He was taking it leagues better than the people around him, half of which were cursing under their breaths, the other half was discussing who should approach the painting for divine favors. Orik, it seemed, was still undecided on what to think, but seemed to hold onto Eragon's not-quite unfazed reaction.

Don't get him wrong, Eragon was affected by being in front of a living painting. He was shocked. But he had travelled with Helena for months, and he had learned to take some of these things in stride. And it was probably a good thing he had learned to take such things in stride, because he was sure, as he travelled to Du Weldenvarden, that this wouldn't be the last time he saw things he didn't quite want to believe.

Approaching the painting, the people around him fell to a hush as they recognized him. The four people in the painting noticed too – they had been unbothered so far, seeming content with playing cards. They looked up at him – and wasn't that strange, being observed by four painted people?

"Ehm… hello?" Eragon greeted uncertainly.

The four people scrutinized him for a few more seconds. Then the stern-looking woman spoke up.

"Password?" she asked of him.

Eragon blinked. "What?"

"What is the password?" she repeated, seemingly annoyed at his confusion. She spoke in a thick accent not altogether unlike the ones the dwarves spoke in. Similar, though not the same.

"I, ehm… I don't have a password," Eragon told the painted lady, still confused.

The woman clicked with her tongue. "If you don't have the password, then you cannot pass."

He looked at the four painted persons in a stupor. It took a few moments to sink into his mind: he had just been turned away by a painting. In the back of his mind, he could feel Saphira roaring with laughter. He ignored her.

"But I know Helena!" Eragon exclaimed after a moment. "I'm also a Dragon Rider."

"No password, no entrance," the woman told him in a no-nonsense voice.

"Hah," the lion-man exclaimed, grinning. "I still can't believe my great-granddaughter has tamed one of those beasts."

The other man rose an eyebrow at the lion-man. "Be careful, Godric. I don't think Helena sees your namesake as a beast."

Eragon blinked, looking at the lion-man. If that was Godric's namesake, he had to be Godric Gryffindor. And if he was Godric Gryffindor, the other three had to be Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin. Helena hadn't told much, but she had told enough. Just by the way Helena had spoken of them in reverence, Eragon couldn't help but feel a bit humbled.

Then he remembered that they were in a painting and had denied him entrance.

"I'm serious," Eragon told them, getting a bit angry. He raised his right hand, showing his gedwëy insignia. "Look."

And they did.

Godric frowned. "I don't recognize that. Do you?" Both Rowena and Salazar denied it, but Eragon was saved by Helga.

"I do believe I saw something similar on her left hand," the founder of Hufflepuff House mused. She looked over at the other witch in the painting. Rowena sighed heavily.

"I will go ask her," Rowena conceded. Then she looked sternly at the other founders. "But none of you will look at my cards." They all promised and swore up and down they wouldn't do it. Looking up, Rowena pointed at Eragon. "You. Make sure of it."

Eragon could do nothing but nod numbly at her command. And then he could only gawk as she disappeared out the side of the frame.

Godric chuckled. "Don't look so frightened lad. Rowena might have an icy exterior, but once you get close to her, you discover she's only merely frosty."

Salazar snorted, but Helga shot the lion-man a disapproving look.

"You are terrible, Godric."

"I don't hear you denying it."

Helga sighed, which caused Godric to let out a bark of laughter. The founder of Gryffindor House then turned to Eragon.

"You say you know my great-granddaughter?" Godric asked of him.

"Helena?" Eragon asked to be sure.

"Aye, her. My granddaughter, many times removed, of course," Godric confirmed. "But you know her?"

Eragon didn't answer right away. "I travelled with her for months, and I've come to know her. There are still many things I don't know about her yet, though."

"Sounds like Helena," Salazar noted nonchalantly.

"Aye," Godric nodded proudly. He looked back at Eragon. "That lass, she might embody courage like the best of them, but she has made no secret that she can manipulate and use her cunning like my friend here."

Before Eragon could respond, Rowena returned to the painting. Sitting down and giving the other founders a suspicious look, she then turned to Eragon. "You may pass."

The painting then swung up just like a door, revealing the doorway to Helena's chambers. This caused the other people in the hallway to start muttering about themselves again.

Eragon turned to Orik, who looked just the tiniest bit pale. "Thank you for showing me the way."

"Of... Of course," Orik answered in a stupor.

Eragon nodded at the dwarf and turned to walk through the doorway behind the painting. He froze after only having taken a few steps, as the painting shut close behind him with a small thud. He might have handled the shock of a talking painting but seeing Helena's chambers… it was something even his brain needed some time to adjust to.

Just like Angela's chambers, Helena's chambers consisted of two rooms. The similarities ended there, however, as Helena's chambers were – quite literally – out of this world. The whole room had a color-scheme of different shades of reds and gold, the furniture was a deep wooden brown, and the floor was covered by a soft carpet instead of the hard marble of the rest of Tronjheim. Despite Helena's room being too far from Tronjheim's outer wall to have a window, Helena did indeed have a window on the wall opposite the entrance. Furthermore, what was outside of the window was most certainly not Farthen Dûr, as Eragon could spot lots of green, water, and even the sky with a few clouds drifting by from where he was standing. In front of the window stood a solid wooden desk, with a single candle burning and papers scattered across it, the urgal note the Ajihad had given Helena and a map being amongst them. In the middle of the room stood a scarlet couch with a coffee table in front of an honest-to-gods fireplace with a burning fire. The smoke was lead up into a chimney, despite the fact that that was impossible. The wall opposite the fireplace was filled with moving paintings, most of them, though, much different to the one that he had spoken to (he still couldn't think that sentence without thinking himself just a bit crazy); many of these paintings looked real. The painting of the Founders that he had talked to, he could see what it depicted, but he could also see that it was a painting – a few mistakes, the brushstrokes, things like that. These, however, looked real; they looked as if they were small windows into other worlds. The separate room was smaller, and in the center was a huge four-poster bed, but he couldn't see what else was in that room.

Music also filled the room. It was the kind Eragon had never heard before; it was slow and melancholy but had an underlying rhythm the was altogether foreign. It took him a few moments to locate the source; a small, wooden box with strange protrusions and a thin metal stick, no larger than him being able to pick it up and hold it in his hands. His brain failed to grant him an explanation, so he decided to ignore how the box ignored all logic, and simply appreciated its wonder.

Helena was sat on the couch and had a book of moving paintings in front of her. She was currently holding one of them in her hands (and, thus, Eragon could also see that the paper used was unlike any he had seen used for paintings). A moment later he heard a sniffle, and as it was followed by another and yet another, Eragon could only surmise that Helena was crying. Eragon could not ever remember seeing – nor hearing – Helena cry. She could get angry and had a fantastic and terrifying temper, but he hadn't ever seen her cry.

It was more than a bit unsettling. Much less so than when she had fallen unconscious after teleporting them all out of Dras-Leona, but still the same feeling. Helena was mortal, a person who wasn't invincible, and Eragon was seeing her more and more as such.

Helena glanced up at him. He could see the red in her eyes. She had been crying but wasn't quite crying anymore. That was something, at least. He truly had no idea how to handle Helena like this.

"Hello, Eragon," she greeted him in a soft voice. Again, so unlike how she usually sounded. It almost seemed frail. She gave him a watery smile. Then her eyes ran him up and down, and it turned to a frown. "Where is your sword?"

"Zar'roc? I left it with Saphira," Eragon answered puzzled.

Helena's frown deepened. "You shouldn't walk around without it." She motioned beside him where the Sword of Gryffindor was on display. On display, yes, but not bolted fast or anything; it was ready for her to grab at a moment's notice. He turned back to look at her.

"You do know it used to belong to Morzan?"

"Yes, and?" Helena prompted him.

Eragon looked bewildered at her. "You said it yourself, there has always been a strained relationship between the Riders and the dwarves, and Morzan did not make that relationship any easier. Have you any idea of just how many of our allies lives this sword must've taken?"

"Quite a few, according to the books," Helena answered plainly.

Eragon blinked. "You actually do have an idea?"

"Of course."

Eragon blinked again. Then he chuckled. "Of course," he repeated after her.

Helena smiled gently at him. "I get where you're coming – truly I do. But despite its history, that sword is an amazing sword, a work of art even. More importantly, it is a sword that you have become intimately familiar with. It's idiotic not to use it simply because of who it used to belong to. The sword's former owner might've been an evil man, but the sword itself is just an instrument. Give it a new story – wield it against Galbatorix. I can't really see a worse insult to the Black King and Morzan's legacy than that."

"Saphira might've said something similar," Eragon admitted.

Helena made a half-shrug. "Great minds think alike." Eragon rolled his eyes at that. "A rule of thumb, though: an item or object is only inherently dangerous if it can communicate with you by its own power. If you come across such an object, promise me that you won't interact with it. Lock it up, somehow, and bring it to me."

"I promise," Eragon gave his word.

"Good," Helena nodded decisively. "As for Zar'roc… While Tronjheim is a lot safer than being hunted by the Ra'zac, or what you have gone through in and after Gil'ead, you should remember that the Varden are also dangerous. Remember the conversation we had with Brom outside of Teirm, and why he postponed bringing you specifically here for so long." A strained look overtook her face and she shook her head. "Just take a look at the twins. They're all but salivating over the knowledge we keep in our heads. They've been sated some, as they did indeed learn a new word or two in the Ancient Language when I gave my oath, but that will not satisfy them for long. And they are only the most obvious danger here."

"Helena," Eragon said and stopped Helena from continuing her speech. "I get it. Believe me, I do. I promise I'll carry Zar'roc with me wherever I go."

"Also when you bathe," Helena told him seriously.

"Also when I bathe," Eragon confirmed. He wouldn't mock her. And he wasn't just saying it to appease his counterpart; he indeed could see the wisdom in her words. "I promise."

Helena looked relieved. "Thank you."

While she might have gotten a bit preachy, Eragon at least knew her well enough to know that it was because she cared about him. And that warmed his stomach and made him smile lightly.

Helena turned her attention back onto the painting in her hand. Eragon stood awkwardly at the entrance for a few additional moments before he walked the few steps over to the couch and sat down beside her. It was a lot closer than he would have sat before they had split up, and his heart was pounding away as he waited for her to either tell him off spectacularly or simply move a bit away from him. She did neither, though, and a smile made its appearance on his face.

Eragon then turned his eyes on the painting in Helena's hands, and his smile fell somewhat. It was of Helena and a tall, redheaded guy. They were wearing clothes utterly exotic to him, though, as with the painting of the Founders and the music box, Eragon took that in stride. He was more concerned with the way Helena had her arms wrapped around the redheaded guy's chest, and how one of his arms was snaked around her waist. His other arm went out of a frame towards Eragon in a manner Eragon couldn't quite figure out, only his hand was not visible. Helena and the redheaded guy were alive like the Founders, though they made no sound; they were instead interchangeably grinning and making funny faces at Eragon and then turning and smiling softly and blissfully at each other.

Eragon could feel a lump forming in his throat. He looked over at Helena; she carried a great sadness in her eyes. He had never asked her, and she had never said anything, but did she have someone waiting on her on Earth? One who had courted her before she went away? A fiancé? Maybe even a husband?

He didn't want to ask her. And, thank the gods, he didn't have to, because Helena spoke up before he had gathered his courage.

"His name was Fred," Helena told Eragon. Eragon didn't miss the past tense. For a moment he felt relief – and then it was overtaken by shame for having felt such. He looked from Helena down at the painting.

"You look happy." And they did, they honestly did.

Helena gave a watery smile as her eyes teared up. "We were." Then her smile fell, and she put the painting back into the book. Eragon only gets a brief look at the other paintings on the two pages displayed before Helena closed the book. "I hadn't noticed the date. I've been too caught up in… everything."

Eragon looked over at his counterpart. "And what is the date?"

Helena gulped. "It's the Second of May. Today it is the one-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. One year since the Second Wizarding War ended. One year since I lost… a lot of people. Fred included."

He didn't respond right away. Eragon took a settling breath, and then asked, "Who was he?"

Helena looked at him, and a smile played on her face despite the subject. "Are you asking because you are curious? Or is it for more personal reasons?" Eragon blushed bright red and avoided her searching stare. "Not that it matters, I guess." She sighed deeply. "You know by now that things on Earth are different than it is here on Alagaësia. Romance, too, is different. Still, even by Earth standards, what Fred and I had can only be described as 'messy'." She trailed off, looking into the hearth. "Fred was my best mate's older brother. For years we danced around each other. We had our moments but would mostly flirt wildly with each other. First, it was because it bothered Ron so much, and we both loved to mess with him. Later it just became our thing to flirt like that, and others wouldn't blink twice when we did it. Then, when I was fifteen, he took me on a date, and we began telling people we were boyfriend and girlfriend. People thought we were kidding, but when they saw us kissing, they had to reevaluate that assessment." Helena chuckled at that memory, even as Eragon's mouth went dry. Helena's face fell. "He had to leave school that year. While we had the different holidays together, the war then started in earnest the year after, and we agreed to put our relationship on hold until the war was over. No distractions, you know. And then… he just died."

Helena had pulled her feet up on the couch and was hugging her knees tightly to her chest. She had a tight look on her face. Eragon hesitated for more than just a few moments, but then he put an arm around her shoulders. She tensed up at first, and Eragon was sure she was finally going to tell him off. But then she relaxed, and even leaned into him slightly. He tightened his hold on her shoulders but didn't try anything more. This was about what he thought she needed, not what he wanted.

They sat like that for a while. Eragon didn't know how long, but he enjoyed being able to be there for his counterpart. Eventually, Helena made a small move, and Eragon knew the time had come, and he retrieved his arm from around her. She shot him a small smile.

"Thank you."

"Always," Eragon smiled. That was the wrong thing to say, he surmised, though, as Helena flinched at it. Eragon frowned at that. "Helena, I do have a lot of questions."

Helena chuckled. "Of course, you do. You wouldn't be you if you didn't have questions." Eragon didn't deny it, watching her steadfastly. Helena turned more serious, slowly nodding – to herself or to Eragon, Eragon couldn't tell. "I guess it is time for you to know a bit more about my life. You've never made a secret of anything."

"I don't want you to feel obligated to tell me anything," Eragon told her. And he meant that. "I do want to know, but I don't need to. It won't make me think less or more of you."

Helena smiled softly. "I know. And that is why I feel comfortable telling you. But I don't want to go through this multiple times. So, if you want to know, I'm going to tell you everything, and that is going to be a lot. It's going to take time. Are you sure you want to know?"

Eragon hesitated, but then nodded. "I am."

Helena sighed. "Very well, get comfortable then." And Eragon did. He took his shoes off and brought his feet up onto the coach not unlike Helena. He sat leaning back on the armrest, Helena mirroring him on the other end of the couch. "I guess my story really begins with the First Wizarding War. It began in 1970 and lasted until 1981. For reference, we are in the year 1999. It was during this war that Lord Voldemort came into power. He preyed on all the weaknesses in our society; he promised the purebloods that their families would be in power again, he made the weak feel powerful by feeling a part of something, he promised free reign for outcast creatures like werewolves, vampires, and giants. He built up an army, and it got so bad, that the violence spilt over into the muggle world, and we had to warn their prime minister – their leader. He became so feared that even his name wasn't mentioned; people instead referred to him as 'You-Know-Who' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'."

Eragon couldn't help it. He snorted. Helena shot him a look at that. "I'm sorry."

Helena wasn't mad, though. "I don't blame you. When I first entered the Wizarding World, I was like that as well. I thought it ridiculous. But… I understand a bit better now, having been through a war against him. I can never understand fully the terror that people felt back then, though. The Second Wizarding War only officially lasted two years. The First War lasted eleven, and at first, people didn't know who was attacking. But here's food for thought: in my parents' generation, the average student-number of a single year at Hogwarts was well over a hundred. In my generation, we were forty students."

Eragon gawked. "He killed children?"

Helena nodded. "He did, but that wasn't why there were so few students in my year. People were so afraid of Voldemort, so afraid of the violence of the world, that they stopped having children. They, simply put, didn't want to bring a child into a world that could take the child away just as quickly."

Eragon didn't know how to respond to that. While there was no question that Galbatorix was a tyrant, he was mostly an unknown, vague figure. Besides the soldiers who came through yearly to tax people, Carvahall had lived in peace. So had Teirm, as far as Eragon knew, and many of the most southern cities as well. Even in cities like Gil'ead and Dras-Leona, it was the lords of the cities whose powers were felt, not Galbatorix's own. Few indeed had chosen not to have children because of how the world was. Eragon couldn't imagine the terror Helena's people must've lived through to make such a choice.

"Voldemort was rampaging through Magical Britain, and while there was resistance against him, nothing seemed to be able to stop him," Helena continued her tale. "And then a prophecy was made." Eragon's eyebrow shot up below his hairline. "It said: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… and the Dark Lord will mark them as his equal, but they will have the power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives." Helena didn't speak for several moments, leaving the ominous words of the prophecy hanging in the air. "I was born the thirty-first of July. My parents turned down Voldemort's offer to join him three times."

"The prophecy was about you," Eragon stated.

Helena nodded heavily. "It could have been about another person as well. My friend, Neville Longbottom. He was born on the thirtieth of July, and his parents had defied Voldemort three times as well. But Voldemort chose to see my parents as the greater threat and believed the prophecy to be about their child – me. And so, it was."

Eragon frowned. "He made the prophecy be about you?"

Helena glanced at him. "Prophecies are never what you think they are. The moment they are made, that true prophecies are made, they influence whoever hears it. You do something, or you don't do something because of them… They are just a mess. Voldemort believed me to be his rival, and so I became his rival."

"Just like that?" Eragon asked.

"'Just like that'. Some way to describe my life," Helena snorted. Then she took a deep breath. "But I guess it was just like that. My parents heard the prophecy and went into hiding. It worked for a long while, but then they were betrayed. Voldemort found us in Godric's Hollow, where he killed my father and mother. He gave my mother a chance to step out of the way, but she didn't. And then he tried to kill me, but the Killing Curse backfired. It killed him instead."

"The Killing Curse?" Eragon exclaimed aghast.

Helena blinked. "Oh, yeah. I never did tell you about that, did I?" Eragon shook his head. "It's one of three curses called the Unforgiveables. And they are unforgivable. The Killing Curses pushes the soul out of the body, damaging it, and thus killing you. You can't block it with magic. It's the darkest of dark magic." Eragon looked with wide eyes at her. She glanced over at him, and then brushed her bangs back. His eyes flew to the scar on her forehead. "My scar was made by the Killing Curse. It will never fade completely."

"How old were you?"

"Just over one year old," Helena answered with a sigh. She glanced at him. "Do you want to see my parents?"

Eragon blinked. "I would feel honored." He truly would.

Helena grabbed the book and put it between them, by their feet. She opened it on the very first page. Unlike the pages where the painting of Fred and her was on, this page was reserved solely for that painting.

The painting displayed a man and a woman, not much older than twenty years old, holding a small child between them. The man had Helena's dark hair (or, as it was, Helena had his hair), with warm, brown eyes, and he was tall and lanky. The woman had eyes like Helena and a mane of fiery red hair. The baby could only be Helena; Eragon could recognize her by the eyes.

"Is that you?" he asked anyway, pointing to the baby.

Helena gave a half-smile. "It is. Am I adorable?"

"You are," Eragon agreed, even knowing Helena had joked. Helena blinked, then blushed. "What were their names?"

"Lily and James Potter," Helena answered.

"Lily, like the flower?" Eragon asked.

Helena nodded. "The women in my mother's family has always been named after flowers. There is Lily, my mother, Petunia, my aunt, Rose, my grandmother, and Camellia, my great-grandmother"

"Did your parents break the tradition with you?"

"No," Helena chuckled. "As you know, my real name is Helichrysa. It's based on the scientific name for the everlasting flower, helichrysum."

Eragon looked wide-eyed up at her. The everlasting flower. That was a part of Angela's prophecy, specifically about his epic romance. Was that a coincidence? He wiped the look off of his face, not wanting to explain it to her at this moment – especially not as she clearly wasn't a fan of prophecies.

"How is the painting made so lifelike?" Eragon asked instead.

"It isn't a painting. It's a picture," Helena corrected him. "I can't explain the exact details. It's a muggle invention. The muggle version doesn't move, though, that's magic. But it is like painting, just with light."

"Painting… with light?" Eragon repeated perplexed.

Helena chuckled. "It's nothing of importance." She closed the book again and put it on the table. "After my parents were killed, I was given to the Dursleys – my aunt's family on my mother's side of the family. Those were… not happy years. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had an obsession with normality, and they knew that I was a witch. They tried to suppress my magic. I mean, I didn't even know my name was Helichrysa before I was five and the teacher did a roll call. The Dursleys did everything not to say my name; most often it was simply 'Girl'. When they did have to use my name, they used Helena. Despite them, the name stuck, and I quite like it."

"Didn't anyone step in to help?" Eragon asked. While in Carvahall one generally didn't stick one's nose into another family's matter, it wasn't unheard of. And, from everything Helena had told him about her world, it didn't seem it had the same restrictions.

Helena made a noncommitted face. "They weren't stupid. They didn't outright abuse me. At home – and I'm only using that term in the loosest of definitions – I got more and more chores as I got older. The Dursleys made sure I was never so exhausted that I needed to go to the hospital, and they never smacked me so hard that it would leave a clear mark. But I spent so much time cleaning and cooking and gardening that I had little time to myself, and most certainly not my homework. Thus, the teachers at school thought I was a troublemaker, which my aunt and uncle only agreed with as they told my teacher's outlandish stories of what a tyrant I was at home. And then there was Dudley, my cousin… He knew he could torment me and not get in trouble. For some years, my aunt and uncle even encouraged it. He had this game called Helena Hunting that he played with his friends – and yes it is exactly what it sounds like. But Dudley didn't have the restraint Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had and left marks frequently. It came to a point where he pushed me down a flight of stairs at school; I got a rather nasty gash on my arm and was taken to the emergency room before my aunt and uncle could stop. Questions were asked. After that, while I still have way too many 'chores' for a girl my age, I was more often than not simply sent out of the house and forbidden from returning until late. I took refuge at a local library, and there I befriended Ellie, an elderly librarian. She took a shine to me and was the only one who believed my stories about the Dursleys. She helped me catch up some with school, and in later years she even helped me learn French."

"French?" Eragon asked, confused.

"Another language," Helena explained. "What you call the Common Tongue, I call English."

Eragon's eyes widened. "You speak another language?" Helena nodded with a grin. "Can I hear it?"

"Bien sûr, monsieur. C'est la langue française. Bien que je ne sois nullement un maître, je peux me débrouille," Helena told him. It sounded nasal but had a rhythm that the Common Tongue – English, he supposed – didn't quite have. "Anyway, that was my life for years. And then my letter for admission into Hogwarts arrived. Mind you, I didn't just get the letter; Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon knew it would come and burned and trashed the letter as it came. But the letter kept arriving at our house, in larger and larger quantities. Then, on a Sunday – where letters aren't delivered – the house was absolutely flooded with letters. Uncle Vernon took the whole family and fled, to a shack in the middle of nowhere. I had all but given up hope of getting my letter – and it was a big deal to me, as I had never gotten a letter –, when Hagrid, a half-giant, tracked me down just past midnight on my birthday."

"A half-giant?" Eragon asked for clarification.

"Yep," Helena grinned. "He is family. No doubt about it. He rescued me from the Dursleys and took me to the Wizarding World. No matter how bad things got, I knew that Hagrid was always on my side, even when I might have been in the wrong."

"He sounds amazing."

Helena smiled softly. "He is. He is the kindest soul you will ever meet. A bit too trusting at times, and he let his mouth run when he shouldn't, but there is no one more loyal." Helena paused as she stared into the fire. "But Hagrid, he took me from the Dursleys. There was still one month until the school year began, so he took me to the Leaky Cauldron – an inn – by Diagon Alley. Now, Diagon Alley is the main shopping street in London for magicals, and it truly is something. If I ever get the opportunity, I'm going to take you there."

Eragon sat stunned. She had actually kept him in mind when thinking of home? Wanting to show him her world? It caused him to smile.

Helena then began talking about her years at Hogwarts. By the way she talked about the castle, it was clear she could talk about it forever – and she almost did. Eragon sat enraptured as she told her of her first few years of magical schooling, of the friends she made, of the adventures she went on. Battling a mountain troll, finding the philosopher's stone, killing the basilisk, discovering her Godfather and the truth about the night of her parents' murder. She also spent a great deal of time talking about Quidditch, and while at first Eragon had a hard time imagining flying broomsticks, with how enthusiastically she spoke of the sport, he now really wanted to see a game being played.

Then things took a darker turn at the end of her fourth year. It was evident that the specific event where Lord Voldemort was resurrected was still a terrible subject for Helena, and she told him flat-out that she would only give him the cliff notes version. Still, Eragon felt sick and horrible that Helena had to go through that. It was even worse when he found out that Helena spent the next year defending her claim while being ridiculed throughout her nation.

On a lighter note, Eragon didn't doubt that Helena loved teaching from the way she talked about the Defense Association. Her whole face lit up as she recounted some of their meetings. It made Eragon think; after all the stuff with Galbatorix was over, the Riders would be lucky to have her. As they (hopefully) revived the order and the dragon race, they would need a good teacher to guide the young ones. Of course, Eragon would be there as well, and he wouldn't shy away from his duties, but to have someone solely focused on teaching… That couldn't be competed with.

As Helena told of the flight to the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry of Magic, Helena got oddly quiet. She slowly told of how she had been tricked, and how her godfather was killed because of it. Her face tightened.

"I chased down Bellatrix," Helena told Eragon, her voice hard as flint. "When I cornered her, I was so full of hatred. I wanted to hurt her. And so, I did. I cast the Cruciatus Curse on her."

Eragon blinked. "Wasn't that one of the…?"

"One of the Unforgiveables, yes," Helena confirmed. "I didn't care then. And I wouldn't do it differently. I was good at the curse. Am good at the curse, I suppose. Bellatrix screamed her throat raw. She was frightened of me. If Voldemort hadn't shown up, I don't know what I would've done." Eragon gulped. He didn't know what to say to that. Helena looked up at him. "It frightens me how good I was at casting the Cruciatus. Of how good it felt causing so much pain to another human being. I haven't used it since, but I haven't lost that ruthlessness when it comes to those I love."

Eragon understood. "The twins."

Helena nodded, and for a moment, hatred flashed in her eyes. "They shattered Godric's wing sockets. Had it not been for him talking me down, and for their position in the Varden, I wouldn't hesitate to do the same."

Eragon gulped. He wanted to blame her for that, to tell her off, but if they had done similarly to Saphira? Eragon didn't know what he would do. He didn't like it, and he was glad for it, but he couldn't blame her either.

The Second Wizarding War officially began after Voldemort was exposed at the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. For the first year of it, Helena wasn't much involved. The first few months she had spent grieving Sirius, and after that, she had been back at Hogwarts. She began training, Remus and Professor McGonagall helped her with becoming an animagus, and Dumbledore took her under his wing, helping her understand Voldemort. It was also this year that she learned proper Occlumency (which she promised to try and teach some of to Eragon) from Dumbledore. Compared to many of her previous years, her sixth year of schooling was rather peaceful – relatively.

At least until the Death Eaters attacked the castle and killed Dumbledore.

Helena took the summer to prepare, but then she set out to hunt Voldemort's horcruxes. Eragon gained more and more respect for this Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They weren't just Helena's friends, they were her family, and had stood by her even as someone as evil as Voldemort was after her. Ron's slip up under the influence of a horcrux could be forgiven. Eragon would be deeply honored to meet them.

Eragon knew Helena, but he still had a hard time believing her when she told of how they had snuck into the Ministry of Magic, how they had escaped Godric's Hollow and the Malfoy Manor, and how they had broken into Gringotts Bank. Well, no, he didn't have a hard time believing it, but the tale was just so fantastical; he had known she had been through a war, but that was the understatement of the century. She had all but lead a war.

Helena got quiet again as she told of the Battle of Hogwarts. Eragon couldn't even imagine; while children were drafted into the Empire's army, this was not quite like that. The Death Eaters had mostly consisted of middle-aged and elderly adults, who had fought against an army primarily made of teenagers.

The death toll had been staggering. Helena listed off a lot of names, all but wincing each time one left her lips.

And then she had given herself up.

"You died?" Eragon asked, aghast.

Helena didn't answer right away. "Yeah. No. I think so? It complicates things that I had a piece of his soul latched onto mine. That's the thing about magic: not everything can be explained. But I survived."

Fighting had broken out again after Helena revealed herself to be alive. It didn't last long, though, because soon enough Helena had stood face to face with Voldemort, who had no horcruxes left. Their duel had continued for almost half an hour until Helena had gathered her power and literally blown him apart with a Reducto Curse.

"Celebrations and grieving broke out at Hogwarts almost immediately after," Helena recounted. "I was at the center of both, and I could do neither there. Everyone wanted me there with them, their leader, their symbol, their guiding light. I had to speak to the bereaved there and witness their sadness, but not show my own weakness."

"It isn't a weakness to feel grief and loss," Eragon countered.

Helena gave him a soft smile. "It is not, I know. But the people there needed something solid to gather about. And I became just that." She paused. "I was saved some hours later by Hermione and Ron. They took me by my arms and we went back to Shell Cottage. Fleur and Bill were still at Hogwarts, so apart from Dobby, we were alone. And I fell apart there." Helena took a deep settling breath. "Magical Britain didn't go back to normal overnight. Some things did get better fast, though; the people who had been imperiused were freed, and the innocents who had been sent to Azkaban were released. Most of the Death Eaters had been at Hogwarts and were captured, but some escaped. They were captured within the next few weeks, though. The Dementors of Azkaban were also banished, and replaced by aurors, and Kingsley Shacklebolt was named interim Minister for Magic until one could be voted into office."

"I'm surprised it wasn't you who was named Minister for Magic," Eragon joked.

Helena scoffed. "There were more than a few crazy people who called for just that. Thankfully, I wasn't the only one who shot that idea down right away. I was busy; I had bought a house in Hogsmeade and helped with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. And I went to a lot of funerals. Too many to count." Helena shook her head. "Dobby came and knocked on my door the moment he was well, and I hired him on the spot. Hermione and Ron went to Australia to find Hermione's parents, which they succeeded in. Last I heard, they hadn't quite forgiven Hermione, but they were working things out. It was decided that Teddy should live with Andromeda, as I simply wasn't equipped to take care of a child yet. I often visited, though. I hope he is okay. Professor McGonagall offered me an opportunity to return for my Seventh Year at Hogwarts, and once I had graduated, to take a spot on the faculty. I turned her down, as I needed time to grieve and get closure on things – though McGonagall made sure to make me know that the offer still stands when I was ready. And…. Then I appeared in the Spine by October."

Eragon sat for a while, not saying anything. Helena hadn't been kidding when she had said it was a long story. They had sent for food twice, and it had to be well past midnight by now. Saphira had been present in the back of his mind throughout it all, and even she needed time to take it all in.

In the end, all Eragon could think to respond with was a hug. And so, he did. Helena returned the hug, leaning into him.

"I do have questions," Eragon admitted after a few moments. "Though, I think I need to have a good think about it all. But… I am here for you. I hope you know that."

Helena smiled softly. "I do. Thank you."

Eragon left a few minutes later. The hallway had cleared outside, which was for the better. He didn't need someone to ask him for anything right now. He just needed to think.

'Little One,' Saphira spoke up in his mind.

'Did you have any idea?' Eragon asked her. He didn't think that Saphira had actually known – while her relationship with Helena was more than cordial, they didn't exactly talk much. But Saphira had always had a good feeling about people. Good instincts.

'Not the extent.'

'She didn't just fight in a war. She stopped a war.' Eragon stopped walking and leant up of one of the marble walls. Slowly he slid to the floor. And there he was sat, hands folded in his lap as he tried to think things over.

Helena wasn't only amazing. She was human. And she had survived.

She made broken look beautiful, and strong look invincible. She walked with the world on her shoulders and made it look like a pair of wings.

~ BWaC ~

Author's Notes: I hope you liked this chapter. I don't know if it's too condensed or not. It's hard to write about all of Helena's life and not get to an insane number of pages, and that would simply be too much dialogue. I tried to balance it with simply telling what Helena had said and have a few pieces of dialogue in important places. Please, do tell me what you think.

People are still grumbling a bit about the pairing. I've never made it a secret that the pairing will be Eragon and Helena. And some people says it has been rushed, despite the story now approaching 200k words. I get that Eragon isn't as mature as Helena, but I'm hoping to show you that since Brom's death a lot has happened with him. And the heart wants what it wants; while Eragon might be more immature than Helena, he also has a heart of gold, and that is what Helena is attracted to.

Lastly, I just want to make a small disclaimer: that last line Eragon says/thinks, I haven't come up with. It's by Ariana Dancu. I just thought it so fitting, I couldn't not have it in the story.

Synthesis