DISCLAIMER: Do you honestly think I own this? Ha, you’re funny. However, plagiarize me and I’ll hang you.


Uhhh...feedback anyone? I have had ONE person to review me; thank you for doing so. Um, anyone else?

Update: Thursday (tentatively).

REVIEWSSSS!

Love,
Jenn 







Helena sat in a silent bliss as she vaguely watched her ladies-in-waiting play on the bowling green of the courtyard. Early in the morning, the male courtiers of the household had challenged Helena and her ladies to a rousing game of bowling, making sure to tell the ladies to “bet small, for you shall lose a fortune”. Like twittering birds, the younger ladies had all agreed and lost nearly all of their pocket money within the first two games. Now on the twelfth game, Helena had sat it out, bored with the courtiers faking losses so the maidens could believe that they were the least bit competent at the sport.

Seated in a stone archway of the courtyard, Helena began to observe life outside of her twittering maidens. It was a beautifully luminescent day, the sun hanging high in the sky, smiling down at the players on the bowling green. Hardly any clouds gathered to threaten the golden rays from the sky, revealing the pure serenity of the azure eternity. Helena sighed, giggling to herself as chirping birds gathered together on a nearby roof, chatting amongst themselves as though they too were spectators, watching the court’s bowling tournament.

“Aha, I have won again!” A surprisingly flirtatious Bess shouted triumphantly at a courtier Helena knew to be George Breton. Helena smiled again as she watched Sir Breton’s dramatic display of counting out Bess’ sickles and dropping them into the palm of her fair hand. However, it was not unseen by any when George took her outstretched hand and planted a coy kiss upon it, causing another melodious gurgle to bubble up from her throat.

The decorum of courtly love, Helena mused, rolling her eyes as George Breton began to chase young Bess around the green, causing a rather comic spectacle.

“I beg your pardon ma’am,” Lady Helena was brought about her attention by a gravelly tone, finding that several of her elder maids had approached her.
“Yes?” Helena addressed them, straightening her posture.
“We ask permission to retire to our chambers, my lady. The sun is much too friendly for our aged hides this day.” Another spoke up, her dull brown eyes squinting against the bright midday rays of light. Quickly scanning the other few maids, Helena waved her hand dismissively,
“Permission granted, but I shall stay a bit longer.” Awkwardly curtsying to their lady, the maids were off at their turtle pace, muttering to themselves curses about the warm weather and how “they were growing too old for this,”. Ignoring their mumbled complaints, Helena returned her attention to day-dreaming.

Not a moment later though, Helena found another being in her presence. However, she knew this presence quite well and did not address him until he did so first. She could feel him behind her, and his eyes studying her as she gazed at her court. It was all Helena could to keep a smile from teasing her lips as he stood, seemingly unnoticed, in the shadows open hallway to the courtyard.

“Are you going to address me or-?” Helena kept her back to him as she finally gave into the silence. But before she could finish, she felt an arm snake around her waist from behind.
“I do plan on addressing you, my lady.” Thomas Burne whispered in her ear, the stubble of his chin grazing her neck. Eyes fluttering at the sudden touch, Helena attempted to keep her composure.
“You take such a risk...we could be seen!” She breathed back, giving a fruitless effort to release herself from his grasp; though she never wanted to be parted from him. He gave a chuckle in her ear, the low note sending slight, excited chills through her.

“Do you think they pay us any mind?” Thomas countered, his lips gently grazing the rim of her ear, which now donned a tinge of pink at his boldness. Briefly, Helena shot a glance at her court, realizing that they did not even notice that she was still standing in the archway, much less that she was in a close embrace with a page boy.

Thomas pulled her back into the corridor of the archway, a hall leading back in to the castle on one end, and on the other, a path leading to the grounds. He pinned her against a stone wall and before Helena could register what had happened, his lips had found hers in a tender lock.

“I detest meeting you in secret.” Thomas confessed, his hands finding Helena’s hips and resting upon them. However, she was distracted, worry filling her at the idea of being caught. Locking lips in the corridor wasn’t exactly her idea of secret.
“We cannot be seen.” She repeated, her brow creasing in worry. Thomas smiled at her again, kissing the tip of his thumb and gently placing it on the frown line on her brow. Helena turned away from this, a sigh escaping her.

“Helena-” Thomas tried to question, but she shook her head now, interrupting him.
“Who sent you?” She asked dismally, her eyes not meeting his. Thomas was a page boy, the only reason for him to be in her presence was to give a message from some higher in the castle. However, Helena already had an inkling whom he carried a message from.

“Your mother calls for you.” He conceded, not concealing a sigh afterwards. Helena nodded, biting her bottom lip.
“Then I shall be on my way.” She said, making a movement to leave, but Thomas’ grasp was still firm on her.
“Can you stay a bit-?”
“No. My mother does not wait.” Helena stated dully, refusing to gaze at the hurt in Thomas’ eyes.

“An escort, my lady?” He asked, in one final attempt to gain another moment with her. But as she was now halfway down the hall, Helena merely shook her head as she turned the corner away from Thomas.


~*~*~*~*~



“Ah, Helena, my daughter, you have finally decided to join me.” Helena finally found herself in her mother’s chambers, standing like a troublemaker student in front of a headmaster. Being in her mother’s presence was always intimidating.

Rowena Ravenclaw had, to no one’s surprise, the most lavish rooms in the household. Her outer chamber was always filled with her ladies-in-waiting singing, sewing or reading, with the occasional minstrel strumming a tune on the lute. Connected to the large out chambers, was Rowena’s parlor. It was a private office for the Founder, a round room surrounded with stained glass windows depicting various historical scenes. In the middle of this office stood a stately desk, a fine oak table with deep, elf-made carvings which held Rowena’s scrolls, writings and silver instruments (whose purpose, Helena was never sure). Tall bookshelves lined the room as well, hiding some of the pictured windows, but containing some of the oldest and most valuable scriptures and works. However, growing up, Helena laid a finger on none of these possessions.

Perhaps the most precious of personal effects Rowena Ravenclaw owned was the diadem. It was a simple, yet stunning tiara, a silver piece embedded with glowing sapphires and winking diamonds. The most famous of headpieces was this diadem, the very one which Rowena instilled all of her vast knowledge and more into. Helena had always felt rather foolish when she gazed at the diadem, knowing full well that this bland crown held more intellect than she could ever hope to acquire!

And so, finally taking her eyes off of the famous Ravenclaw diadem, Helena sought the attention of her mother. However, she found that her mother was already seated in the raven-winged chair behind her desk and staring intently at her daughter, with her hands folded mildly atop her table.

“You are dismissed.” Rowena announced to the guard, standing outside of the door, “Tell the others they may retire as well.” She added, referring to the merry courtiers in the outer chamber. Helena could have cringed at this; if everyone had to be excused, she knew that she was in for it.

Quickly, Helena found a distraction. The source that now held her attention was a painting of Godric Gryffindor, who was studying her from his place on the wall next to her. Reading her slight panic, Godric gave her a little shake of the head and a nod towards her mother. Knowing her mother continued to watch her, Helena finally returned her gaze to the Founder in front of her.

With a swift flick of her wrist, without the help of a wand, Rowena had shut the oak door behind her daughter, leaving the two in complete solitude. And with another movement, she had made the walls Imperturbable, allowing no outsider to hear the inner discussion.

“Helena...” Rowena allowed her daughter’s name to roll smoothly off of her tongue, in a placid tone, evoking no indication of what Helena had been called in for.

“What are you doing?!” Like a flash of lightning, Helena had been slapped by this question. Keeping her composure, Helena remained indifferent. Though she had every idea of what her mother spoke.

“I know not of what you speak.” Helena uttered, her voice even, though she was emotionally shrinking from her mother’s steadily building wrath. And, not unexpectedly, her mother was out of her seat and standing, merely inches from her daughter. Their noses nearly touched as Rowena’s fierce green eyes pierced her daughter’s own hazel ones.

“You know damn well what I mean!” Rowena snapped, her jaw set in rage. Helena shifted her gaze downward now, in fear. Feeling a sudden stinging upon her right cheek, Helena knew she had been slapped before she heard her mother’s knuckles on her skin.

“A page boy! A page boy?! In what fantasy world are you living in, girl?” Rowena screeched, her hands gripped her daughter’s forearms. Helena recoiled at this; this was hardly the gentle embrace she had previously been in with Thomas...

“I am not.” Helena uttered, silencing a cry at the pain in her cheek as she spoke. At this response, Rowena shook Helena, almost as though she were trying to shake the nonsense out of her.
“Thomas Burne! How dare you lower yourself to near peasantry? Tell me, have you been frolicking with the sheep-herders as well? A horseman’s son! Your dress is worth more than he’ll ever make in his pitiful lifetime!”
“But I love him!” By this time, Helena had already succumbed to tears. The salt rushed over the red handprint on her cheek, which was now bleeding due to a cut of one of her mother’s rings digging into her skin. Though the wound was clearly bruising already, Helena paid no heed to it.

Rowena immediately quieted at her daughter’s proclamation, releasing her instantly. Rowena began to back away from her daughter, speechless.
“Love?” Rowena questioned, her voice barely above a whisper. Helena held a steadfast glare at her mother through her tears, which now mingled with blood. Her mother continued to retreat.

“Love? There is no such thing. Do you think I married your father for love? Girl, if you were even half as wise as I, you would know there is no meaning to the word! It is an infatuation. It is the spring...you are restless like a mare-”
“I grow tired of being compared to a horse-” Helena countered in a surly tone, but Rowena continued, ignoring her daughter.
“-waiting for someone to pay you the least bit of attention. It will pass, you silly girl. Love...?” Rowena gazed over at her diadem momentarily, and then back to her daughter, chuckling bitterly, “Not even my diadem could penetrate your thick skull to lend you some knowledge.”

“I am not obtuse.” Helena snapped, her eyes narrowing. Every time she entered this room, she was criticized for being less bright than her mother. Again, Rowena laughed.
“But you are not wise either. Tell me girl, are you any smarter than a whore in a brothel? It seems not....since you are giving yourself to every common folk that smiles at you.” Rowena spat, her nose scrunching in disdain.
“I am not a whore.” Helena bit back again. Rowena rolled her eyes in an almost bored fashion.
“Is that all you can do? Argue about what you are not? ‘I am not stupid...I am not a slut...’ When in fact, you should be confessing, ‘I am not intelligent’.” Rowena jeered.

“And who do you expect me to marry?” Helena snapped again.
“Not a peasant.” Her mother quipped as though she were spitting venom.
“Thomas is not a peasa-”
“The Baron.” Rowena interrupted her daughter again, this time with her marriage prospect.
“The Baron? The Baron?!” Helena screeched in protest, watching in rage as her mother calmly regained her seat at the desk.

“If anyone breathes a word of you and Thomas together...all wagers are off. The Baron is a tasteful man, he will not lay with a whore.” Rowena stated evenly. Helena was speechless for a moment before retorting,
“He is out of luck because only a highly-paid whore would lay with him!” Rowena raised an eyebrow at her daughter.
“Then you two are perfect for each other.” Again, Helena was at a loss for words, finding that she could not give a decent comeback to this quip. For several minutes, she opened and closed her mouth, much like a trout gasping for breath.
“And so I see that wit is not your forte either.” Rowena observed, folding her fingers and resting her chin upon them as her elbows rested upon her desk.

“I have never met such a contemptuous man! I shall die before I lay with him!” Helena screeched in protest, watching in rage as her mother calmly observed her, like a teacher watching a student struggle with a difficult spell.

“Then I suggest you start writing your will.”

Track This Story:    Feed

JOIN HARRY POTTER FANFICTION


Get access to every new feature the moment it comes out.

Register Today!