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The Ides of March by patronus_charm
Chapter 1 : A star riding through clouds.
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 20

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'There was a star riding through the clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me.''


I watch you. I watch your swinging hair, your soft lips, the way you smile at some and not at all at others. I watch how your glance skims over me, dancing over to the yew tree instead, the blades of grass, the turrets of our home, of Hogwarts. They dance over almost everything, but never over me. Never have, never will.


You occupy the pages of my books, scribbled drawings of you here and there, the long flowing brown of your hair, the red and gold of your robes melded into it. Your name's curved onto the pages, so thickly I can see the days my quill was not quite sharp enough to etch everything out. Eleanor Gryffindor, glimmers your name. Entwined beneath is my very own, Helena Ravenclaw. Helena Ravenclaw sickeningly loyal to Eleanor Gryffindor. Sickeningly in love with Eleanor Gryffindor.

For it is a disease, strangling away at me so my thought and reason are obscured away and lust takes over. I know it is wrong, I have known it for a long time. I have studied the book well enough now to know it. I know what the word of God states on the subject. I shall burn in the fiery pits of hell for this sin, for this vice.

But I will do all of that to be with you, my Eleanor, my love.

With you, with you, with you. The words filter through my head endlessly. That’s how much I think of you, there is no limit to my love.

‘Pay attention, Helena,’ Mother screams at me when my thoughts fade onto you and my eyes flicker in and out of the world. As they often do that, she often screams. ‘Do your work. Listen. Oh the shame of having a daughter who lacks wisdom. What must everyone think?’

I am her only child, her only one. Not like Godric who has spawns of children, erupting out of everywhere. Not like Helga who says that the students are her children and she does not want a babe of her own body. Not even like Salazar, even he has two sons to act as heirs and a daughter to marry off at his choosing. Though I am not allowed to think about Salazar, Mother doesn’t like it.

Out of all the Founders' children, I am the sickly child. The lost child. The child whose mother never really wanted her.

Not like Eleanor, not like her at all.

She is the child most loved and adored by her parents. The child most loved and adored by my mother. The only one who doesn’t love and adore her the most is Helga who claims no favourites over us. But I love and adore Eleanor the most. She is meant to be loved and adored.

My father probably even preferred her to me even if he is only a faceless shadow in the back of my mind. Facts on him are always sparse so it is easy to guess his opinions.

‘He died shortly after you were born,’ Mother always tells me curtly, the sole thing she ever says about him.

Aunt Helga sometimes lets more out but that is only when the demons chase me in my sleep and she needs to silence my mournful wails. Even at seventeen years of age, tales of my father are the only thing which soothe me to sleep.

‘He was a charming man,’ she will sometimes say. ‘He made your mother smile a lot. He was the only one who ever could. He was witty too. He could almost match your mother in intellectual duels if that tells you something, Helena.’

‘Tell me more, Aunt Helga, please tell me more,’ I always say, clinging to the bottom of her skirts.

She will always sigh but give in anyhow. ‘He was a Muggleborn, someone with no magical background. There is nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with that at all, but I do believe it caused some rifts between Salazar and your mother. It’s why you aren’t allowed to speak of him. It only refreshes old wounds.’

‘What did he do, as a Muggleborn that is?’

Aunt Helga lets out a little laugh. ‘Muggleborns can have the same jobs as wizards and witches, but he did have a different one I suppose. He was interested in the Church, the Bible. He taught other people about them and turned them to the light. He was a very blessed man for that.’

Aunt Helga gave me my first Bible after that. Leather bound, loose threads and yellowing pages, I treasure it still. I learnt about everything from that book, about how I have fallen in with Lucifer, why I have fallen to him too, how my love for Eleanor is wrong despite it growing for each day that passes. Mother always snatches away my book when she sees it, she says it’s Muggle nonsense. I do not believe her. I think she is lying. Father thought its words were true so it must be.


You catch me one day; you catch me staring at you that is. It is Yuletide and most of the other students have returned home. Only the children of Gryffindor and I remain, a scant few others lurk about but we do not notice them too much.

I wander the halls, following you now and then, reading in the library or going to chapel in Hogsmeade, my usual pastimes. It is when I am doing the most innocent of these things, reading at the ash table in the library, when you chance upon me.

‘Helena,’ you sing out loud and clear. ‘Helena, wait, I must talk to you. I have to ask you something.’

I turn my head, taking in your beauty. The gown you wear is crimson bedecked with a festive gold trim. Your father’s colours are creeping up again, following you wherever you go. Reminding me of the division between you and I. That we may have to remain separate forever and ever. Forever does such have such a firm feel to it, that it can never be penetrated, broken down, but will always stand tall and proud while everyone writhers away in their melancholic mortality.

‘Yes, Eleanor,’ I reply softly, my voice, mind, body quite entranced by your beauty that it loses all its strength.

You walk forward, each leg stretching and then pausing as if an immense amount of thought and detail lies behind each move. The closer and closer your approach gets, the more and more spherical your movements become. Round and round you circulate, each orbit drawing you inwards.

‘Are you enjoying this, Helena?’ you tease me, a laugh tinkling on from your words. ‘Do you like being watched?’

‘I haven’t yet formed an opinion of it.’

Another laugh, another smile, another orbit.

‘You Ravenclaws, always speaking in metaphors, similes! Your language is so obscure we have to decipher each sentence you speak. Is it natural or do you Claws enjoy riddles so much you do it for amusement?’

A pause. You stare at me, your eyes being endless pools of depth and intrigue. No matter how often I gaze at them I will never know what truly lies behind them.

‘I don’t know. We often ponder how we formulate sentences, but for me it is a collection of words tumbling out of my mouth, nothing more, nothing less.’

I feel your eyes upon me as I talk. They trace me, follow me, wherever my own pair move, yours follow shortly after. One of my feet rocks back onto its heel, your left mirrors it. I scratch my right eye, you scratch your left. On and on this dance goes until you muster a laugh before strolling over and whispering in my ear.

‘Tonight, Helena. Meet me tonight. At the edge of the forest. Meet me there and I’ll explain everything.’

I do not have a chance to ask at what time precisely before you have swept out of the library and left me lost in the familiar winds of solitude. Your appearance almost feels like an apparition for it granted so many of my wishes. You spoke to me, you laughed with me, even teased me a little, but why? Why, why, why? Why would you choose me, strange, plain, lonesome, Helena?


Flickers of memory overwhelm me. You barely uttering a word to me for all the years we have lived together. The strange glances being the only thing I received. The gaggle of giggling girls, you always among them, following me through the corridors. The scurry to flee me when I approached. We never spoke, we never uttered a word, except for the simplest ones - good day, good night and thank you.

How could that have made you love me? How? How? How? How would that make you love me? My plain, placid character do me no credit, so what made you choose me? The more I think, the greater the problem grows. Only you can solve it.


I see your glow before I see you as I approach the forest. I sense your presence before I see it. You must be a thing of the stars, Eleanor, something beyond this realm, because why else could you enchant me so.

With each step I leave an ebony imprint in the ivory snow. I can see your pathway before me, the delicate stains in the snow, and I take care to walk around them, beside them. Then we can be together. Together. Together. Together. The word rings in my head. If Mother finds out we are together, she would lock me out so I could bring no more shame to the world. She is not overtly fond of abnormalities.

‘The most important and treasured thing you have beyond your mind is your reputation, Helena,’ she told me once. ‘Do not ever destroy it, because not even wit could save you then. I couldn’t save you then. You would be beyond any form of help. Do you understand?’

The warnings rings around with the words. Images of me burning with Lucifer, never being forgiven in the eyes of God, for not even Purgatory could save me if I fell to sin. I feel as if I am falling now, the world cascading down beside me as I walk closer to you. That if I tread any further I will be damned forever and ever, but I cannot resist, I cannot abstain, I have to be with you.

‘Helena, I am here,’ you say from the depths of black. I step forward a little and see you leant against the pile of stones, cloak heavily wrapped around you.

‘Eleanor,’ I whisper, my words so inadequate to your own that they seep grey into the air, staining it with my mumbles. ‘What do you want to explain?’

‘Come closer, the words cannot be heard by an outsider. Father would never forgive me if what I am about to say was listened to by an unworthy ear.’

I move forward so I am almost beside you. The air seems less bitter now, beside you. It grazed at me before, scrapping at me relentlessly. All is still now. All is still beside the copse of trees shielding us from the wind. All is still beside you.

‘I have seen you watching me. Watching me wherever I go. It is rather amusing to see you do that, endearing too.’

My fingers lace the embroidery on my dress. It is from the Flanders. Some of the finest wool around. It does not help now though. I am constrained within the material, my chest bound up tight, unable to beat freely. Unable to break through and chase for the hills at Eleanor’s accusations. I cannot face them. I cannot let the secret of them be known to all. It would ruin everything. It would ruin me.

‘There is no need to be afraid, Helena,’ you say softly, ‘Ease your heart. There is no need to fear a thing. Only I know this secret of yours because I watch you too. I watch every move you make. I watch the way you look away from me when you think I am watching you. I watch the way you scribble away on the parchment, always concealing it from others. I watch you do everything.’

Everything. Everything. Everything.

‘I find you...’ You pause and I do not dare look at you. Disgusting. Disturbed. Deranged. Any one of those words will be thrown at me, I know it, and I will be maimed forever when I find out you think of me in that way.

‘Enchanting,’ you finally finish, sighing as you do so. ‘You are very enchanting. You always do catch my eye, after all.’

The words cause the stars to be fired into the air, exploding all around us and decorating the earth in an ethereal white as the unexpected becomes a reality for once. The world itself is enchanting with the way it listens to one’s wishes and tries to make them occur. Life itself is enchanting with its miracles.

But what is more enchanting is that you do not hate me, that you did not use any of those three words to describe me. That you, perhaps, even like me. Being liked is always an enchanting thing for me as I do not often experience it.


As the sun rises in the dusky pink sky, I stroll towards Hogsmeade to attend the morning service and to pay my thanks to the Almighty for letting this happen. The light flickers across the fields, each beam shining brightly and shining so purely I cannot be mistaken for its origin. I cannot be mistaken for what it means.

I no longer dwell within the land of delusions, fear and confusion but in the land of dreams, hope and purity. I dwell in your land.

Author's Note: Hi and welcome to my latest story, a Founders slash with religious elements which means I have now written in every era and this is my first multi-chaptered slash story so whoo for new things! In my headcanon, I always imagined people being a bit more religious hence why Helena references it quite a bit. :)

The quote at the top of this chapter and the chapter title come from the amazing Virginia Woolf and page 39 of The Waves, Google Books edition, so all credit goes to her! I also need to thank Virginia Woolf again for acting as an inspiration to this story and her work guided me through this! ♥

I just need to edit the rest of The Ides of March as it's already written with ten chapters in total, so I should hopefully update every week or two! Thank you for reading this first chapter though, and if you have time, I would love to get some feedback on this as it's so different for me!

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