Chapter 131. Delivering the Letter
Wesson noticed that Ravenclaw was looking at him.
That feeling of being watched was so vivid it felt as if he were no longer viewing a memory, but truly standing before this legendary witch.
Of course, it was only an illusion.
He could be certain it was nothing more than a memory.
"Hello, stranger," said Ravenclaw. "If you are seeing this memory, you should have a gem in your hand, and a scroll of parchment—like these."
As she spoke, she lifted the two items in her hands.
Then Ravenclaw set them down and smiled slightly. "Before we begin a formal conversation, I should like to know—have you already obtained the diadem I left behind?"
Wesson's heart gave a jolt.
Ravenclaw's diadem was lying in his storage right now!
"Excellent," Ravenclaw nodded, as if she had already foreseen his thoughts. "Do you see the gem in my hand? Do not doubt it—it is the very one you acquired. I shall, in a moment, imbue it with this memory of mine."
"You must have worn my diadem, or my raven puppets would never have found you. There is an identical gem set into the diadem; the two are a matched pair."
"As for this scroll of parchment—" At this, Ravenclaw's eyes dimmed. "I imagine it was never delivered to my daughter, Helena Ravenclaw."
"Please give it to my daughter. In return, the gem in your hand will be made whole."
"As for the diadem, I should prefer you either entrust it to a Ravenclaw student or return it to Hogwarts. Of course—the choice is yours."
The memory ended there.
A wave of intense dizziness washed over Wesson; the scene before his eyes shattered like a broken mirror.
An instant later, his vision was back in the Headmaster's office.
When he looked again at the Pensieve, the silvery substance had already dissipated.
It seemed these memories were single-use.
Wesson stood dazed for a while, then quietly put his thoughts in order.
He had more or less pieced together the story.
In the original account, Ravenclaw's daughter, Helena, stole the diadem and fled to Albania.
Afterwards, when Ravenclaw was gravely ill, she sent the Baron to find her daughter, hoping to see her one last time.
Those ravens Wesson had encountered in Albania—the raven puppets Ravenclaw mentioned—had likely been sent around that time to carry a letter.
Perhaps because the Baron killed Helena by mistake, the ravens never found her. They wandered for a thousand years and finally encountered Wesson, whose trace of the diadem's aura drew them to deliver Ravenclaw's gem and letter to him.
And Ravenclaw—very likely having foreseen such a turn somehow—had left a memory in the gem in advance, hoping Wesson would complete the delivery to Helena.
Of course, all of this was Wesson's conjecture.
Yet one question troubled him—how could Ravenclaw be sure it was he who would receive the gem and the letter?
From what she had said in the memory, she seemed already certain he would succeed in delivering the letter into her daughter's hands.
It was too strange.
After all, he might be the only person in the world capable of completing this delivery.
Anyone else would never think to connect the Grey Lady of Hogwarts with Helena Ravenclaw, and thus would be unable to deliver the letter.
In the end, Wesson could only surmise it must have been some kind of prophecy—Ravenclaw had known, a thousand years ago, that Wesson would help get the letter to her daughter.
Wesson stood thinking for a long time, until Dumbledore patted his shoulder and he came back to himself.
"What is it? Has something happened?" Dumbledore asked with concern.
"Nothing," Wesson said calmly, shaking his head. "It's the memory of an old witch, asking me to help her with something."
Dumbledore did not press him, merely nodded slightly. "I hope it all goes well."
After leaving the Headmaster's office, Wesson began searching the castle for the Grey Lady.
Finding a will-o'-the-wisp of a ghost in a vast Hogwarts was no easy task.
The Grey Lady was Ravenclaw's house ghost; Wesson seldom saw her.
Even after asking several portraits and ghosts, he had no leads.
In the afternoon, in a corridor, Wesson glimpsed the back of a ghost and quickly stepped forward. "Sir, have you seen the Grey—"
His voice faded, for the ghost had already turned around.
Hollow eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with blood—wasn't this the Bloody Baron?
"Ah—" Wesson caught himself and swallowed the question he'd meant to ask. "Good afternoon, sir. I only wished to pay my respects."
His instincts told him that discussing the Grey Lady with the Bloody Baron was unwise.
The Bloody Baron slowly turned his head; Wesson felt the temperature around him drop a few degrees.
But the Baron said nothing—he merely inclined his head to Wesson and drifted away.
Just then, Wesson sharply noticed a silver-white figure slip out from behind a stone pillar.
At a glance, he recognised her: the Grey Lady—Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter, Helena Ravenclaw.
Only when the Baron's figure had fully vanished at the end of the corridor did the Grey Lady drift out.
She was plainly avoiding him.
"Grey Lady?"
As she passed, Wesson called out to her.
The silver-white figure halted and slowly turned. The Grey Lady—or rather, Helena Ravenclaw—regarded Wesson serenely. "What is it?"
Wesson smiled slightly. "A letter for you, my lady."
He held out the scroll of parchment in his hand to the Grey Lady.
She reached out, perplexed—and, unexpectedly, the parchment did not pass through her hand as other objects did, but settled, steady and solid, upon her palm.
The moment it touched her, the parchment gave off a gentle blue glow.
"What is this…" The Grey Lady's voice suddenly trembled.
She swiftly untied the cord, impatient to unfold the letter.
Thoughtful, Wesson turned to leave—yet he heard a sound like the faintest sob.
Looking back, he saw tears shining in the eyes of that proud ghost—so, ghosts could weep after all.
"Thank you," the Grey Lady whispered, light as a sigh.
"You're welcome," he replied with a smile. "I'll be off, then. See you around, Grey Lady."
With that, Wesson turned and left.
He did not care what the letter said; he was only the messenger.
In truth, he had his suspicions—it was no more than a mother's love, a thousand years late.
On his way back to his office, Wesson took out the blue gem once more; the fine cracks across its surface were mending at a rate visible to the naked eye.
Plainly, Ravenclaw had been right: once the letter was delivered, the gem in his hand would be restored.
"Eldra."
[Name: Ravenclaw's Gem]
[Description: The crystallisation of wisdom]
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