Dumbledore had managed to convince the twins not to seek out the Mirror of Erised again. For the rest of the Christmas holidays, both the Invisibility Cloak and the ring remained at the bottom of their trunks, forgotten—at least in appearance.
Helena wished she could erase the image of her parents smiling at her from the mirror, but she couldn't. Every night, sleep betrayed her, plunging her into recurring nightmares. Over and over, she saw the flash of green light that had torn them away from her, felt the icy echo of a high, cruel laugh ringing in her ears. She would wake up sweating, heart racing, and spend hours staring at the ceiling, unable to fall back asleep.
The day before classes resumed, Helena mustered the courage to speak with Lucian and Cassandra. She couldn't carry the weight alone any longer, and she knew she hadn't been a good friend these past few days. She had been distant, lost in her thoughts, and she owed them an explanation.
They met in Lucian's dormitory. Due to some strange Hogwarts rule, boys weren't allowed in the girls' dormitories, but the opposite was permitted—something Helena still found absurd. But that afternoon, she wasn't in the mood to question the logic behind the rules.
Lucian's room perfectly reflected his personality: neat, almost meticulous. His books were precisely aligned on the shelves, and his bed was impeccably made. Cassandra sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, while Helena settled into a chair by the desk. Lucian remained standing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his expression serious but not hostile.
"I don't know where to start," Helena finally said, breaking the uneasy silence that had settled in the room. Her hands fidgeted nervously with the hem of her robes.
"Start at the beginning," Lucian suggested, his tone unusually gentle. His gaze, usually sharp, was almost comforting now.
So she did. Helena told them everything—how she had discovered the mirror, what she had seen in it, and how she couldn't resist going back, even though she knew it was just an illusion. She spoke of the nightmares, the cold laughter that haunted her dreams, and the feeling of being trapped between grief and longing.
Cassandra listened quietly, never interrupting. When Helena finished, she took her hand—an unexpectedly tender gesture.
"What you did is understandable," Cassandra said, her voice warmer than usual. "I don't think I would've acted any differently in your place. But… you could've told us. We would've gone with you."
Helena looked away, a lump forming in her throat. The guilt was hard to bear. She had wanted to share it, but she hadn't known how to put what she was feeling into words—at least, not then. Lucian, who had been silent throughout her story, sighed and stepped closer.
His expression remained serious, but there was a calmness in his eyes that made her feel less judged. "Dumbledore is right, you know," he said finally. "As hard as it is, you should try to forget it. That mirror isn't doing you any good."
Helena looked up, frustration and sadness flickering across her face. "That's easy for you to say, Lucian. But it's not that simple."
"I know," he replied, his tone softer. "But you have to try. Otherwise, it'll consume you."
Cassandra nodded, squeezing Helena's hand lightly. "Lucian's right. You can't let something like that control your life."
Helena sighed, feeling tears threatening to spill. She knew they were right, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something inside her had broken. The mirror had shown her something that should have been hers—something she could never have—and now she had to learn to live with that loss. And that was far harder now that she had seen it. Lucian frowned slightly, as if carefully weighing his next words.
"Besides," he added, in an almost academic tone that contrasted with the gravity of the moment, "if I may offer some advice—never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain. Or anything that seems sentient if you can't see its heart. Otherwise, the nightmares might be the least of your worries."
…
The Hogwarts library was relatively quiet—something Lucian greatly appreciated. This was largely due to how strict Madam Pince could be with students who dared disturb the peace of her domain. Of course, as with most things, the librarian's severity depended on how one behaved.
Lucian had spent the last hour immersed in an ancient text on curses and counter-curses. Despite growing up surrounded by books and being exposed to countless magical treatises from an early age, he had to admit that Hogwarts lived up to its reputation. The library's collection was vast, containing knowledge even he hadn't fully explored.
It was a shame that such wealth of knowledge wasn't entirely reflected in the teaching staff. Some professors were mediocre, trapped in a monotonous routine, teaching just enough without passion or depth. Others, however, were more interesting, and Lucian was certain that a few hid abilities they didn't openly display.
With that thought in mind, he carefully closed the book and returned it to its exact place on the shelf before leaving the library. He adjusted his robes with an automatic motion and stepped into the corridor with measured steps. Dinner would be soon—the perfect time to head to the Great Hall before it got too crowded.
The hallway was unusually quiet, but as he turned a corner, a sound shattered the calm: a low, mocking laugh—irritating and instantly recognizable.
Lucian paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes with a mix of exasperation and disinterest. Malfoy. Not someone he cared to deal with. Though the boy had some potential, his constant need to assert his supposed superiority through bloodline was an exhaustingly backward mindset.
A few steps further, the scene became clear. Malfoy wasn't alone, as expected. Crabbe and Goyle flanked him, as usual. But what really caught Lucian's attention was Neville Longbottom, backed against the wall. His face was pale and tense, shoulders hunched in obvious discomfort. In front of him, Malfoy wore a cruel smirk, relishing the spectacle. He held his wand with deliberate slowness, like a predator toying with its prey.
Lucian glanced briefly to the side and noticed a group of Ravenclaws passing by. None of them stopped. They pretended not to see what was happening, averting their eyes with that convenient indifference people adopted when injustice didn't directly affect them.
"Stop, Malfoy," Lucian ordered, his voice firm and measured. It wasn't a plea or a warning. It was an instruction.
The blond barely turned his head, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before his mask of arrogance slipped back into place. Slowly, he lowered his wand, eyeing Lucian with an assessing look.
"Grindelwald," he drawled with practiced nonchalance. "Didn't expect to see you here."
He twirled his wand between his fingers with feigned indifference before tilting his head in mock curiosity.
"Tell me, are you making a habit of defending the helpless now?"
Crabbe and Goyle let out clumsy laughs, as if Malfoy had said something genuinely witty. Neville remained frozen, avoiding Lucian's gaze, as if afraid his intervention would only make things worse.
Lucian didn't respond immediately. Instead, he let his eyes sweep over the scene with an analytical air, as if evaluating the quality of the spectacle before deciding whether it was worth his involvement. Finally, he exhaled a faint sigh, as if Malfoy's very existence were a minor but inevitable inconvenience.
"I don't see the need to dramatize the situation," he said calmly. "I just want to make sure you don't drag our house into your childish games."
"Childish?" Malfoy repeated, his smile pretending confidence. "Come on, Grindelwald, don't tell me you're worried about consequences. It's not like anyone here's running to the professors."
"Consequences aren't what concern me," Lucian replied with the same indifference. "It's the pointlessness that bothers me."
Malfoy blinked, as if the answer had caught him off guard.
"Pointlessness?"
Lucian tilted his head slightly, studying him like a failed experiment.
"If you're going to waste time with a Gryffindor, at least make it for something more than a power display that only impresses Crabbe and Goyle." His gaze flickered briefly to the two lackeys, who didn't seem to catch the jab. "Given that alone is rather pathetic, don't you think?"
The blond clenched his jaw.
"Watch your tone."
"Why?" Lucian allowed a faint, almost mocking smile. "Are you going to do something about it?"
For a moment, the corridor seemed to narrow. The tension between them was almost palpable. Malfoy looked torn between delivering a cutting retort or simply walking away—but in the end, he chose the latter.
"Let's go," he snapped at Crabbe and Goyle, turning with a perfectly rehearsed swish of his robes.
His followers obeyed immediately, shooting Lucian bewildered glances before trailing after their leader.
When the sound of their footsteps faded, Lucian turned his attention back to Neville.
"You alright?"
Neville nodded hurriedly, though the slight tremor in his posture betrayed him.
"Y-yeah… thanks."
Lucian studied him for another second before shrugging.
"No need to thank me. But if you don't want this to happen again, you'll have to learn to fight your own battles. Otherwise, you'll always be an easy target."
With that, he continued on his way without waiting for a response.
…
Helena was heading to the library, hoping to find a book about Flamel that she'd heard had been recently returned. Though her nighttime escapades had the unintended side effect of distracting Harry from his Flamel obsession, she didn't want to risk him—or his friends—finding it first. She knew that if Harry discovered Flamel's direct connection to the Philosopher's Stone, nothing would stop him from recklessly charging headfirst into trouble.
But just as she was about to reach the library, Harry appeared out of nowhere, intercepting her in the hallway. Before she could say anything, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a nearby empty classroom, shutting the door behind them.
"We found it! We found it!" he exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement as he thrust a small card at her.
Helena took it with a sinking feeling. It was one of Dumbledore's Chocolate Frog cards.
Her stomach twisted. Despite all her efforts to keep Harry out of trouble, it had clearly been for nothing. She forced an awkward smile, trying to mask her concern.
"How did you get this?" she asked, straining to sound interested rather than anxious.
"We were in the Gryffindor common room," Harry explained, oblivious to her discomfort. "Ron had a Chocolate Frog, and this card came with it. Look what it says!"
Helena glanced down. Dumbledore's portrait gazed back at her with his usual serene smile, and beneath it, in small print, was the very information Harry had been searching for:
"Albus Dumbledore, currently Headmaster of Hogwarts. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work in alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling."
"Lucky you," Helena said, struggling to keep the bitterness from her voice.
Fortunately, Harry was too excited to notice her lack of enthusiasm.
"And we also know what that three-headed dog is guarding!" he continued eagerly. "Hermione found in one of her books that Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone—a stone that can make you immortal!"
Frustration surged through her. They'd found the book. She should have been more careful.
"That's a clever deduction, but… do you really think Dumbledore would hide something like that at Hogwarts?" she asked, trying to dissuade him.
"Well, you heard Hagrid yourself—Hogwarts is one of the safest places," Harry countered stubbornly. "Maybe Flamel knew someone was after the Stone and asked Dumbledore to protect it. What if what Hagrid took from Gringotts was the Philosopher's Stone?"
Helena fell silent for a moment. It was obvious Harry hadn't pieced this together alone. Not that she doubted his intelligence, but she was certain Ron and Hermione had helped him connect the dots.
"Harry, it's still just speculation. You don't have any proof. And even if it were true, there's no reason for you to get involved. You said it yourself—Hogwarts is safe. No one could steal it."
"But I know Snape's trying to!" Harry insisted, frustrated. "Why else would he have been in the corridor that night?"
"He's a Hogwarts professor, Harry. One Dumbledore personally chose. Maybe he was guarding the Stone—if it's even here at all."
"But he's evil!" Harry snapped, annoyed that his sister didn't believe him. "He's tricking Dumbledore! He tried to kill me during the Quidditch match, and I know he's after the Stone!"
"And why, exactly, is he evil?" Helena narrowed her eyes. "I'll admit he's a horrible person most of the time, but why are you so convinced he's a villain?"
"I dunno, maybe because he's a Slytherin?" Harry shot back sarcastically, still fuming.
The silence that followed was heavy. Harry seemed to realize what he'd just said and opened his mouth to backtrack—
"Helena, I—"
"In case you've forgotten, Harry, I'm a Slytherin," she said, her voice icy.
Harry's gaze dropped, his mind scrambling for a way to fix this, but Helena didn't give him the chance.
"Maybe you should learn to stay out of things that don't concern you," she added sharply.
Then she turned and strode out of the classroom without bothering to hear his apology.
…
In the days that followed, Helena did something she'd never done before: she ignored Harry.
She knew her brother regretted his words—the way he trailed after her like a scolded puppy for most of the day was proof enough. But she couldn't forgive him so easily. Not after what he'd said.
She already had to deal with the sideways glances from students of other houses, the whispers about Slytherins and their supposed wickedness. She didn't need her own brother buying into those prejudices instead of trusting her—or his own judgment. And she certainly had no intention of listening to Harry rant more about the Philosopher's Stone.
Instead of worrying about Harry, Helena threw herself into her studies. She had enough on her plate with the assignments and coursework the professors piled on them. Unlike Lucian or Cassandra, who seemed to have entire libraries of prior knowledge in their heads, Helena didn't have that advantage. So she had to work twice as hard just to keep up.
Thanks to her relentless dedication, she'd earned Professor Flitwick's label as a "Charms prodigy." She wasn't sure she liked the title, but she couldn't deny the flicker of satisfaction when her classmates watched her in awe during lessons.
In Transfiguration, she was one of the few students who had actually finished reading the manuscripts Professor McGonagall had mentioned at the start of term—giving her a clear edge over most of her peers.
And in Potions? She'd achieved something few could boast: forcing Snape to grudgingly acknowledge her talent. Not that he praised her outright—that would be asking too much—but his subtle nods of approval and the occasional, begrudging "Adequate" were enough to tell her she was excelling.
She could safely say there were very few first-years who could match her. Maybe only Hermione Granger—though that fact seemed to irritate the Gryffindor to no end.
Cassandra, meanwhile, was slightly ahead in some subjects, but not enough to intimidate her. Lucian, on the other hand, was in a league of his own. She didn't even bother counting him as competition—it was pointless to compare herself to him. His mind simply worked differently. Put simply, he was a walking library.
Which was exactly why Helena now found herself in Lucian's dormitory, waiting as her friend processed everything she'd just told him. She'd shared Harry's suspicions about Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone. She'd hesitated before revealing it all, but she trusted Lucian—he wouldn't rush to judgment without analyzing the situation logically.
At first, she'd considered telling a professor, but upon reflection, she realized how absurd it would sound. How could she accuse a teacher of trying to kill a student and steal an object of incalculable value—without a shred of proof? At best, they'd dismiss her. At worst, they'd think she was letting her imagination run wild.
Lucian sat on his bed, legs crossed, gaze fixed on some indeterminate point in the room. He'd listened in complete silence as Helena laid everything out in detail, not interrupting once. Now, his fingers tapped lightly against the cover of a book, as if mentally dissecting every word.
"I must say, your brother has an impressive talent for spinning narratives," he remarked at last, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Helena frowned slightly.
"So you think it's all exaggerated?"
Lucian tilted his head thoughtfully.
"It means his conclusions are based on intuition rather than evidence. And while intuition can be useful, it's not enough to declare something as fact."
Helena sighed.
"I know. But there are too many coincidences…"
"Coincidences exist," Lucian said calmly. "They don't always form a pattern."
Helena didn't answer. Part of her understood his point, but even angry as she was, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Harry wasn't entirely wrong.
Lucian studied her for a moment before offering a half-smile.
"If you want my advice? Stay observant. But don't jump to conclusions. If there's more to this, it'll reveal itself in time."
Helena hesitated, then asked cautiously,
"If Harry's suspicions are true… why do you think Dumbledore would agree to hide something like that here?"
Lucian raised an eyebrow, as if making sure he'd heard her correctly. "Why do I think Dumbledore would agree to hide something like that here?" He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. "Well, first, let's assume the Philosopher's Stone is actually at Hogwarts."
Helena watched intently as he continued.
"The most obvious reason is that Hogwarts has exceptional defenses—far more secure than even Gringotts' vaults. After all, the goblin bank has been robbed before, hasn't it?"
"Yes," Helena admitted. "But if it's so important, wouldn't it be better hidden somewhere else? Somewhere… less obvious?"
A sly smile tugged at Lucian's lips.
"And what better place to hide something than in plain sight, surrounded by children—where no one would think to look for an object of immeasurable value?"
Helena tensed at the implication.
"That sounds… reckless."
"Is it?" Lucian tilted his head, watching her with interest. "Think about it. Hogwarts has Dumbledore. A faculty of exceptionally skilled witches and wizards. Layers of enchantments that make it more secure than most magical strongholds. And—" He paused, weighing his words. "If the Stone is here, it means Dumbledore wants it here. And while I don't know him well, I can assure you he rarely does anything without a reason."
Helena's frown deepened. Something about this still didn't sit right with her.
"So you think… this is all deliberate?"
Lucian shrugged.
"I don't know. But someone in Dumbledore's position doesn't show all his cards at once."
A chill ran down Helena's spine. Because if Lucian was right, then this wasn't just about security. It meant there was a purpose behind it all.
A purpose she couldn't even begin to understand.
…
Helena had thought that talking to Lucian would help her put Harry's suspicions behind her—but instead, it had only made things worse. Now she had more questions than answers.
Though Lucian had been logical and measured, as always, his words hadn't fully dispelled her unease. If anything, they'd left her with the unsettling feeling that something bigger was at play—something she couldn't just ignore.
Still, she couldn't afford to get lost in her thoughts. There were more pressing matters to focus on. Right now, she was making her way to the Quidditch pitch to watch Harry's first match of the season. Despite still being a little annoyed with him, she knew she had to support him. He was still her brother, after all, and no matter how much they argued, she'd always be there for him.
Besides, Harry was going to need all the support he could get—especially since Snape was refereeing the match. The news had caused an uproar among the Gryffindors, who hadn't hesitated to voice their outrage. Many muttered openly, convinced Snape was biased and that his presence would only benefit the opposing team.
When she reached the stands, Ron, Hermione, and Neville were already there. Despite what looked like a minor disagreement between them, they'd saved her a seat.
"Never seen Snape look so bloody evil," Ron muttered as they settled in. "Look, they're coming out now—Oi!"
A sharp smack to the back of his head cut him off. Malfoy smirked down at him, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.
"Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there," he said with feigned innocence before adding, voice dripping with amusement, "Wonder how long Potter'll stay on his broom this time. Anyone want to place bets? What d'you say, Helena?"
Helena didn't respond. She knew Malfoy wouldn't dare push her too far—not while she was friends with Cassandra and Lucian. In fact, if either of them had been here, Malfoy probably wouldn't have even approached. But Lucian had chosen to stay in the common room, studying her mother's ring, and Cassandra had opted to nap in her dorm, so for now, Malfoy seemed emboldened.
"Y'know why I think they sort people into Gryffindor?" Malfoy drawled as Snape awarded yet another questionable penalty to Hufflepuff. "Pity, mostly. Take the Weasleys—no money. Or you, Longbottom—no brains."
Neville's voice, shaky but firm, cut through:
"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy!"
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle burst into laughter. But Ron, eyes still fixed on the match, muttered approvingly:
"That's telling him, Neville."
Malfoy sneered. "Longbottom, if brains were gold, you'd be poorer than Weasley—and that's saying something."
Ron's fists clenched. "I'm warning you, Malfoy—one more word and—"
But before he could finish, Helena shot to her feet.
"HARRY!"
In the air, her brother had just rocketed into a spectacular dive, drawing gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hands pressed to her mouth, Helena held her breath as Harry plummeted like a bullet.
"Lucky you, Weasley," Malfoy taunted. "Bet Potter's spotted some spare change on the pitch."
Ron snapped. He lunged at Malfoy, shoving him to the ground. Neville hesitated only a second before clambering onto the seatback and throwing himself into the fray.
"GO ON, HARRY!" Hermione and Helena screamed, standing on their seats for a better view, completely oblivious to the punches and shoves exchanged by Ron, Malfoy, Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle beneath them.
Up in the air, Snape swerved just in time to see a scarlet blur shoot past him, missing him by inches. A second later, Harry soared upward, arm raised—the Snitch clutched tight in his fist.
The stands erupted.
It was a record. No one could remember the Snitch being caught so fast.
…
When Harry stepped out of the locker room, he was surprised to find his sister waiting for him.
These past few days, he'd tried everything to earn her forgiveness for his outburst—but no matter what he did, Helena had refused to speak to him
For a moment, an unfamiliar tension hung between them. This wasn't the comfortable silence they usually shared, and from the look on her face, he could tell she felt it too.
Finally, she broke the silence, her voice carrying a rare hesitance: "That was a brilliant move."
Harry blinked, caught off guard.
"Five minutes..." Helena continued, a small smile tugging at her lips. "They're saying it's the fastest match in Hogwarts history."
"Thanks, but I just got lucky," Harry mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"That wasn't luck, Harry. You're good—or so everyone keeps saying." Her smirk widened, and Harry found himself grinning back.
The silence returned, but it wasn't the same as before. There was still something unspoken, a lingering discomfort neither wanted to address. Finally, Harry spoke up.
"So... we're good?"
Helena studied him for a moment before quirking a half-smile. "Only if you teach me that dive." She nodded toward the Nimbus 2000, and Harry felt an invisible weight lift from his shoulders.
"Deal," he said, relief flooding his voice.
From the ground, Harry watched as she soared through the air, twisting and accelerating with growing confidence. He leaned against the castle's stone wall, gazing up at Hogwarts, its windows glowing red in the sunset. He'd done it. He'd shown Snape—
Speaking of Snape...
A hooded figure was descending the castle steps, moving quickly and cautiously—clearly trying not to be seen. Harry frowned as the silhouette slipped toward the Forbidden Forest.
Then he recognized him.
"Snape..." he muttered.
"What?" Helena landed beside him, brushing hair from her face.
Harry didn't answer. Instead, he turned to her urgently.
"Hold on tight and don't make a sound."
Before she could react, he mounted the broom and took off the moment her arms locked around his waist.
Helena barely had time to process what was happening as they shot toward the forest at breakneck speed. She hated not being in control—and flying like this, blind to their destination, was even worse.
Harry descended through the trees in tightening circles until voices reached them.
"Stay quiet," he whispered, maneuvering through the branches before stopping above a thick beech.
He gripped the broom tightly, squinting through the foliage.
Below, in a dark and silent clearing, Snape was speaking with someone.
"...I-I d-don't know why you w-wanted to m-meet h-here, of all p-places, Severus..."
"I assumed we'd keep this private," Snape replied, his voice like ice. "After all, students aren't meant to know about the Philosopher's Stone."
Harry's breath hitched.
Quirrell stammered a reply, but Snape cut him off.
"Have you figured out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"
"B-b-but, Severus, I—"
"You wouldn't want me as your enemy, Quirrell."
"I-I d-don't know what—"
"You know exactly what I mean."
Just then, an owl screeched, and Helena's grip tightened reflexively. The broom wobbled, but they steadied themselves just in time.
"...your little abracadabra. I'm waiting," Snape pressed coldly.
"B-but I d-don't—"
"Very well," Snape interrupted. "We'll speak again soon—once you've had time to reconsider where your loyalties lie."
With a sharp motion, he pulled his hood up and vanished into the trees. Quirrell stood frozen. Even from above, Harry could see his ragged breathing. When he finally left, the siblings remained silent for several more seconds.
Harry spoke first.
"You saw that, right?" he whispered, almost giddy. "I was right! Snape's after the Philosopher's Stone! He needs Quirrell, but he's resisting!"
He turned to Helena, expecting her to share his excitement—but her expression wasn't what he'd hoped for.
"We're going back to the castle," she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.
"But, Helena—"
"Now."
She wasn't looking at him. Her tone was steel.
Harry pressed his lips together and turned the broom toward Hogwarts.
As they flew back, he couldn't help but wonder—
Why didn't she seem as convinced as he was?