"Ever since I died, I've been terrified of facing my mother, so I chose to exist like this."
"Not part of the living world, nor fully in the realm of the dead."
"Forever chained by guilt, using a false name, drifting through this sorrowful place."
"Now, I think it's time to make a choice—I'm ready to move forward. Maybe… I'll even see my mother again?"
Dylan hesitated, tempted to mention the Bloody Baron.
But then he thought better of it. To Helena, the Baron was nothing but an unrequited obsession, the man who ended her life. Bringing him up now would only shatter this fragile moment of peace, so Dylan swallowed his words.
Besides, he planned to bring her into his own world eventually.
When that time came, she'd naturally see Ravenclaw again.
What intrigued him more was Helena's talk of "moving on."
A ghost choosing to leave? That was incredibly rare.
In some ways, ghosts and portraits shared similarities.
Both were tethered to the world by traces left behind by witches and wizards—be it intense emotions, unfinished desires, or vivid memories. These acted like invisible threads, binding them to existence.
But upon closer inspection, the differences were stark.
Portraits could mimic a wizard's mannerisms and hold conversations, but their interactions were often passive.
Their responses were dictated by the magic and memories imbued in them, like a preprogrammed charm.
They'd react predictably—say a few familiar phrases or make habitual gestures when triggered by specific topics.
But they struggled to initiate deep, dynamic conversations or grasp the complex emotions behind words.
Unless, of course, the wizard who crafted the portrait was exceptionally skilled.
Ghosts, on the other hand, were entirely different.
They interacted with far greater agency.
The key was that ghosts carried the true consciousness of the witch or wizard.
This consciousness retained their thought patterns, emotional depth, and ability to make independent choices.
They could observe their surroundings, sense others' emotions, and even choose who to talk to and what to discuss.
Take Helena Ravenclaw. She could float freely through Hogwarts' halls.
When she saw the diadem in Dylan's hands, she approached to ask about it, her emotions stirred by memories of her mother.
After reading a letter, she decided to move on.
These weren't preprogrammed responses but the actions of Helena Ravenclaw's independent will.
This agency made ghosts' connections to the world far more vibrant.
It made their existence feel almost alive, as if they'd never truly left, merely lingering in a different form, still perceiving and engaging with the world.
If a ghost's soul lingered in a liminal space, unwilling to pass into true death but unable to return to life, their consciousness clung to the traces they left behind, existing in a state neither living nor dead.
This wasn't the same as being beyond life and death.
There was a fundamental difference.
The latter implied transcending the concept of life and death entirely, while ghosts were stuck—unable to live, yet not fully dead, trapped in between.
Compared to Horcruxes, which allowed a wizard to cling to life no matter how mangled their soul became, ghosts had it rough.
They couldn't cast spells, as their souls and bodies were long gone, severing their connection to magic.
They couldn't touch the physical world.
Sure, this let them pass through walls effortlessly, but that inability to touch left a hollow ache.
They couldn't savor food or drink.
Only the sharp sting of rot or decay could faintly stir their senses.
But now, hearing Helena say she could choose to "move forward," Dylan's understanding of ghosts shifted. Maybe their existence wasn't as bleak as a Horcrux's?
At least Voldemort, after death, had no choice to move on.
He was doomed to wail in that liminal void, his soul in tatters, with no other path.
Still, Dylan wanted clarity.
"Can all ghosts choose to move forward?"
Helena glanced at him, surprised, then nodded.
"Yes, but I wouldn't recommend lingering. It defies the natural order of life and death, and the experience… it's filled with endless emptiness and constraints."
"I get it. Just curious," Dylan said with a small smile.
Given his own circumstances, if he ever died, it'd probably be because he was bored of living.
Why would he choose to linger as a ghost, stuck in this half-existence?
If his system kept ticking along while he lived leisurely, maybe after a century, he'd unlock some lifespan-related achievement.
Who knows? By the time he died, he might be strong enough to arm-wrestle Death itself.
Assuming, of course, Death was real.
"Actually, you know the diadem was tainted with dark magic," Dylan said, shifting the topic.
Helena's serene smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of disgust.
"Of course I know. That thief who tricked me and defiled my mother's diadem—" She sighed, cutting herself off, and waved for Dylan to continue.
"I got some inspiration from that dark magic—not the killing or soul-splitting part, obviously," Dylan added quickly.
With a flick of his wand, a blank parchment and an inked quill floated over from a nearby table.
The quill began scribbling, leaving rows of neat text.
"Look—"
Helena might claim her intellect paled compared to her mother's, but that was just between them.
Her wisdom still outshone most people in the world.
Raised by Rowena Ravenclaw, educated in an era when all four Hogwarts founders were alive, her knowledge and insight were extraordinary.
Most importantly, Helena was about to leave—truly leave, with no return.
Though Dylan had no intention of letting her go for good, her act of departure could be useful.
It was a perfect chance to gain something valuable and subtly bring her into his space.
As expected, Helena studied the symbols and formulas Dylan wrote on the parchment, which wove together charms, alchemy, runes, and intricate principles of will and thought.
She showed no sign of confusion.
Instead, her eyes gleamed with interest, sparkling with contemplation.
"A Pensieve construct…" After listening to Dylan's explanation, Helena fell silent for a long moment before looking at him deeply. "This idea of yours is both brilliant and selfish."
Dylan coughed lightly, grinning. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is," Helena said.
Her gaze drifted to the parchment, filled with symbols and equations, her expression layered with awe, scrutiny, and a touch of wistful melancholy.
"No one could resist this kind of magic… but the conditions