Harry Potter: The Legend of Nero Ravenclaw

The sensation had been growing for weeks now.

A presence. Gentle, watchful, hovering just at the edges of Nero's awareness. Not menacing, nor intrusive, but unmistakable.

At first, he thought it was paranoia.

His Occlumency training had made him more aware of the shifts in his surroundings, more attuned to magic and its traces.

But as the days passed, he became certain.

He was being observed.

By her. 

The Grey Lady, Helena Ravenclaw. His ancestor.

She had always been an elusive figure within the castle.

A silent sentinel of Ravenclaw Tower, seldom engaging with students beyond a soft whisper of guidance or the occasional cryptic remark.

Many found her distant, cold even. But Nero had never felt that. Since the first time he saw her, there had been something else beneath her exterior, something warm, something wistful.

And now, with the Christmas break, and lessons temporarily stopping, he finally had the time to address it.

It was the stillness of the evening that allowed him to sense her now, the soft hum of magic lingering in the corridors as he walked through the dimly lit halls of the castle. The flickering torchlight cast long shadows, yet Nero walked without hesitation, his steps light against the cold stone floor.

He didn't have to search for her. She was waiting.

The Grey Lady stood by one of the castle's great windows, gazing out into the snowy expanse beyond. Her ethereal form shimmered softly in the dim light, her silver-blue robes billowing as though caught in an unseen breeze.

If he didn't know better, he might have mistaken her for a portrait come to life, a specter of wisdom and sorrow woven into the fabric of Hogwarts itself.

"You've been watching me," Nero said softly. "For a long time now."

The ghost didn't flinch, nor did she turn immediately. Instead, she lingered in silence for a moment longer before finally shifting her gaze to him. Her expression was unreadable, her spectral eyes cool but not unkind.

"I have." she murmured. "And yet, you do not seem afraid."

Nero offered a small, knowing smile. "Why would I be afraid of my own family?"

The flicker of surprise in her expression was almost imperceptible, but he caught it. A tiny crack in the mask she so carefully maintained.

"I do not know what you mean," she said, but there was hesitation in her voice. A ghost's voice, he had come to realize, carried more than just sound. It carried the weight of their existence, their regrets, their unspoken truths.

He could have pressed her. Could have exposed the truth he already knew. But he wouldn't do that to her.

Not yet.

Instead, he simply took a seat on the windowsill, looking out at the snow-covered grounds. "It's a beautiful night," he mused. "Peaceful."

Helena watched him, cautious. As if waiting for some trick, some ulterior motive. When none came, she floated slightly closer.

"Few students take the time to appreciate such things," she said.

"I suppose not," Nero admitted. "But I've always liked the quiet. It gives me time to think." He turned to her then, his voice softer. "Time to notice things."

A moment of silence stretched between them. Helena's form was as stately as ever, her silver-blue robes billowing faintly. Her gaze, thoughtful and unreadable, met his own.

Nero took a slow step closer, his expression open, inviting. "You knew, didn't you? That I would notice you."

Her lips pressed together, and for the first time, there was something vulnerable in her normally composed demeanor. "I was not sure," she admitted. "But I hoped."

"I…" Helena hesitated, and for the first time, she looked almost uncertain. "You remind me of someone."

Nero's lips quirked. "Rowena?"

The ghost's form flickered slightly, as though disturbed by an unseen wind. "…Yes," she admitted at last. "Though I do not know why I feel so strongly about it."

'Because I'm your descendant' he thought! But instead of saying it, he merely smiled.

"You're not the first to say that," he answered. "I think it's a compliment."

A small, almost wistful smile ghosted across her lips. "She was… brilliant. More than brilliant. And yet, I fear she never truly understood me."

Nero knew the story well. The stolen diadem, the flight to Albania, the tragic end. A daughter forever burdened by her mother's expectations, a mother who died never reconciling with the child she loved yet failed to reach. And…Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"I think," he said carefully, "that sometimes, love is complicated. And that regret is heavier than most can bear."

Helena's gaze lowered, as if peering into a past only she could see. "Regret," she echoed. "Yes… it lingers."

Nero's fingers curled slightly against the stone ledge. He had already decided. One day, when he was strong enough, when he had mastered the magic needed to do it, he would free her from that regret.

Ghosts remained because of unfinished business. If he could find a way to grant her peace… perhaps, just perhaps, she would no longer be bound to Hogwarts in sorrow.

But not tonight.

Tonight was for something else.

"You know," he said suddenly, changing the mood, "I never imagined I'd be spending my Christmas break having a conversation with a ghost. But if I'm being honest, I think this is the best part of it so far."

Helena looked at him, startled by the warmth in his tone. "You… enjoy my company?"

"Of course." Nero tilted his head. "You have a certain charm, you know."

A long pause. Then, for the first time in perhaps centuries, Helena Ravenclaw laughed.

It was soft, almost hesitant, but real. A sound long forgotten in the halls of Hogwarts. And Nero, despite everything, felt a quiet satisfaction at having drawn it out.

Then, emboldened by the moment, he looked at her thoughtfully. "Would it be too forward of me to ask if I could call you Grandma?"

Helena stiffened. He had expected some reaction, but this… she looked utterly stunned. As if no one in her afterlife had ever dared utter such a thing.

"I… what?"

Nero shrugged, keeping his tone light. "I just think it fits. You are, after all, my House's guardian. And, well…" He smiled. "I wouldn't mind having a ghostly grandmother."

She stared at him for a long time, her translucent hands trembling slightly. Then, just as he thought she might refuse.

"Yes," she whispered. "You may."

A warmth spread in his chest, a quiet victory. But before he could revel in it, Helena did something entirely unexpected.

She reached out… and lightly pinched his cheek.

Or at least, she tried. Her ghostly fingers, lacking true substance, simply passed through his skin, but the intent was clear. And for a brief moment, she looked almost mischievous, like a grandmother teasing a beloved grandchild.

Nero blinked. "Did you just"

"I tried," she huffed, and though her tone was regal, her eyes were bright. "It seems I am out of practice."

He laughed. A genuine, heartfelt laugh that echoed through the empty corridor.

"Well," he said, standing and dusting off his robes. "There's always next time, Grandma."

They spent the evening together, drifting through the quiet halls of Hogwarts. She told him stories of the castle, of times long past, and Nero listened with a quiet reverence. She even led him to the grand ballroom, a place rarely used in modern Hogwarts where she demonstrated an old courtly dance, twirling effortlessly through the air. With a bit of coaxing, Nero joined her, moving in time with a song only she could remember. It was surreal, dancing with a ghost, but in that moment, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time in centuries, she felt happiness stir within her once more.

The night came to a gentle close, the air between them lighter than it had ever been. Helena Ravenclaw, the Grey Lady of Hogwarts, hovered before him, her ethereal form no longer weighed down by centuries of solitude.

As Nero turned to leave, he felt her presence lingering at his back, a quiet warmth, a silent promise that this was only the beginning.

And one day… one day, when he was strong enough, he would set her free.

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