The Grey Lady was Helena Ravenclaw again.
Oh, she was still grey in nature, and her grey robes were forever stained with dark grey blood, as were her hands and her history. But there was less greyness to her expression. Her story never made it to the papers, and that was the way she liked it, but telling it in the first place had given her a fresh sense of purpose. A sense of peace, in a way.
She was no longer distant and cold, although she still had her reservations. Sometimes she went to the library where her House could be found submerged in books, sticking their noses into history and magical theory. It was nice to be around students again, especially smart students that reminded her of herself, when she was younger. Less aloof, perhaps, and less obnoxious, but Helena maintained that she had a reason and an excuse for being obnoxious. She had always been immensely clever, after all, even if people refused to see it.
Usually she just kept to the halls of Hogwarts, floating past the windows, watching the seasons flicker. It used to be that she would sink there, in the shallow shadows, letting the bitterness seep into her until there was nothing left but anger and sour, bubbling memories. It used to be that she would wander alone, but now she had not one regular visitor, but two.
"Daddy offered to make me different ones. Turnips, he said, but I said no." Luna Lovegood wrinkled her nose. "I've always hated turnips. A radish is sensible, isn't it? There's no sense in a turnip though."
"I suppose not," Helena ventured, slightly wary.
Harry Potter, in an even warier tone, said, "You are still talking about jewellery, aren't you?"
Luna smiled, taking her hands away from the radishes dangling from her ears. They looked well-made, considering Luna had probably done it at her kitchen table with a little knife and a bundle of colourful clay, but Helena couldn't fathom putting them anywhere near her own skin.
"I was thinking of starting my own business, now that the big battles are over," Luna said. "Just for a while, just until I work out what I want to do. What about you, Harry? You must be tired of people asking you what you'd want to do, so what kind of jewellery would you make?"
Harry's mouth tilted up in bemusement. "What?"
They were sitting in an alcove, below an arched window. Harry had his feet up on the windowsill, and Luna had her legs crossed over each other, and Helena floated a few inches off the floor, her grey robes shimmering in the sunlight. It was lunchtime, and the sky was bright outside, but the two of them had sought her out during their break.
"Earrings?" Luna pressed, as though it was very important. "I can see you with an eyebrow piercing."
"It might clash when I dye my eyebrows yellow on the weekends."
The both of them shared a look, before dissolving into laughter. Harry's was a little more tired, and wry, and Luna's was lighter, a tinkling sound, but they both sweetened the scene.
Helena allowed herself to drift through their conversation. Not aimless or lost, but sometimes a little out of her depth. She had never had proper friends before, but it seemed like part of friendship was listening and attending even when you didn't have a clue what they were talking about. She was as intelligent as they come, but navigating the world of social cues and strange inside jokes without context was difficult even for the brightest mind.
Before long, Luna pulled out her favourite magazine, the one with the garish pink cover, and disappeared behind it. Helena had tried to read over her shoulder once, but the Quibbler was decidedly not aimed at her, and she had long since abandoned it for less confusing reading material, like the simplistic, somewhat stylised graffiti in the sixth floor boy's bathroom.
"School is coming to an end soon," Helena murmured, drifting closer to Harry. "We shan't have much more of these meetings. I don't suppose you have put much thought into what you'll do when it's over?"
Harry frowned out of the window. When he was done frowning, his eyes flickered over to Luna, and then to Helena. He looked so unsure.
"I never let myself think about it," Harry said. "I thought I'd finish school and have a family and keep fighting, and that's it."
He had not thought he would make it this far. That much was clear whenever they broached this subject, and it made Helena a little angry on his behalf. She had experience in being angry, and even with her newfound sense of peace, it bubbled up with menace.
"Something quiet, but not silent," Helena suggested. "Something where you can answer to yourself, but not be alone. Something that helps people without putting all of the pressure of the world on your shoulders."
"If you know something like that, let me know." Harry tipped his head back, sighing. "That sounds pretty great."
"A teacher," Luna said, from behind her magazine. "I liked our lessons together during our fifth year."
"I'm not sure I'd be any good at that, Luna."
"Nobody's sure, until they do it," Luna said, smiling faintly. "But I can be sure for you."
She disappeared again, vanishing back inside her confusing, convoluted articles. Perhaps she sensed that Harry needed a moment to simply stare at her, or perhaps she simply thought that was all there was to it. Either way, Helena thought it was kind.
"We are very lucky to know her, I think," Helena murmured.
"Yeah." He fidgeted like he wanted to say more, and then he did, lowering his voice so that it was shared just between them. "Dumbledore gave this speech once about light and darkness, and so did my Godfather," Harry said. "They were both pretty great people. I think the gist was that there's a bit of both in everyone, and you can always find the light bit if you look hard enough, if you choose to do good things. But it almost feels like Luna doesn't have to choose, doesn't it? She's just good."
Helena tilted her head in agreement. There was something almost pure about Luna, something so bright and radiant that it was hardly possible to imagine her having a bad thought, let alone acting on it. But of course she was a person, and a young woman, and there was a brain in her head, and so she was probably full of bad thoughts, as most people are. It simply never looked that way from the outside, which must mean that the good, light parts of her were only ever triumphant.
"If all people were like Luna, I might understand them a little better," Helena said.
There was so much she didn't understand about people. She didn't understand why they gave themselves little by little to each other. She didn't understand why they sacrificed their livelihoods for others, and for grand good deeds. She didn't understand how some of them could be so selfless, or how they could sit in a hallway with an old grey ghost, laughing and telling tales and reading papers together instead of spending an afternoon in the sunshine.
Helena did not understand it, but she would not complain about it either. It seemed as though it was never too late to make not one friend, but two - not even, it appeared, when you were already dead.