Soft white light filtered through the forest, holding a hush like a warm blanket.
Beside them lay a moss-covered stump, and along the winding path nearby, tiny points of light were scattered like stars.
There were so many streams here—the panther-cat could hear water murmuring everywhere.
"Is that your question?" Ravenclaw went silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice seemed to grow clearer, as if a layer of mist had thinned between them.
"The Grey Lady—what we call the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower—Helena Ravenclaw," the panther-cat spoke quickly. Time was short. "Lady Ravenclaw… she allows me to address her that way. She's terrified of death. She wanders Hogwarts. I don't think it's easy for her."
"So you've spun up a heap of needless, ridiculous notions…" Ravenclaw didn't speak of Helena at all. Instead, she turned the question back on him. "My heir—what should I call you?"
"Sorry, I don't think that matters, Lady Ravenclaw," the panther-cat said, bewildered. He watched the mist rising around them and grew tense.
A few seconds passed—yet it felt like centuries.
The panther-cat's whiskers had trembled dozens of times.
"Helena…" Ravenclaw sounded almost helpless. Her blinking slowed noticeably. Her pale blue eyes stopped tracking the panther-cat's twitching whiskers; they became a still lake that could no longer mirror the flight of birds.
"Come closer, my heir. What kind of story do you want to hear?"
The panther-cat didn't understand, but took a cautious few steps forward—only to be shoved by a force straight to Ravenclaw's feet.
Ravenclaw slowly sat on a great boulder. The book that had been resting there slipped down and landed on the panther-cat's head.
"...What are you… worried about?" the panther-cat asked, one paw pressed to its head.
"Druids—those who know oak trees—revere the idea that death is not the soul's end, but the first step toward heaven.
But for lost souls, for frightened souls, death is nothing but eternal torment."
Ravenclaw gently lifted the old book off the panther-cat's head and brushed her fingers through its ink-black fur threaded with silver, like cloud-embroidery.
"If there were a kind of magic that could send a ghost on…" the panther-cat couldn't help shivering. It understood now.
Ghosts do not die. That had long ago become common knowledge in the wizarding world—so much so that wise Ravenclaw hadn't wanted him to learn this cruelty: two people who still cared for each other would never meet again.
"Perhaps there is…" Ravenclaw seemed to remember something. She opened the old book that had fallen.
Halfway through her sentence, her voice simply evaporated into the air. Her gaze fixed on the page as if her hearing and comprehension had to travel some long road before reaching her mind.
For those few seconds, only her lashes trembled in the light, proof that time had not stopped entirely.
The Book of Ghosts, the page read plainly.
"My heir—was it you who brought SeIl?" she asked, and for the first time her voice carried a ripple.
"Yes," the panther-cat replied.
And more thoughts crashed in. As the mist rose to swallow it, countless images of the Grey Lady flashed through its mind.
Chances were always so easy to lose.
"Don't worry." Ravenclaw suddenly smiled—brilliantly.
The panther-cat snapped its head up. It felt a thick cord extend from within the mist on its body. It jerked—then the cord yanked it back toward the Borderland.
"Surprised, my dear?" Ravenclaw's fingertips held the line taut and straight.
How could someone feel such deep affection for a person they'd never even met?
The panther-cat didn't understand.
"Then the next time you return to the Borderland, will you have a direction?" Ravenclaw asked.
The panther-cat nodded, almost human.
With a yarn-ball, no matter how far, no matter how blurred the distance, Sean could follow love and arrive.
"Up on my shoulder, my heir," Ravenclaw said, a serene smile at her lips as she looked at the panther-cat—something far too large, surely, to curl onto a witch's shoulder.
Strange, wasn't it? In this forest, he was like a gust of wind—unexpected, unannounced.
"So… where does the story begin…"
Ravenclaw's voice became a distant murmur. The kneazle perched on her shoulder said nothing—only listened. Then the panther-cat watched as snow began to fall in this forest.
"Long ago, when I was still young, I created three treasures: a castle that could breathe, a diadem that seemed to possess wisdom, and a small, warm miracle—my daughter, Helena.
I gave so much of my time to cold stone walls and ancient parchment. The castle's staircases grew ever more exquisite; the diadem's brilliance grew ever more dazzling…
The rest of the story you already know—save for the truly wise. Desire is always so quick to overpower a witch."
Ravenclaw paused, as though remembering.
"You forgave her long ago, didn't you?" the black cat asked softly.
"Why would I hate her?" Ravenclaw smiled gently.
"In the world of ghosts, if no one is thinking of them, they slowly lose wisdom and emotion.
But Lady Helena Ravenclaw never realized that.
I want to say… you've been walking for her for more than ten centuries."
The black cat said, its voice just as quiet.
"You're too young, child. You don't yet know how memory always erases the bad and enlarges the good.
It's precisely because of that mystery that white wizards can bear the weight of the past."
Ravenclaw explained slowly.
"I'll come again," the black cat said, watching the mist rise once more.
It had its answer now.
Ravenclaw stopped and watched snow melt on the black cat's fur, like a dusting of powdered sugar.
"You ask nothing for yourself?" she asked.
"At Hogwarts, I've already been given more than enough," the black cat's ears flicked.
"Happiness satisfies you so easily… then why do you ask for her?" Ravenclaw pressed.
That question truly stumped the black cat. As the mist wrapped around it in thin threads, it was still thinking.
"Lady Ravenclaw…" it began.
That was the form of address Helena Ravenclaw had given him personally.
"Once, when the moving staircases jammed, she helped me get to class on time."
The black cat said.
The reason made Ravenclaw laugh outright. Her eyes curved into crescents.
"She and I are friends," the black cat added.
Ravenclaw looked at the black cat.
Everything about him seemed so young—except his eyes: forest-green, deep and steady.
"May I ask one more question?" the black cat said suddenly.
It had always been curious how a ghost could remain in the Borderland for so many centuries.
"For anyone else, I would refuse," Ravenclaw said brightly. "But for you, my dear—you may ask many. I won't refuse you."
"How can a ghost remain in the Borderland for dozens of centuries?" the black cat asked.
But the world turned white again. The mist churned completely, and it was yanked out of the Borderland before it could hear the answer.
Only Ravenclaw remained in the forest.
The snow on her hair melted away. And as if speaking to herself, she murmured:
"Ten centuries…?
And yet, the moment I think of you, Helena, the world rewinds inside a halo of light.
Things I once believed eternal—time itself—collapse at a touch."
~~~
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