"Your sister is dead."
My mother's face is a cold winter day, unfeeling and unforgiving as she speaks, her tone equally as frosty.
"What?" I blink, rising from the chair I'm seated in and onto my feet, though it's a mistake, as I struggle to keep myself upright, the shock like a slap to the face, a knife to the heart. It's been months since we have heard from Helena, when she'd taken that precious diadem and ran off into the night. Months of praying to the Lord above that she would return. Months of waiting, when sending William after her resulted in nothing. When he, too, vanished into thin air.
"How…how are you certain?" I sputter when my mother gives no response. "Was a body recovered? Are you positive it is her?"
She nods ever so slightly, her jaw firmly clenched as she stares down at me through those brown eyes so like my own, so like Helena's. "She was in Albania."
"Albania?" I repeat, hating the way the word sounds on my tongue. My eldest sister, alone in a foreign country. Dead.
It's as though I've been punched in the gut, over and over and over again, my stomach cramping up into a ball as I struggle not to hunch over, not to cry out in physical pain.
Another nod.
"I am sorry, Rebekah," my mother takes a step towards me, a hand outstretched, searching for mine. She finds it, and her skin is cold to the touch, as cold as her tone, as her expression. I know it isn't for lack of care for Helena's death, if our mother had not cared, she would not have spent months attempting to search for her. No, this is the only way she knows how to comprehend such a loss — shut down. "I know you were praying for her safe return."
"As were you," I bow my head, feeling tears prick at my eyes. "What…what happened to her? How did she…?" I can't bring myself to finish my sentence, bile building in my throat.
For the briefest moment, a look of sheer agony eclipses Rowena Ravenclaw's expression, before it returns to one of neutrality, as though never there in the first place. "She was murdered. By William."
My breath catches in my throat, and this time, I do stumble backwards, my feet creaking on the wooden floor as I struggle to keep myself from falling over. "William? No, he would not…"
My mother shakes her head. "He did, my dearest. He stabbed Helena in the heart, then himself."
"William would not!" I repeat with more urgency in my tone, though as I speak, I realize I am trying to convince myself, and not my mother. "William would not murder Helena, not when he loved her so! Nor would he turn his blade upon himself! He would not!"
"That was the scene discovered," Rowena presses her lips together. "Rebekah, denying what occurred will not change it, despite how we may wish for it to. I know you cared for him deeply, but he was troubled. Perhaps it is for the best that he is gone."
I want to argue this, I want to scream and shout some more, but I manage to hold my tongue. My mother has a point, though I may hate to admit it. William had never been well, that was clear as the day sky whenever we spoke. "Why would William do such a thing? He loved Helena, more than life itself."
"Love can drive you to do the cruelest of things, Rebekah. The line dividing passion and insanity is thin. Remember that," My mother sighs. "There will be a funeral, in four days, for the two of them. It is in your best interest to attend."
"For William? When he has committed a mortal sin?"
"He still deserves to rest. It is the Lord's judgement to bestow upon him, not our own." She bows her head, and I do the same, staring down at the floor, at my bare feet, cold from the autumn weather, and feel my stomach churn once again and a shiver run up my spine. Ice, is all I feel as I step outside of the living quarters, to make my way outside. Ice on my skin, in my throat, gnawing at me as tears build in my eyes. I doubt I will ever be warm again.
"Are you okay?" I hear a voice call out from behind me, as a hand rests on my shoulder. A grounding hand, with a grounding voice, that I do not have to turn around to know who it is that lingers on my left.
"No, I am not," I answer Salazar honestly, my eyes not fixed on him, but on the grave I stand in front of, hovering above the wooden cross that reads my sister's name.
Helena Ravenclaw
982-1001
"People die every day, Little Bird," Salazar Slytherin continues with my nickname, as though I am unaware of this fact. Of course I know people die, I am not stupid, but I have never met someone who was murdered. Let alone my own sister, stabbed in the heart by the boy who swore he loved her.
William Savoy is buried somewhere nearby, in a grave I have no desire to visit. Whatever I felt for him in the past has been severed, the ribbon tying me to him snapped in half. Just thinking about him, his beautiful face, makes me sick to my stomach, so I do my best to push the image of him out of my mind.
"You ought to not let this death be what destroys you."
I shake my head, finally reverting my eyes away from my sister's eternal home, and towards the balding man that remains stationed behind me. Salazar, my father in everything but blood, the man who had helped to raise Helena and I when the true man who sired us left in the middle of the night. Just as Helena would do several years later, carrying our mother's prized possession.
It was not found. The diadem remains lost, hidden wherever Helena left it. It is only up to time for someone to discover it, and if they do, no doubt they will understand the power it holds. Even I do not.
"Nothing destroys me, Salazar," my eyes shoot daggers at him. He is the one man I know I can speak to in such a way without being reprimanded. In fact, he tends to approve of my retorts, my arguments, the way I refuse to speak anything but the truth around him. I appreciate it as well, an outlet for my innermost thoughts.
Had my true father stayed, perhaps he would be the man I went to, but I cannot invasion that. Not anyone but Salazar.
"But my sister is dead," I continue, gulping as I struggle to hold back my tears, "and I cannot simply go on as though she is not."
"Do not forget William is also in the ground," he points out.
"Why would I care about him?"
His eyebrows lift. "Were you not infatuated with him?"
A furious blush creeps across my face, and embarrassment climbs its way into my stomach. Perhaps it was no secret, the love I harbored for my sister's suiter, but no one had ever dared to outright speak of it. "He loved Helena," is all I can think to answer with.
"That means nothing."
"It does to me," I cross my arms over my chest, feeling the faint fall breeze tickle my skin. "Besides, it matters not. They are both dead, and I alive and alone and heartbroken."
"I am sorry for your loss," he gives me the faintest of smiles, a rarity from the man indeed. In fact, I cannot remember the last time Salazar Slytherin wore anything less than a scowl. "If I could bring her back to you, I would."
"As terrifying as it may be, death is a foe impossible to defeat," I let out a breath, shaking my head. "Though your words are kind. I appreciate them."
"Death is not as formidable as you may believe," he gives me a smirk, as though aware of something I am not. When my brow furrows together, he continues, "Do you want to know a secret, Little Bird?"
I nod.
He leans in, his lips an inch or two away from my ear, and whispers, "I know how to cheat death."
"How?" I gasp, whipping around to look at him with growing eyes.
"It is called a horcrux. They are my creation. They can prevent one from dying, ever."
"Ever?" My eyes grow wide at the implication. Immortality, that was reserved for Christ and Christ alone. But we defied Him by our simple existence, by being magic, even if we went to our knees for him every Sunday. Perhaps craving immortality was not the mortal sin it seemed to be, perhaps, like magic, the Lord wants us to have it. Perhaps we are special. Blessed.
"Ever," Salazar confirms, placing a hand atop my shoulder and squeezing slightly. "Do you want to live forever, Rebekah? Or do you want to be in the ground, like your sister, with worms gnawing at your flesh?"
It is a rare occasion indeed, when Salazar uses my real name, and not the nickname he adorned me with years ago. Little Bird, the youngest, the smallest of the child of the raven herself, Rowena Ravenclaw.
"I do not know," I admit, wringing my hands together, resisting the urge to squirm at the idea of my own body, my soul's home, rotting. I would end up in Heaven, I suppose, but even so, it feels…horrible. "Is it not…wrong? Is it not in our nature to die?"
"Oh, Little Bird, we are beyond death. We are wizards and witches. We are infinite."
His smirk sends a shiver down my spine, though I try to resist showing my anxiety to him.
"How does one make a horcrux?" I ask, though I am not quite sure I wish to know the answer.
"I will tell you," he begins, his hand moving from my shoulder to my back, "If you complete a task for me."
"What do you wish for me to do?"
"There is an artifact, your mother has."
"The diadem?" I ask. "Helena stole it. Its location is unknown now. I cannot give you it."
"No, not the diadem," Salazar shakes his head. "It does not have a name yet, it is your mother's creation. It is gold, with an hourglass in between the circular rings around it. A necklace, beautiful as they come."
"You wish for me to steal a necklace?"
He nods. "Yes. Handle it with care, Little Bird. Bring me the necklace, and the key to immortality is yours."
I do not wish to be immortal, not when my beloved sister and the boy who owned my heart are both dead. How would I be able to manage an eternity without them? No, death would ensure I am reunited with them in the afterlife — though I doubt William is residing in Heaven right now.
But I'm curious, oh so curious, about what Salazar has in store. Surely it is sinful, surely it is not right. But oh, Pandora's box is ever so tempting.
It does not take long to find what Salazar wishes for. My mother is a prideful woman, never worried about being stolen from, because she does not believe anyone would dare step over the thinly drawn line she's etched around herself.
The necklace is stuffed in a chest in her small, cold bedroom. We do not live in luxury, despite having the means to — instead, we reside in the forest, close enough to her school that she can walk there every day. That is where she is right now, in her school, with no idea that I am about to steal from her, just as my sister did.
The necklace is cold to the touch, the gold feeling strange against my fingers as I twirl it around, eyeing the way the sun reflects on it from the window.
Put me on, the necklace seems to speak to me, a tiny voice echoing in the back of my mind. Try me, Rebekah. You will not regret it.
What is the harm, I suppose, as I place Pandora's box around my neck. What could possibly go wrong?
Then, without so much as a warning, the world turns black.