Romance Awareness Month: people can't see colour until they meet their soulmate.
Gobstones Challenge: Blue Stone - isolation.
Accuracy: "I wish I could stay". Power: blind!AU. Technique: rainy
When Helena Ravenclaw was born, her mother gasped. For when her beloved daughter first opened her eyes, they were covered with a milky white substance that could only mean one thing: Helena Ravenclaw was blind.
Rowena quickly bundled up her daughter and took her back home without a word, hoping that the Healers would have the decency and common sense to keep quiet about her daughter's condition. For whilst it was natural for a child to never see colour in the wizarding world, only one every few generations was born blind.
Those who were bore a fate worse than death. A wizard or witch saw their surroundings in black and white until they saw their one true love, when all of the colours would flood back in a myriad of rainbows. It could be when they were four years old, fourteen, or even forty. There were those unfortunate souls that would never see a drop of colour in their lives.
Those who were born blind were destined to die by their lover's hand, a love cursed by the heavens or crossed by the stars, depending on one's point of view. Rowena Ravenclaw was of the former.
So she locked her daughter away in her country home, carefully letting only family members who had already found their soulmates near her precious daughter. The moment when Helena received her Hogwarts letter was a moment that left a sense of dread within her mother's heart.
Helena Ravenclaw was not an ordinary girl. Or so she surmised from the scraps of conversation she was able to salvage by sitting on the stairs.
Her mother was never around, spending all of her days and some of her nights at the illustrious school she had founded with three friends. Helena hated her for it. But at the same time, she loved her mother. For who else would bring her special books to while away the boredom, to describe the wondrous vision of reds and blacks and greens, the rolling hills of the countryside, the beauty of the world without?
Helena did not deem herself a burden. She had no need of her mother's fanciful tales. She could smell the sweet scent of lavender, feel the tenderness of the earth between her fingers. No, she did not believe that she warranted such cruel behaviour.
For although Rowena Ravenclaw had good intentions when she had procured books written in Braille, she had not foreseen the consequences. Helena had read of dashing princesses and wily dragons, handsome princes and talking companions. And she began to feel lonely, by herself in her country home, with only her uncle for company. She longed to speak with someone her own age, to go on adventures as the children in her stories did.
When she was eleven years old, Rowena sat her down at the kitchen table and explained her condition. The day she met her prince charming, her soulmate, was the day she would die. For in Rowena's eyes, Helena would be doomed from the moment she retrieved her sight.
Septimus Rosier arrived at the doors to Hogwarts brimming with enthusiasm. He would find his soulmate here, no matter what his father said. He would see the blues and greens and yellows and reds of the school uniforms, and he would do so before he graduated. His father had only found his mother late in life - too late, he said - and there had been complications at Septimus's birth.
His brothers and sisters had grown up with a mother. He had not.
Unconsciously, or perhaps out of childish spite, the others had avoided him, for fear or anger Septimus would never know. One thing was for certain; they blamed him for their mother's death. The death of a woman Septimus had never met, never asked anything of, rested squarely on his shoulders. The only thing that could cure it, he thought, would be to find his soulmate and the joy in seeing colours that his father spoke of warmly. The only thing his father spoke of warmly, in fact.
He did not see her at the Sorting. He did not see her in his lessons. He did not see her around school, although he made sure to look each and every female in the eye - be they lion or snake, badger or eagle. It was not until his third year at Hogwarts that his robes turned green and silver - or so he supposed - and he was able to see the warm browns of the stairwell.
The trouble was, he didn't know who he had met that could cause it.
It was not until they met outside the platform in King's Cross that Septimus finally found the identity of his true love.
It was lightly raining at the time. Septimus was now seventeen - a man grown - but he still hadn't got over the wonder of being able to see the world around him for what it truly was. He admired the shine of the droplets as they fell upon the ground, sending rivulets of silver down the muddy pavements.
A girl was standing before him, her head tilted to the sky, breathing deeply as if the water were life itself. He did not know her, and yet he felt drawn to her. As he neared, he frowned. Why was this girl still made of shadows, of blacks and whites and greys, even though he had received his true sight?
True, her long black hair was beautifully braided, and her dark eyelashes contrasted with her pale skin, but it was not until he looked away from her face that he realised that it was not a trick of the light, but merely the colours of which she was made. Her coat, after all, was of a royal blue.
'Apologies, dear lady, if I interrupt thee,' he started, not sure as to how to continue. He decided on the basics. 'Might I know thy name?'
'Thee mayst not, sir,' she replied softly. 'For I am forbidden to know any but those who have found their true love, by will of mine own mother.'
'Therefore thou hast no fear of me, my lady, for I found my true sight and my love many years ago.'
She turned her head to him then, cocking it as though listening to him instead of looking. It was only when she opened his eyes that he gasped. Her eyes were as white as snow, and as unseeing as the wind.
'They call me Septimus, Septimus Rosier, my lady,' he said, bowing low to hide his shock.
At this she laughed.
'Well, Septimus, Septimus Rosier, I feel thy surprise and hear thy bow,' she said. 'Thy actions are in vain, for I see with other senses than that of mine eyes. My name is Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of the illustrious founder.'
Septimus caught the sarcasm in her voice.
'And what crimes has thine own mother committed to deserve such a tone?' he inquired.
'She locked her daughter away from the world for eleven years and more,' Helena replied, her eyes returned to the rain. 'She forbade me from speaking to any other student, for fear that I regain that which I should never have lost. In short, she made me desolated, but not without hope, and that is the worst of any sin.'
'The worst?' Septimus asked, stepping nearer.
'The worst, for without hope one may learn to accept one's prison, but with it comes the most painful of heartbreaks.'
A tear slipped from her eye as she finally turned towards him. Septimus felt as though he ought to console her, but how, he knew not. In the end, there was no need, for she emitted a gasp of her own.
'Your eyes,' she said wondrously. 'They are of the palest blue. Periwinkle, if my mother is to be trusted. And your robes. They are… I do not know the word.'
'Black,' Septimus supplied.
This time he did not hesitate in taking her hands into his own, for it was certain that Helena was his true love.
'It seems as though my search is over,' he said softly.
'And mine has merely begun,' she added, pressing her forehead to his.
'Helena!' a voice called, interrupting their reverie. 'Helena! Where are you? It's not safe for you out here!'
'I must leave,' Helena said quickly, grasping the handle of her trunk. 'She cannot find me here. I do not know what she will do. It will be my fault, and my end, and if I am to die today, then I will not be imprisoned for one second more.'
'Wait,' Septimus called, his heart clenching painfully at the idea of losing his soulmate just as he found her.
'I wish I could stay,' Helena said regretfully. 'I wish I could know thee. But it is prophesied that thou willst kill me, and I wish to have had a life worth living before that is so. Thank you for my sight. Thou cannot knowst how precious it is to me.'
And with that, she Apparated, with no trace left. Septimus placed a hand in the rain where she had once stood, but all warmth had gone from the spot.
'How precious it is to me,' he repeated, his tone mournful.