The Scottish glens looked warm, despite the slight bite of the air that surpassed me. To my left stood the ivory castle, standing tall in the rocky mountains. The bright contrast of the blue banners were evident against the warm yellows and reds of the autumn trees. From where I stood I could see my mothers room. The dark blue curtains reflected off the windows, giving them the illusion that they were glowing. Everything in my home was blue. Not that I minded blue, it was a perfectly beautiful color. It was the color of the sky, the waters, and my eyes. I had been told since a very young age, that I had beautiful eyes. A deep blue that in some light, appeared purple. But what did I care, a person becomes so accustomed to a color and it becomes boring. I was required to wear it nearly everyday. “Those are the house colors, Helena! You should wear them with pride!” my mother would say. Ah yes, my mother. The famous Rowena Ravenclaw. She was both beautiful and brilliant despite her age, and I was her daughter, expected to be exactly like her. The fault was I was neither as wise nor beautiful as my mother. All though I had a deep respect and love for her, I have always felt belittled compared to her, never as good as she. As I gazed over the reflective lake, and the green grass hills, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps crunching on gravel.

“My lady,” greeted the stranger, “Your mother requires that I see you into the Castle. She would like a word with you”

I turned to face this new man, and he gazed down at me with a look of annoyance and judgement. I turned my nose up at him and reflected his gaze through my own. However, my challenger turned on his heel and march forward as if I was expected to follow like a dog. In an act of defiance I waited a while longer to follow, that extra space proving that I was not to be commanded like a lowly house elf, but that I moved of my own accord. As I entered the large chamber I saw my mother sitting in her usual throne. The silver and blue of the chair stood out brilliantly, despite the fact that most of the room was adorned in this fashion. My mother sat there, her brilliant smile lit up as I entered the room, her eyes a shade bluer than mine crinkled when she smiled, and she tilted her dark head towards me in invitation.

“Helena, my darling,” she called in her thick scottish accent,” Goodmorning! Come, sit beside me I have news!” Her left hand patted the slightly smaller version of her chair, and I, the slightly smaller version of her, obeyed.

“What is it Mother?”

“We will be entertaining guests this evening, and I would like you to get to know the eldest daughter.” She gave me a stern yet affectionate nod, as if to say this was of importance.

“And who, might I ask, are we receiving?”

“An old friend of mine, and his family. Godric Gryffindor.” She smiled in a vain attempt to look at ease, but I saw through it instantly, “Now, it is important you and Wilda get along, If things go accordingly, you two will be attending school together next year. The Gryffindors will arrive sometime before nightfall, and I expect you to be presentable.” She of course spoke of my current state. I had previously been thrashing through the wilderness, looking for ingredients for a new potion. My dress was torn and dirty at the bottom, and she was currently attempting to draw a twig from my dark, unruly curls.

As sunset approached I became absent minded completely forgetting of their arrival, until a handmaiden entered the library where I currently sat, poring over a book of memory spells. One that kept me particularly invested was “ memoriam confundi”, It seemed as though this spell, had the ability to confuse a persons memory, and twisting it to the caster’s liking.

“My lady!” said the maiden, distraught, with her face flushed red, “have you forgotten already? Sir Gryffindor is here!” This news was not shocking, I had been expecting them. However, my current state of dress was not considered presentable; I had not changed since my mourning hunt for berries.

“ No matter,” I pulled my wand from it’s place at my side and pointed it at my dress, “ Innova!” with a flourish my clothing burnt bright and the tares were mended and cleaned. I took the leisurely stroll from the library to the great hall with as much resentment as possible. This Wilda Gryffindor was said to be of my age. Physically, probably yes, but mentally? Few 10 year olds had a mindset comparable to mine, I was 10 years of age in appearance yes, but in soul, I was much older. I approached the large wooden doors with hesitance, this girl was probably very snobbish, and prude. Used to the very best, and nothing less, spoiled by her fathers good riches and wealthy name. Still, I pressed on, and threw the doors open as loudly as possible, and the look of disinterest upon my face. If I had actually took the time to listen to the handmaiden, I would have known that the guest were not in the Hall, but in the dining room by now, and that I was late. The red flush of embarrassment adorned on my cheeks stood out boldly against the blue room, that I quickly left before any servants had gathered what had just transpired. Minutes later I sat, rather overlooked, at the grand table, sitting across from Wilda Gryffindor. She had wild, long hair, the color of fire. Her rosy cheeks looked warmer than my own, and her bright yellow eyes, blazed like the radiant sun. When she spoke, her voice was low, like the deep roar of a lion. But her laugh, was like a sun lit waterfall, beautiful from every angle. Surely this girl was dim-witted. Her eyes, all though beautiful, seemed arrogant.

“Helena is very interested in learning, And I think She would benefit nicely from this school.” compelled my mother. I was so absorbed in the judgement of Wilda I had tuned the rest of the conversation out, I now perked up at hearing my own name. Unfortunately for me I became transfixed halfway through eating, and my fork now remained at my lips, the meat it was holding now glazed with drool. I quickly composed myself, and forced myself to smile cheerfully at Sir Godric.

“Yes, Sir, I love to learn, and to read. I simply can’t wait to attend this new school.”

“Well lady Helena, I expect you’ll have to. The four of us have decided, at the age of 11, young witches and wizards will attend Hogwarts, Until then, you will just have to get to know Wilda during the summer.” There it was, Hogwarts. Construction had just been finished, and now all that remained were the students. I, of course, was one of them, including the children of the other founders: My mother, Sir Godric Gryffindor, Lady Helga Hufflepuff, and Sir Salazar Slytherin.

After the feast, I was required to show Lady WIlda through the Castle. The tour started mundane enough; a brief visit through the kitchen, the Hall, all the different rooms and chambers. I was going to end the adventure with my chamber when Wilda spoke for the first time since supper,

“i don’t suppose you have a Library do you? I’ve always loved Libraries.” I looked at her with bewilderment, Wilda did NOT strike me as the literary type. She was tall, and sturdy looking, much like her father. I had no intention on showing her the Library, for that was mine. I went to the Library for all matters, sadness, happiness, anger. All my emotions resided in that large room. It was very much my home. However, she looked absolutely intent on seeing the Library, so I led her their. Upon arriving, she twirled about the room most annoyingly, and gazed up at the tall stacks of books.

“Wow!” she gasped, as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the ancient air, “I love it.”

“I come here a lot, especially recently, my mother won’t stop about the bloody school and it’s driving me mental.” I should not have said that, one word and the prude would run her pretty mouth at her father. She simply smiled in response and nodded in understanding. She floated about the large room, stroking her long finger up the spines of the many books, as she gazed at them appreciatively. She picked one from the shelf, and sat at my usual chair, buried already in the enormous text. Despite the annoyance of her in my chair, I picked up my earlier book and sat beside her.

That is how our friendship continued over the next few years. We had many classes together during our years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and all though we were sorted into different houses, (I in Ravenclaw, and she in Gryffindor) every year we became closer. We often met after classes in the library, to sit and read in each others company, never really saying much. During the summer months she stayed at our castle, here we spent our time brewing potions from berries we had collected earlier that morning. As I soon realized, we were more similar than I had expected.