Their bright faces are filled with innocence. These new students enter Hogwarts with creativity in their palms. If you look long enough at a face or two, you’ll see their eyes widen as each step brings them closer to the rest of their lives. After all, Hogwarts is a beautiful place to grow. Though I’d seldom, if ever, mention these words to anyone, but myself.

Floating through each wall and each staircase, I make my way to the Great Hall. Gasps and shrieks of surprise fill the air amidst the students. You see the familiar faces of returning scholars meeting their friends and their teachers once more. Outbursts of noise come from the mouths of those new kin; the Muggle-born witches and wizards are astonished to see so much magic surrounding them. I catch a few stares. In fact, I believe I heard a hint of admiration in one’s voice. There is no pride in being a ghost. People are naïve and stupid to believe that ghosts are a sign of victory. They think of how we have died and not conquered death. They do not know the price of becoming a ghost; though we no longer battle disease, we have misfortune laid upon us for eternity. My memories still haunt me to this very day, though they may be millennia old. My chains remain a sign of the weight upon me.

Entering the Great Hall, I see the new students waiting for their turn, eager to try on the Sorting Hat and find out their fate. The hat directs them into their houses. “Am I valiant like Godric, or sharp like Salazar? Have I the conscience to be loyal like Helga or do I emit radiance like Rowena?” The song begins, and we know we have ourselves in for a hell of a night.

Midway through the Sorting Ceremony, my eyes lock on to the one being I have known for too long. This may be the day I talk to her and explain myself. But as certain images flood my thoughts, I postponed my brave attempt at conversation.


-x-x-x-x-x-
After the ceremony had concluded, I was on my way back to the Slytherin dorm room. That was when I saw her again. I rushed over but only to stop right behind her, scared to face the truth.

I was the one who killed her.

I saw her stop in front of me, and turn around to face me. I whispered hello and attempted a smile. She smiled back, as if she did not know what to say to me. Her curls gently bounced across her neck and she looked as pretty as she had the first day we met. I will never forget that first conversation I had with her; it was magical.

I have loved her since my very first day at Hogwarts. We had instantly clicked but, due to our opposing domain leaders, we couldn’t see each other. Our feelings for one another were kept a secret from the world for many years. Then one day, during our seventh year, she left. Her whereabouts were unknown. A few days after her departure, her mother Rowena approached me and requested me to find her daughter. Rowena promised me that if I found Helena and brought her home, she would support our relationship. I had dreams; my dreams were of a marriage and life with my Helena. I swore that I wouldn’t fail, and set off at once.

A few months into my tiring and desperate search, I found her hiding in a forest in Albania. I told her she had to come home and that if she did, we would be able to wed. I held her hand and knelt down, staring into those kaleidoscope eyes. But she said no. I asked her why, as she sat still and expressionless. Losing my temper, I began to yell. The names I called her, the vows I broke; it was as though a part of my heart broke off, leaving the rest of it to die in pain. I don’t remember quite when I stabbed her, but a large pool of blood gathered around her soul-less corpse. The bloody knife was tightly held in my grip and I stared down, not knowing why I had killed her. Deranged, I felt blood squirting from my chest. It trickled onto my feet and the ground around us, marking the location. My reflexes had died and there was a knife in my heart. In the next moment, blackness took over.

It had been centuries since we’d shared more than awkward greetings or solemn acknowledgements, but today I would break our silence. I glanced upon her innocent face. Yes, it still had innocence in it. Our uninterrupted moments of eye contact seemed so intense. So alive. It was alive amidst the two of us who physically are not but, emotionally are. Breaking a trance, I asked her if she wanted to come to the forest so we could talk.

“I just want to clear up some thoughts that we might have about one another.”

I asked her with a blanket of silence over my throbbing heart. She told me she would be there in ten minutes. I then went to gather myself before proceeding to the forest, unnaturally unaware if she intended to follow.

With a jingle in my head, I floated around the perimeter of the Ravenclaw Common Room. Curiosity intrigued me to head out into the Great Hall; the faces had changed, but the feeling remained. The excitement in each pair of eyes and the surprise of a cold chill running through each cord in your spine. Though I haven’t felt the latter in a while, I acknowledge my dislike towards the unknown and the unseen. Maybe that’s why I did not fade as my mother did; Maybe that’s the reason I am visible and yet, so transparent.

I left the hall after the Sorting ceremony to find some quiet before the children were to come up. As I progressed towards the opposite direction of the Slytherin common room, some gravitational force pulled me back. I felt a familiar shaft of wind graze the wisps of my gown. I turned to see the face belonging to those loud, melodious shackles. He was still charming, with the chains around his neck, the burden of my death on his conscience. I’d forgiven him centuries ago, but he was unaware.

He whispered hello; how each movement from his lips expressed so much concealed thought. I replied with a smile.

I remembered the date in my mental calendar; it was not hard to compare this conversation to our first. Then too, it was September the 1st, the year being far before comprehension. We entered Hogwarts as two wizards; one was the daughter of Ravenclaw and the other was a son of a wealthy baron. He was a half blood and he was friendly. The heart within my eleven years old self began to flutter. Maybe that meant something to us. The fluttering, the nervous tension entranced these youth who had just begun to learn. We were never that philosophical then. How so much changes with time.

Uncle Salazar had chosen to take him under his wing, while my mother insisted I remain under hers. The young baron and I, we never really spoke again for our first years at Hogwarts, as it was strictly competition between the four houses. Our adolescent years were filled with emotions too unclear, too inappropriate to mention to one another anyway. A wintery morning at Hogsmeade put life into a different perspective for me. It was our fifth year, and he broke our silence. His hands were soft, and his persona was so much more welcoming than the impression of himself he gave the rest of the world. The impression he still gives off. Gossip was a mere hurdle for me; I was happy when I touched him and held him close. He made me smile, but my mother was not pleased. That added to my sense of individuality and convinced me to continue amusing her heart.

He was in love by our seventh year, but I was not ready. The shadow of my mother and her achievements were overbearing, too dominant for my liking. I ran away with her diadem, but he found me in Albania. We lay down in the forest; our bodies entangled sharing new found warmth. He broke our unity and knelt in front of my vulnerable figure. It broke my heart to say no to the man. I did not want to return and I did not want to marry him. Not yet. But to reason with his anger is impossible. His impulsive nature was attractive to me once. Unfortunately, a knife was all it took to end my life and tear his soul. A lovesick romantic couldn’t have ended our lives in a better plot.

Was he speaking? Ah, reminiscing was becoming a hobby of mine.

“I just want to clear up some thoughts that we might have about one another” he said. He wanted to meet in the forbidden forest. My eighteen year old lover was becoming visible through his faint glow. I asked him for ten minutes, though I’d spent years in preparation for this one conversation.
~*x*~

As a wolf howled in the distance, I found myself beside a tree staring into the eyes of my murderer. My beautiful murderer. Would we be able to touch as we used to? I wanted to feel his heartbeat; the fact that it did not exist hurt me. He came closer; our halos began to embrace each other. We could touch, but we could not lean or rely on one’s shoulder. We’d just fall through and therefore, we were compelled to separate. A soft moan left my throat as I covered my mouth. Is this what reunion does to you? I adjusted my posture.

He began to open his mouth to speak. I began to listen. His chains were slowly fading off his pale composure. I took initiative and breathed out my phrase.
“I forgave you years ago”

The chains around his left wrist disappeared. He took my hand, reminding me that though we could not conjoin, we could still hold on to one another.

“But, do you still love me?”

If it’s possible, I stopped breathing.