Romance Awareness Month - Your soulmate mark is only half complete and it completes itself when you spend time with your soulmate.

Bonus prompt: "Diamond"

Geocaching Day - Write a fic set outside.

Songlyrics challenge: Diamonds on my wrist, whiskey on my tongue

Helena traced the two diamond patterns on her wrist. They were silvery, like scars that would never heal, though there had never been a wound. They had fascinated her from the day she was born, according to her mother.

'Stop that, Helena,' Rowena admonished. 'Thou willst tear thy skin before long, if thou rubbeth too hard.'

'Sorry, Momma,' Helena replied dutifully, trying to keep up with her mother's long legs. 'It's just… it looks complete already.'

'Whilst there are some that have fully completed marks from a young age, I sincerely doubt that thou art one of them,' Rowena replied. She looked down, and her face softened. She took her daughter's chubby hand in her own, feeling the warmth between her cool fingers. 'Helena, I have no doubt that thou art destined for great things, but I cannot help but hope that love is in thy future. It is a fulfilling and rewarding emotion.'

'But Papa broke thy heart,' Helena complained, skipping to alleviate her foot pain. A wistful smile broke upon her face. 'He broke mine too.'

'Thy heart is too young to break,' Rowena laughed, but it had a hollow ring to it. 'And thy father did never mean to break mine heart.'

'But he did,' the young girl insisted impatiently. 'I don't want my heart broken.'

'Neither do I, little one,' Rowena murmured. She stopped abruptly, gathering her only daughter in her arms.

'Hugging me was Papa's job,' Helena stated. It was not an admonition, but Rowena flinched all the same.

'It can be my job now,' she replied softly, before resuming her brisk walk.

Helena noticed that her Momma's eyes were brighter than normal, but whenever she had mentioned it before, her Momma had been upset. Maybe if she didn't say anything, her Momma would be happy again.

'Where are we going?' she asked instead.

'Thou willst meet some children of thy own age,' Rowena replied. 'I have some business with Baron Rosier.'

'Who art thou?' a girl not much older than Helena asked, crossing her arms and striking a defiant pose.

Helena lifted her chin to meet the girl's challenge. They both had dark hair, but Helena's was of a deep black, whereas the other girl's paled in comparison. Helena tossed her head to prove how much better she was.

'Helena Ravenclaw,' she said proudly. 'My mother teaches your brothers and sisters magic.'

'Oh really?' the girl asked dubiously. 'If thy mother is such a great teacher, why do we have to look after thee?'

Helena didn't like the girl's tone.

'I don't need looking after,' she announced, pointing her nose in the air.

'Lay off her, Sexta,' the boy mumbled from his place in the corner.

Helena eyed him. He didn't seem very brave and handsome and charming, like the heroes of the old epics. In fact, he looked like Sexta, only shorter and less self-assured. Still, Helena would take any support she could get.

'If thou aren't a bairn, then thou willst drink from father's firewhisky,' Sexta said, ignoring her little brother's gasp.

'Sexta, if Papa knew -'

'Father won't know,' Sexta said defiantly, bringing the bottle from the table and proffering it to Helena. 'Of course, if Helena is a baby, then she shouldn't drink. If she's a big girl, then father won't mind.'

'Helena, don't,' the boy said beseechingly. Something in his tone sounded wrong.

Helena looked at him. He looked genuinely afraid, his eyes wide with terror, his mouth straightened into a line. What could be so bad about a sip of firewhisky? Still, if the boy looked that scared, then Helena wouldn't chance it. What if it turned out to be poison?

'I knew that thou wouldst not walk the walk,' Sexta sneered, raising an eyebrow.

'If whisky be for big girls, then thou wouldst drink with me,' Helena replied bravely, not wishing to lose face.

'Fine,' Sexta replied, pulling out the cork and taking a large gulp. She cringed, but did an admirable job of hiding it as she handed the bottle back to Helena. 'I believe it is thy turn.'

'Fine,' Helena replied. She would not be outdone by this nobody. She was Helena Ravenclaw, and that meant something. At least, that's what her mother kept saying.

She tentatively sniffed the bottle and cringed. It smelt like poison to her. But she had gone too far in to back out now. Pinching her nose, she took a sip. It burned her tongue and the whole of her throat as if it were on fire. Her eyes watered, but somehow, she maganed to keep her mouth shut and not cough it all out onto the floor. Sexta looked at her appraisingly.

'Thou mayst accompany me to the kitchens, if it be thy will,' Sexta offered, but Helena was too angry at having been forced to drink the vile liquid to play nice.

'Thou mayst stay here and rot, for all I care,' she told the girl, turning on her heel and walking outside.

Her mother had said not to stray, but surely her mother didn't know what a pest that Sexta was. If she wanted to drink firewhisky, if that was what ten year olds did, then Helena did not want to talk to her, and she did not want to be ten. What had Helena ever done to her?

'Wait!' The boy cried out, cutting into her vindictive thoughts. 'Wait!'

Helena waited patiently as he ran out beside her, his blue eyes shining with curiosity.

'I've never been able to stand up to her,' he explained. 'She's too strong for me now. Anyway, I think we'll get into less trouble if I say that I'm showing thee the gardens.'

Helena let the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile.

'Clever,' she said. 'Lead the way then. What is thy name?'

'Septimus,' the boy answered.

'The seventh,' Helena deduced. The boy's face fell.

'That's what everyone says,' he said in a small voice.

Helena felt a pang of compassion for him. She monopolised her mother's affection and had been the apple in her father's eye. She couldn't imagine competing against six older siblings who would be wiser and stronger than she. She cast about for something nice to say.

'Seven's a magical number,' she said eventually, remembering what her fairytales taught her. 'Maybe when thou cometh of age, thou willst be the strongest of all thy siblings.'

That seemed to cheer Septimus up, and soon they were talking animatedly about all the spells they would learn when they were older and the things they would do when their parents could no longer dictate their lives.

'I'll travel the world,' Helena announced.

'I'll be the best duellist in the whole of Brittania!' Septimus waved an imaginary sword.

Their eyes met and both burst into giggles. For once, someone wasn't laughing at their dreams, but rather with them in anticipation of the future to come. It never once crossed their minds that their increasingly powerful and dangerous feats were near impossible.

In the end, Rowena had to come out into the garden and call Helena personally to get her to leave. Helena rushed to her mother's side, but turned at the last minute to wave at the first person to understand her since her father had died.

On their way back, Helena rubbed at her diamonds. Her mother gave her a warning look, and quickly, Helena pretended that she was pulling at the sleeve of her dress.

Suddenly, she gasped.

'What is it now, Helena?' Her mother's voice sounded exasperated, but amused.

Helena narrowed her eyes at Rowena. She wasn't prepared for her mother's "I told thee so" speech yet.

'Nothing,' she said quickly, hiding her arm behind her back.

Rowena arched one dark eyebrow, but left her daughter to her secrets.

That evening, after Rowena had kissed her goodnight, Helena ran to the window to make sure that what she saw was true. Under the moonlight, her silvery scars shone brightly. Only they weren't diamonds. Instead, they had been elongated into two eight-point stars, beautiful and elegant in their composition.

Helena couldn't wait to meet Septimus again.