HP: Fragments Of A Legacy

Chapter 8: Chapter 8: Dilemma, Resolution, and Unease.



The next day, all attention in the Great Hall was drawn to a long, slender package being carried by six white owls. Helena couldn't help but arch an eyebrow in surprise as she watched the package soar directly toward where her brother was seated.

Curious, she excused herself from her tablemates and crossed the Hall, arriving just in time to see Harry take and open the letter that accompanied the package. She immediately recognized the handwriting on the parchment.

DO NOT OPEN THE PACKAGE AT THE TABLE. It contains your new Nimbus 2000, but I don't want everyone knowing you've been given a broomstick—they'll all want one too. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch pitch at seven for your first training session.

Professor McGonagall.

"I suppose this is her way of welcoming you to the team," Helena remarked over Harry's shoulder, her tone slightly sardonic. She still had mixed feelings about how Professor McGonagall had handled the situation.

"A Nimbus 2000!" exclaimed Ron, the red-haired boy Harry spent most of his time with. His eyes gleamed with amazement as he looked over the package. "I never thought I'd see one up close… It's brilliant!"

Helena noticed a flicker of envy in Ron's excitement, but it seemed more genuine than jealous.

"Come on! We've got to open it and see!" Harry sprang from his seat, ready to dash off toward Gryffindor Tower. He stopped abruptly, though, as a thought occurred to him.

"Oh… right. You can't come into the Gryffindor common room," he said, a note of frustration in his voice as he glanced apologetically at Helena.

Helena smiled easily, showing no sign of offense. "Don't worry. Show it to me later," she said, her voice light and carefree.

Harry looked relieved and nodded with a grin. "After dinner, Wood's going to teach me the basics on the Quidditch pitch. You should come with me to the practice."

"Of course!" Helena replied, her enthusiasm genuine.

Harry beamed before turning back to Ron, and Helena, satisfied, returned to her table. Still, she couldn't resist casting one last glance at the package containing the gleaming new broomstick.

Throughout the day, Helena couldn't stop thinking about Harry's broomstick. She was sure he'd tucked it safely away somewhere in his dormitory, likely under his bed or perhaps even on it, as if to keep it within sight at all times.

She couldn't blame him for his excitement. Realistically, it was one of the first times Harry had owned something entirely his. Up until now, the only things they'd known were cast-offs from the Dursleys, deemed unfit for Dudley. Even those were often shared between the two of them, as if the mere act of giving them something was an extraordinary act of generosity.

In truth, neither of them had ever really possessed anything of their own—until they arrived at Hogwarts. This place was showing them what it meant to have their own space, their own friends.

When the clock struck seven, Helena watched Harry leave the Great Hall at a brisk pace. After giving her friends a brief explanation, she followed him to the Quidditch pitch.

When she arrived, the sheer scale of the place took her breath away. Towering stands surrounded the field like walls, offering a perfect view of the action below. Each end of the pitch was crowned with three golden posts topped with hoops, reminiscent of Muggle bubble wands, though these were imposing, standing at least fifty feet tall.

Scanning the field, she quickly spotted Harry soaring through the air on his new broomstick. The joy on his face was unmistakable, lit up by a rare, radiant smile. The sight alone was enough to make Helena smile, a warm glow spreading in her chest. For a moment, it was as though all of her brother's worries had vanished, replaced by the pure thrill of flying.

"Harry!" she called out, raising her voice to be heard from the ground.

Harry looped quickly before descending toward her, landing with a surprising grace for someone just learning to fly.

"It's amazing, Helena!" he exclaimed, his excitement palpable as he dismounted from the Nimbus 2000, holding it up like a trophy. "You've got to try it!"

Helena grinned and, without hesitation, took the broomstick Harry offered. Remembering the instructions from their first flying lesson, she mounted it carefully. As her feet left the ground, a shiver of exhilaration ran through her. The broomstick felt light and responsive.

She rose steadily, and when she was high enough—perhaps a little over thirty feet—she paused. The cool wind rushed against her face, tangling her hair, and she took a deep breath, savoring the sensation. From up there, the last rays of sunlight filtered through the dark trees of the Forbidden Forest, painting the sky in shades of gold and purple. For a moment, she felt as small as a bird against the vastness of the horizon.

"What are you waiting for?" Harry's voice called out from the ground. "Fly!"

And so she did.

She took a slow lap around the Quidditch field, familiarizing herself with the broom and the terrain. It felt like gliding through the air; the broom responded to her every movement with precision. After a cautious first round, she allowed herself to go faster. A laugh escaped her lips as she sped up, the wind whistling around her. It was as though gravity had ceased to exist. In that moment, Helena felt free—truly free.

When she descended, still smiling, she noticed Harry was no longer alone. A tall boy, slightly older, with dark brown hair, stood next to her brother. Both of them clapped softly as she landed.

"Not bad for a first-timer," the boy remarked with an approving grin. "Looks like flying runs in the family. I'm Oliver Wood, captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team."

Helena returned his smile with a small one of her own.

"I have to say, if you weren't in Slytherin, I'd be tempted to recruit you. The team could use someone with your speed—you'd make an excellent Chaser," he added enthusiastically.

Helena's smile faltered slightly. She wasn't sure how to respond. She barely understood what a "Chaser" was in the context of the game. Up until now, Quidditch had seemed like just another activity in their textbooks, something that didn't require her attention. Now, after flying, she was beginning to see why it mattered so much to others.

Wood's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, and his expression shifted. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words, but his discomfort was clear.

"Speaking of Slytherin…" he began, his tone careful. "I know you're Harry's sister, but… team practices are meant to be confidential. You know, to keep opponents guessing. So, um, I don't mean to be rude, but…"

Helena raised an eyebrow, finishing his sentence for him with forced composure, "You need me to leave."

Wood looked even more embarrassed, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks.

"It's nothing personal, really. I'm sure you're trustworthy, but Flint…" He trailed off, choosing his words deliberately. "Marcus Flint, he's not exactly the most… ethical player. He'll do anything to win. I don't want to put you in a difficult position, you see?"

Excuses. Helena could sense them with a hint of bitterness. Wood wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling the whole truth either. The only real reason was that she was a Slytherin. To him, that alone was enough to make her untrustworthy.

"Who's Flint?" Harry asked, his tone making it clear he didn't like where the conversation was heading.

"Captain of the Slytherin team," Wood replied with a snort. "The only student at Hogwarts who looks like a troll in uniform."

"Okay, but why does that matter?" Harry retorted, frowning. "Helena wouldn't tell them anything. She's not like Malfoy or anyone else."

Wood raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I know, Harry. But it's better to tie up loose ends. Control the variables, you know?"

"It's fine, Harry," Helena interjected firmly before her brother could argue further. "Focus on your practice. I have homework to finish anyway."

She smiled—or at least she tried to—and began walking away from the field, a lump forming in her throat. Harry shot her one last concerned look, clearly debating whether to follow her or not. She gave him a reassuring glance, silently telling him there was no need to worry about her.

As she walked back to the castle, Wood's words replayed in her mind. "It's nothing personal." But it was. She had done nothing to earn distrust from him or anyone else. Being a Slytherin shouldn't be reason enough for others to doubt her.

Helena made her way to the dungeons, her pace quick as though she could leave behind the discomfort of the encounter on the Quidditch field. Around her, the dark, damp corridors of the castle seemed less welcoming than usual. She crossed the entrance to the Slytherin common room, which was nearly empty at this hour, and climbed the stairs to her dormitory.

The room was dimly lit, the soft green glow from the underwater windows mingling with the flickering light of floating candles in the chandeliers. The faint vibration of the lake against the stone walls made everything feel strangely silent.

Cassandra was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her blonde hair falling like a shimmering curtain over her face as she read a book. Her expression was serene, as if nothing could disturb her. Their other two dormmates hadn't returned yet.

Helena dropped onto her mattress with a sigh. Her robes still smelled faintly of wind and grass. For a moment, Cassandra didn't say anything, turning a page of her book with the same graceful indifference as always. Finally, she spoke, without looking up.

"What's wrong? You're making more noise than Professor Quirrell trying to speak."

Helena let out a bitter laugh.

"Thanks for the comparison," she replied, her voice tinged with sarcasm. She stared up at the dark green canopy over her bed, as if seeking answers in the shadows. "Have you ever felt like everyone thinks you're… evil, just because you're in Slytherin?"

The question hung in the air for a moment. Cassandra closed her book with a soft snap and looked up, her pale grey eyes filled with calm curiosity as they studied Helena.

"Has someone said that to you?"

"Not exactly. But I could tell he thought it," Helena murmured, turning onto her side and propping her head up with her hand. "Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain, told me it wasn't personal, but…"

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"But he still asked me to leave because I'm a Slytherin," Helena continued. "It doesn't matter that I'm Harry's sister or that I'd never share information with anyone in my house. Just wearing green is enough to make them think I can't be trusted."

For the first time, Cassandra seemed genuinely interested. She shifted on her bed, leaning back against her pillows, and studied Helena for a few moments.

"Why does it bother you so much what they think?" she asked.

"Because it's not fair," Helena said, frustration creeping into her voice. "I haven't done anything wrong."

Cassandra offered a faint smile, more understanding than amused.

"Don't you know what they say about us?" she asked, her tone soft but laced with a touch of mockery. "That we're cunning, ambitious, manipulative… 'Dark wizards in training.' Even though we've only been here a short time, I can assure you that to the rest of Hogwarts, if you're in Slytherin, you're meant to be like that. It doesn't matter who you actually are."

Helena fell silent, watching the soft ripples of green light reflected on the stone walls.

"But is it true?" she asked at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "Are we really like that?"

"We're not evil," Cassandra said firmly, her voice calm but filled with conviction. "At least, not any more than anyone else in any other house."

Helena shifted slightly on her bed to look at her, curiosity and skepticism mingling in her expression.

"That's not what everyone seems to think," she muttered, recalling Wood's words and the distrustful tone she'd heard from other students when they spoke of Slytherins.

Cassandra sighed and leaned back against the headboard of her bed, stretching out her legs.

"Do you know what the problem is?" she asked, her grey eyes meeting Helena's. "People only remember the big names—the most terrible ones. Some of them were from Slytherin, or tied to the house. But that doesn't mean we hold the monopoly on evil."

Helena blinked, surprised by her bluntness. Cassandra continued, raising an eyebrow with a hint of irony.

"Do you really think Gryffindor has never produced dark wizards? Of course they have. For all their talk about bravery and nobility, they also harbor the arrogant, the reckless, and the dangerous. Misguided courage can be just as lethal as ambition."

"Are you saying Gryffindor has produced dark wizards?" Helena asked, incredulous.

Cassandra nodded, as if stating the obvious.

"Not just them. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, too. Every house has its lights and shadows. Do you really think Ravenclaw's intelligence can't be twisted for terrible purposes? Or that Hufflepuff's loyalty couldn't blind someone into following the wrong leader?" Her voice softened, as though trying to soothe Helena's discomfort. "The truth, Helena, is that no trait is inherently bad. Ambition isn't. Neither is cunning. It all depends on what you do with it."

Helena fell silent, turning Cassandra's words over in her mind. She couldn't deny their truth, but something about it still left her uneasy.

"Then why does it feel like we're the only ones being blamed?" she asked at last, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cassandra looked at her with a gentler expression, almost sympathetic.

"That's something I can't answer with certainty," she replied calmly. "Slytherin has produced great wizards, Helena—many of them with… questionable morals. Even Salazar himself, or so the stories go. But you know what's curious? When there are problems, when answers are needed, people will always look for someone to blame."

Helena frowned slightly, staring at the dark green canopy above her bed, as though seeking answers in its shadows.

"And why us?" she pressed, her voice even softer now.

Cassandra sighed, crossing her arms. Her tone became reflective, almost philosophical.

"Because it's easier to blame someone else than to confront something deeper, something harder to face. People need a villain to make themselves feel better. And since Slytherins have always been ambitious, cunning, and willing to take unconventional paths, it made us the perfect scapegoat."

Helena studied her quietly, processing her words, but Cassandra wasn't finished.

"But think about it," she continued, her voice gaining a faintly ironic edge. "If the line between good and evil were that simple, then the rest of the magical world wouldn't have problems."

Helena frowned slightly, considering her point.

"You mean other countries?" she asked cautiously.

"Exactly," Cassandra replied, gesturing lightly with one hand. "There are dark wizards in France, in America, in the Eastern countries… Even in the Muggle world, there are people who make terrible choices. Would you say all of them were Slytherins? Of course not—many of them never even attended or know of Hogwarts. Darkness doesn't care about houses or borders. It exists everywhere. It's just that here, within the walls of this grand castle, it's easier to point fingers."

Helena felt her shoulders relax slightly. It was true. She had read about it in some books before arriving: dark wizards and tyrants weren't exclusive to Britain, let alone to Slytherin. But no one seemed to remember that when speaking of her house.

"Then why doesn't anyone say so?" she murmured at last. "Why doesn't anyone make it clear?"

Cassandra let out a dry laugh.

"Because the truth isn't as exciting as a good story. It's easier to tell tales of 'evil Slytherins' than to accept that we all carry light and shadow within us. No one wants to hear that the world is complicated, let alone that it can be cruel. They'd rather believe in heroes and villains. It helps them sleep at night."

Helena said nothing. The honesty in Cassandra's words had caught her off guard. It was rare to hear someone speak so plainly about matters that felt so tangled.

She had thought only Lucian possessed that gift for words, but now she had to reconsider. Cassandra had just shown she could be equally persuasive.

But as she thought of Lucian, she couldn't help but recall what had happened that night. The night he, with just a flick of his wand, had dueled two older students… and won. The image was seared into her memory: the precise movements, the calm yet defiant gaze. It was a moment that had marked a shift in their house.

Since then, Helena had started to see that there were people in Slytherin who only needed a chance—a spark to stand up against injustice. Not everyone would change, but some would. And that was enough to prove how wrong others were.

"And Lucian?" she asked suddenly, her voice laced with curiosity and something deeper she couldn't quite name. "Do you think he's changing things?"

Cassandra smiled—a rare expression on her face, one that now seemed to hold a mix of admiration and confidence.

"Lucian isn't changing things, Helena," she said calmly. "He already has."

Helena watched her intently, waiting for her to continue.

"The dynamics of the house have shifted since he chose to go against the current," Cassandra continued, her voice firm and assured. "Of course, it will be a slow process. Traditions don't disappear overnight, and some won't accept it easily. But if it's him, then he can do it."

Her words were filled with unshakable confidence, as if she were speaking of something inevitable.

Helena nodded slowly, feeling something settle within her—like a puzzle piece finding its place. A spark of hope lit her thoughts, dispelling the doubts she had carried back from the Quidditch field.

"Thank you, Cassandra," she murmured at last, her voice steadier than before.

Cassandra met her gaze, this time with a warmth she rarely let others see. It was a subtle gesture, but powerful enough for Helena to feel it.

"You're welcome," her companion replied softly, extinguishing the candle lighting the room with a gentle flick of her wand. "Now stop worrying about what some random Gryffindor thinks and get some sleep. Tomorrow's another day."

Helena smiled faintly in the darkness as the dormitory sank into a tranquil silence. The soft murmur of the lake filtering through the stone walls was almost hypnotic, like the water itself was whispering ancient, soothing secrets.

She closed her eyes, her thoughts a little lighter, her heart a little steadier. Perhaps she didn't have all the answers yet, but one thing was clear: Not all Slytherins were evil.

The next morning, Helena rose from her bed with a renewed sense of purpose. Last night's conversation with Cassandra had dispelled much of the doubts that had been haunting her, and now she felt more confident about facing the day. Stretching and completing her morning routine, she dressed in her Slytherin uniform, carefully ensuring that her necklace was perfectly arranged around her neck.

Cassandra took a little longer to get ready, but eventually, they both left the dormitory. Helena watched as her companion swept her hair back with an elegant, effortless gesture before they made their way together to the common room. The air in Slytherin always seemed colder in the mornings, as if the dark lake surrounding them chilled the very stones of the walls.

When they arrived, Helena couldn't help but pause for a moment. Lucian was there, as usual, but this time he wasn't alone. He was speaking with a taller boy, blonde-haired, whose expression betrayed neither friendliness nor hostility. Helena recognized him almost immediately—a sixth-year student who belonged to the same circle as Flint and Rosier.

Her eyes instinctively narrowed. It was unlikely that this boy would harbor any goodwill toward Lucian. Beside her, Cassandra seemed to notice the situation at once; her gaze sharpened as she observed the young man next to Lucian.

"What's he doing talking to him?" Helena murmured under her breath, just loud enough for Cassandra to hear.

"How would I know? I just came out of the dormitory with you," Cassandra replied, her tone low but laced with sarcasm and a faint trace of irritation.

The two advanced cautiously toward Lucian, who, upon noticing their approach, ended his conversation with the boy. The sixth-year cast them a brief glance, as if evaluating them, before walking away at an unhurried pace.

"What did he want?" Helena asked as soon as they were close enough, her tone direct but not accusatory.

Lucian gave them a nonchalant smile—the kind of smile that seemed to defuse any question effortlessly. Helena couldn't help but wonder how Lucian managed to wield it so naturally.

"Nothing important, just some unresolved matters. Though, I must admit, his attitude leaves much to be desired," he replied with a calmness that left no room for further inquiries. "Shall we head to the Great Hall?"

Helena wanted to press him, but Cassandra shot her a look that seemed to say, Let it go. With a resigned sigh, Helena shrugged and walked alongside Lucian and Cassandra toward the common room's exit.

There, an expectant Harry waited for her, arms crossed and a nervous air about him that Helena recognized immediately. His face lit up the moment he saw her.

"Helena!" he exclaimed, his tone cheerful yet rushed.

Harry quickly approached her, though this time he hesitated before acting. Instead of immediately grabbing her arm as he usually did, he offered an apologetic glance toward Lucian and Cassandra, who remained a few steps behind, observing the interaction with calm interest.

"I'll be borrowing her this morning, if you don't mind," Harry said, unusually polite.

Lucian raised an eyebrow, his face betraying a flicker of curiosity, but he said nothing. Cassandra, for her part, watched him with a neutral expression.

"No problem," Lucian finally replied, inclining his head slightly.

Before Helena could protest, Harry had already taken her hand and was guiding her away from her companions.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Helena asked, trying to understand why he was leading her so insistently by the hand.

"Nothing… I just thought we could have breakfast together," Harry replied casually, though there was something in his expression that suggested a clearer purpose than he wanted to admit.

As they entered the Great Hall, Helena began to understand. It was obvious that Harry was trying to cheer her up after the Quidditch field incident, but his direct approach was drawing more attention than she would have liked.

Harry didn't stop until they reached where Hermione and Ron were sitting at the Gryffindor table. Without releasing his sister's hand, he shot a brief glance at his friends before motioning toward the empty space beside him.

"Sit here, Helena," he said, his voice firm yet kind. "It's fine. Remember, I sat with you at the Slytherin table and survived."

Helena hesitated for a moment, glancing around. The curious stares of the other Gryffindors weren't exactly subtle, but seeing Harry's determined expression, she decided to sit next to him.

Ron looked at her as though a magical creature had just landed in the middle of the Great Hall.

"Is this allowed?" Ron asked, leaning toward Harry in a poor attempt at whispering.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Harry replied, frowning slightly.

"Well… you know," Ron muttered, shrugging awkwardly, "she's a snake."

Harry turned to him with a firm, almost defiant gaze.

"She's my sister, Ron," he said in a low but emphatic tone, as though that statement alone settled the matter.

Ron shrank slightly under Harry's gaze, though his expression remained somewhat bewildered.

"It's just… not common, you know?" Ron attempted to justify, now addressing both of them. "A Slytherin sitting at our table, I mean. It's nothing personal."

Helena let her gaze slide from Ron to Hermione before speaking, her tone measured but clear.

"It's natural for it to feel strange. It's not very common for someone from another house to sit at a different table."

Hermione nodded slightly, while Ron seemed ready to retort, but Harry cut in with an openly cynical tone.

"A ridiculous rule, if you ask me. As if it's a crime to eat breakfast with whomever we like."

Ron sighed deeply, as though exhausted by Harry's unyielding logic.

"All right, all right," Ron said at last, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "But if someone throws a fried egg at you for this, don't say I didn't warn you."

Helena couldn't help but smile faintly at the remark, while Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"I highly doubt that'll happen, Ron," Helena replied calmly. "Besides, I think I can handle myself just fine."

She took a sip of pumpkin juice, masking any lingering unease, though her voice carried a quiet confidence that made her words all the more resolute.

Ron, however, continued to study her with unabashed curiosity, as though he was still trying to figure out why a Slytherin was sitting at their table.

"What?" Helena asked lightly, her tone playful but her eyes flashing with a hint of defiance. "Haven't you ever seen a snake have breakfast?"

Her remark caught Ron off guard, leaving him momentarily speechless. It was clear he had a retort ready, but Hermione intervened before he could speak, nudging him firmly in the side.

"That's enough, Ron," she said with controlled firmness, her voice carrying the air of someone reprimanding a misbehaving child.

Ron muttered something unintelligible under his breath and turned his attention back to his plate, letting the conversation drop.

Helena watched the exchange between them with a mix of bemusement and warmth. It was strange, sitting at a table without Lucian or Cassandra nearby, but Harry's unwavering loyalty to her—even in the face of his friends' questions—brought her a sense of comfort she hadn't anticipated.

"See?" Harry said with a relaxed grin as he helped himself to some scrambled eggs. "No big deal. The world's still spinning."

Helena met his gaze for a moment, her own lips curving into a small, understated smile.

"I know," she replied softly. "Thank you, Harry."

The tension around them began to ease. Hermione, determined to diffuse the lingering awkwardness, started discussing their Transfiguration readings, while Harry and Ron launched into an animated debate about the next Quidditch match.

As she listened, Helena couldn't help but notice the occasional glances cast her way from other parts of the table. Some were curious, others more critical. But for the first time, it didn't seem to bother her as much.

Harry was willing to stand by her, even against the whispers and stares, just to make her feel welcome. That meant more to her than she could ever put into words. With that thought in mind, she reached for a slice of toast and joined the conversation, allowing herself to relax and enjoy the moment, even if only for a little while.

It was possibly because life at Hogwarts was so completely different from the monotonous and slightly painful existence she had led with the Dursleys that Helena hadn't realized two months had already passed since her arrival at the castle.

In such a short time, Hogwarts had come to feel more like home than her house on Privet Drive. The classes, which had originally been about learning the basics of magic, had now become much more interesting and challenging.

On Halloween morning, students awoke to the delicious scent of roasted pumpkin drifting through the hallways, promising a special day ahead. But the best part was when Professor Flitwick announced in Charms class that they were ready to learn how to levitate objects, something many had been eagerly anticipating since seeing him make Theodore Nott's toad float on the first day of class.

As was his custom, Professor Flitwick stood atop a pile of books and assigned partners to practice the spell. Helena was paired with Lucian, while Cassandra ended up working with Daphne Greengrass, an interesting match given both girls' reserved and indifferent personalities. Although they seemed to get along, it was impossible to tell what either truly thought of the other.

"And now, don't forget that lovely wrist movement we've been practicing," Professor Flitwick said in his high-pitched voice. "Swish and flick! Remember, pronouncing the incantation correctly is just as important. Never forget about wizard Baruffio, who said 'S' instead of 'F' and ended up with a buffalo on his chest."

Helena, though doubtful of the truth of that story, couldn't help but smile at the professor's enthusiasm.

"Would you like to try first?" she asked, looking at Lucian as she placed her quill in the center of the table.

Lucian raised an eyebrow and looked at her with a mixture of amusement and slight mockery. With a quick and elegant flick of his wand, and without uttering a word, the quill rose into the air. It floated gracefully to the ceiling, where it hung suspended for a moment before slowly descending, landing softly back on the table.

Professor Flitwick, who had been watching closely, clapped his hands in delight.

"Fantastic demonstration, Mr. Grindelwald!" he exclaimed, nearly jumping for joy. "Fifteen points for your house: five for the excellent wand movement and ten for using non-verbal magic."

"Thank you, professor," Lucian replied with a serene smile and a slight nod.

"If you don't mind, seeing as you've mastered the spell so easily, could you help guide your classmates?" Professor Flitwick asked, looking at him with expectant eyes.

"Of course, professor," Lucian answered, rising from his seat. Before following the professor, he gave Helena one last look, a mix of playful superiority and satisfaction.

Helena, still taken aback by the scene, furrowed her brow and muttered irritably, "Show-off."

She took a deep breath and refocused on the quill. She closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing the spell in her mind, then performed the wrist movement Flitwick had indicated.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she pronounced clearly.

The quill trembled slightly before rising slowly, wavering at first as though unsure of its own ability to stay in the air. Helena frowned, concentrating on adjusting the angle of her wand and mentally repeating the precise movement the professor had taught them.

With one final flick of her wrist, the quill stopped trembling and began to float more steadily. Slowly, it ascended to about three meters above her head, spinning gracefully in the air. A triumphant smile appeared on Helena's face as she watched her success.

"Excellent, Miss Potter!" Professor Flitwick exclaimed upon noticing her progress. "Well done! Five more points for Slytherin!"

Lucian, who had returned to the back of the classroom to observe, gave her a half-smile while clapping softly.

"Not bad for a first-timer," he commented with a touch of humor.

Helena shot him a challenging look, but couldn't help but smile faintly.

"At least I don't need to show off to prove what I can do."

The small competition between them felt more like a game than a rivalry, and as the rest of the class continued practicing, Helena allowed herself to bask in the glow of her personal victory.

Professor Flitwick's class was the last one of the day. Helena, along with Cassandra, headed to the Great Hall for dinner. As usual, Lucian had separated from them, excusing himself with his usual vagueness about "things to attend to." Helena didn't bother asking.

As they passed near Harry and Ron, she found them deep in conversation. She offered a casual greeting, but neither of them reacted. It was strange, especially coming from Harry, who never usually ignored her, even unintentionally. She also noticed that Hermione wasn't with them, which struck her as even more unusual.

However, she decided not to dwell on it. Upon entering the Great Hall, she was pleasantly surprised by the decorations: thousands of bats fluttering from the walls and ceiling, while another thousand hovered between the tables, making the candles in the carved pumpkins tremble. The feast suddenly appeared on the golden plates, just like at the beginning of term banquet.

Helena sat next to Cassandra at their usual spot at the Slytherin table. Over time, that side had gained popularity, and now the group gathering there was larger than it had been at the start of term. However, Helena couldn't help but notice that the right side of the table, traditionally occupied by the more conservative members of the house, was less crowded. Some familiar faces were missing, which made her frown slightly. Although she had no proof, something deep inside told her that something strange was going on.

Not allowing these thoughts to distract her, Helena began to serve herself a potato with its skin. It was then that Professor Quirrell burst into the hall, his turban askew and a look of sheer terror on his face.

"A troll!" he gasped, leaning on Professor Dumbledore's table. "In the dungeons! I thought you should know…"

Before anyone could react, he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

The Great Hall erupted into chaos with screams and worried murmurs. Professor Dumbledore, with his usual calm authority, conjured a set of magical fireworks that crackled above the students' heads.

"Silence!" he shouted, and the tumult ceased immediately. "Prefects, lead your groups to their dormitories at once."

Before anyone could move, a clear and firm voice rang out from the Slytherin table.

"Our common room is in the dungeons, Headmaster." Cassandra had stood up, her face grave in contrast to her usual indifference.

Dumbledore, visibly frustrated by the mistake, raised a hand to calm the murmurs that had started again.

"You are correct, Miss Beaumont. My apologies. No student is to move until this situation is resolved. Everyone will stay here in the Great Hall until further notice."

As the professors began organizing security in the hall, Harry suddenly stood, interrupting the silence that had fallen.

"Hermione's in the bathroom!" he said urgently. "After the last class, she had an issue with some students and... we haven't seen her since."

Harry's words caused many students to exchange worried looks.

Dumbledore nodded quickly and turned to the professors.

"Minerva, Severus, come with me. We'll go find her immediately," he ordered firmly before addressing the other professors. "Stay here with the students. No unnecessary movement."

Helena felt an immediate impulse to stand and point out that Lucian was also missing. There was something about the situation that made her stomach tighten, but before she could even speak, Cassandra, sitting next to her, gave her an intense look. With a slight nod, she indicated for her to remain silent.

It was a small gesture, but it was full of meaning. Helena closed her mouth and, against her better judgment, decided to follow her advice. Cassandra, along with Lucian, always seemed to know more than they let on, and though it frustrated her at times, in that moment, she chose to trust her judgment.

The three professors quickly left the hall, their cloaks billowing behind them, and the Great Hall fell into a tense silence. Murmurs began to spread among the students, but the prefects and remaining professors worked to maintain order.

Helena watched the door through which the professors had exited, her brow furrowed and worry evident on her face. She wasn't just anxious about Hermione—Lucian's absence at a time like this was deeply unsettling.

But there was something else. A chill ran down her spine, one she couldn't attribute solely to concern for her friends. It was the first time since she had arrived at Hogwarts that she truly felt a sense of danger, as if the castle's outward calm concealed something far darker and more threatening.

Cassandra remained silent beside her, her gaze fixed on her plate as though there was nothing to worry about. But Helena noticed that her friend was also more tense than usual; her hands rested on her lap, her fingers tightly interlaced in a firm grip. Helena could only hope that her judgment was correct.

She swallowed hard, trying to calm herself. She looked around, observing the concerned faces of the other students. For now, she decided the best thing she could do was wait and trust that the professors would handle the situation.

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