Written for The Teachers' Lounge: Ultimate Iron Fic Challenge: Round 4, given the prompt An end, and a beginning.

My opponent is Intervigilium, a gentleman known for beautiful stories laced with dramatic settings and epic characters. Check. Him. Out.

Albania

As the dagger slowly pierced her abdomen, dragging agonizingly through her flesh, Helena leaned back to see the moon through the foliage, and closed her eyes, unwilling to let the last thing she saw be the Baron's sweating, angry face. She stumbled backwards, dimly aware of the scratch of leaves and bark as she slumped against a thick tree trunk. The ends of her hair hung limply to the forest floor as she sunk down, muddied with dirt and blood.

This was not how things were supposed to end.

Scotland

"Do you need help gathering flowers, little sparrow?" Salazar asked softly, placing a gnarled, old hand on Helena's shoulder.

She shrugged him off distractedly before crouching down to gather more stems. "I am not picking flowers, Professor - I am collecting herbs for a new potion I have invented."

The old man frowned a little, watching as the young witch impatiently pushed long strands of dark hair out of her eyes before bending over her task. Her basket was already overflowing with dandelion, monkshood and rosemary, the scent of the herbs mingling with late summer smells of wild roses and sweet clover. Orange light glittered off of her simple, bronze circlet, a single dandelion wedged beneath the metal at her temple.

"It is not wise for you to be alone in these fields, so close to dusk. Your mother has been asking for you." Despite his reprimanding tone, Salazar bent to help her, carefully snapping the sprigs off at just the right spot.

Helena looked up from her basket, eyebrow raised in perfect imitation of her mother. "Why do you always come for me, Professor? What is my mother doing?"

Salazar sighed as he straightened, turning his face towards the warm breeze snaking down from the west. "Your mother is unwell, as you know. Give her time. I am sure she will come back to us some day."

Helena shook her head as she, too, stood, moving her basket to the crook of her arm. "It is the diadem, is it not? It is as you taught me...no great magic comes without a price."

"Perhaps," Salazar replied, stroking his beard. It was almost completely white now. "But we must also, at times, ask the question...is the price worth it?"

"I suppose…" her voice trailed off, a wistful look sliding across her face. Her bare foot dragged circular patterns through the grass, emerald blades peeking between her toes. "I miss when she would sing to herself as she read, or braid my hair before classes. She is silent, now, and her eyes are so empty. She is there, but she is also gone."

Salazar moved closer to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "She is not gone yet, little sparrow. Not yet."

Helena looked up, the full force of her stare meeting his gaze. Gods, at times she could look exactly like her mother, Salazar thought to himself. He watched her carefully for clues as to who her father could be, but that was a mystery, one that Rowena seemed determined to take to her grave. She was a woman of many secrets.

"You are still hopeful for her...recovery," Helena said quietly, her hand finding his.

"I will always hope," Salazar murmured, pressing his lips to the top of her head before moving away. She watched him stride through the fields, gathering his black robes around him as he walked, his age betrayed only by the long tendrils of gray hair that flew out behind him. "Come back before sundown," he called without looking back.

Above, three crows were circling around the young girl. She paused to eye them warily, a shiver trailing down her back. Clutching the basket tightly, she ran to catch up with Salazar, keeping her eyes focused on her feet.

It all began with a shimmering band of silver, a tear drop sapphire glinting before a proud eagle stretching its wings.

The town where Helena spent her summers clung to the edges of the Ravenclaw estate. Rumours and gossip was shared freely among the townsfolk, particularly when it concerned the mysterious, quiet lady in the tower who was known as a veritable fountain of knowledge.

Though she had theories, Helena was never sure where the diadem came from. As a child, whenever she asked her mother or her mentors, the answers were frustratingly vague:

"I cannot possibly remember, Helena; perhaps your mother has always had it, as a family heirloom of sorts."

"The diadem? I believe Rowena found it somewhere...you should ask her for the story. She is your mother, after all."

"Darling, I am much too busy for your foolish questions. When you are ready for the story, I will tell you, and not a moment sooner."

"There are rumours, child, that your mother sold her soul for that little sliver of power, a dreadful price that can never be repaid...ah, but I have said too much. Run along. Now."

And so Helena Ravenclaw withdrew to her lair of parchment and ink, leather bindings and feather quills, determined to find answers on her own. She befriended the blacksmith's apprentice, who gave her scraps of useless metal to practise incantations on. Long into the night she muttered spells and curses alike, oftentimes doing little save burning her palms, frustration gnawing at her as she failed to discover what was slowly possessing her mother.

The apprentice, Hadrian, was not much older than she, with an honest, weathered face and broad hands. The day Helena turned sixteen, she noticed how the soot from his work gathered in the lines around his eyes and mouth, how his chest was barrelled and shook when he laughed; how it swelled when he saw her. Some nights, she would pass by his shop despite knowing that he would have nothing for her, and after helping him put everything in order, they would spend long hours talking, mugs of spiced wine between them.

On one such night, the two sat by the darkened window of the shop, a nearly spent candle between them. Their heads bent so low the flame tickled their throats, he kissed her gently. He kept his hands at his sides, for fear of marking her skin with his blistered, blackened fingers.

It had been weeks since Helena opened a book. She left her mother to her lonely musings, surrounded by towers of parchment; letters from magical folk far and near, all wanting answers, all needing a part of her, of what the diadem made her.

Instead, she spent her days dreaming of Hadrian, watching the sun as it curved through the sky, marking the time until they could be together again. Sometimes, on the threshold of the shop, she felt a strange chill come over her, and glanced up at the clouds, searching for crows.

Once, as she glanced up, a heavy hand fell on her shoulder, causing her to shriek in terror. The gentleman to whom it belonged leapt back, blurting out apologies while taking out a handkerchief to wipe his sweating face. He was portly and evidently wealthy, wearing intricately embroidered robes covered in precious gems. After a moment, he straightened and stepped back before bending into a bow that ended in a flourish of hands.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I had no intention of startling you. I am Robert Vane, third Baron of Corvius." He declared his title loudly. Helena stepped back carefully, assessing the stranger.

"May I help you, Baron?" she asked stiffly, clearly unimpressed.

"I do hope you can. Some of the people here tell me that you are Helena Ravenclaw, daughter of the infamous Rowena Ravenclaw. Though none cared to mention that her daughter is also a great beauty," he added, his right hand on his stomach, his left scratching his chin.

Helena nodded at the compliment and smiled thinly. The Baron was not the first to flatter her while hoping to gain an audience with her mother. "If it is my mother that you seek, I am afraid that you are out of luck, Baron. She returns to Hogwarts soon, and her remaining days here are filled."

"What a shame," the Baron sniffed, shaking his head dramatically. "I have come a long way, you see. Might there be any other way?"

"I fear not," she replied firmly, and stepped back into the blacksmith shop, closing the door quickly behind her.

The Baron, standing alone on the street and looking rather foolish, turned quite purple as he tried to control a fit of rage creeping up, then swiftly turned on his heel and stalked towards the Ravenclaw estate.

Helena's studies resumed as the days grew shorter. Salazar nodded to himself in approval when he noticed her focus returning, her presence once again a permanent fixture in the library. Every so often, a bunch of wildflowers would appear on her desk, or a letter, but Helena would wrinkle her nose and ignore them, for young love can be fickle, and fleeting, and she had lost interest in Hadrian almost the moment she stepped back through the gates of Hogwarts.

Once she learned all that the professors could teach, she continued to spend her days within the library, her mind once again turned towards thoughts of healing her mother's mind. She rarely returned home, oftentimes spending the entire summer alone, wandering the halls of the castle, a book in one hand, a candle in the other.

It was among the shelves of books that she had her second encounter with the Baron, who swept in with a flourish and a bow.

"Lady Helena," he said politely, inclining his head.

Having forgotten his name, Helena nodded in return and simply said, "Baron."

"I was recently in your hometown, visiting with your mother," he began. Helena's eyes widened in surprise, but she remained silent, continuing to inspect the shelves. "She mentioned that it has been long since you returned home."

Helena shrugged, turning away from the Baron. "My work keeps me busy within the castle," she said vaguely, gesturing around her. When she turned back, the Baron was mere inches from her. He smelled sickly sweet, like overripe grapes. Unwilling to show discomfort, she stood her ground, crossing her arms. "Why have you come to Hogwarts?"

"Why, you, of course," the Baron said, smiling widely. When Helena's brow furrowed in confusion, he brought out a small, red velvet pouch, and handed it to her with another little bow. "I have brought a gift for you."

Helena held out her hand slowly, and avoided touching the Baron's fingers with her own as she plucked the pouch from his grasp. "It is a long way to travel for a gift," she said before opening it, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach.

"This gift is special," the Baron said merrily, clapping his hands. "And if you like it, well, I was hoping that perhaps it would be a wedding gift."

Helena dropped the pouch. "Wedding…gift? Baron, you have been misinformed. I am not to be married. I never plan to be married."

Unperturbed, the Baron summoned the pouch back to his hand, and re-offered it. "Not at all, my Lady. You see, I find myself at present without a wife, which is, I must admit, rather tedious. While I was lamenting to your mother this sad predicament, she, in her infinite wisdom, put forth a splendid idea - that you and I should wed! I confess, since that first day I saw you, I have thought of little else. Your mother-"

He was cut off as Helena let out a shrill scream, for unnoticed by him, the pouch had opened when it fell, and a thick, dirt-encrusted finger rolled across the stone floor. He tried to yell over her screaming, eyes glinting as the candles in the wall sconces threw strange shadows across his face. "Please, let me explain, dear Lady! You never returned to your home town. I hear you refused all of the boy's gifts. I believed the lad must have offended you gravely, and merely gave him a proper punishment! It was within my rights! I thought you would be happy-"

"You are a monster," Helena cried, shaking her head furiously. She turned and fled down the aisles of books, searching for her wand. Had she left it near the potion-making aisle? Perhaps Charms…

"You will have me!" The Baron yelled as her fingers finally closed around the comforting length of wood. She threw a stunning hex his way. The Baron dodged the spell and stumbled against one of the book shelves. Helena took the opportunity to run from the library, her feet pounding against the hall floors. She barely slowed as barreled through the doors to her quarters, throwing a handful of floo powder into the fireplace and disappearing in a swirl of green flames.

Albania

"Why would she send you?" Helena whispered as the Baron stepped closer. She was disarmed, exhausted and freezing, her robes muddied and torn. His eyes terrified her. "Where is Salazar?"

The Baron snorted loudly. "Salazar betrayed your mother, and the other Founders. He has been cast out, exiled from Hogwarts forever." He licked his lips slowly, his right hand shaking as he held his wand tightly, his left perfectly still, a long dagger in his palm. "Come back with me, Helena. Give your mother back her diadem, marry me, and forget all of this."

Helena shook her head. "I needed the diadem to find a way to make Hadrian whole again. Because of you! You have destroyed my life! You have poisoned my mother's mind more than the diadem ever could." At this, she viciously spit at his face.

The Baron, strangely, barely moved, his eyes merely darkening. "Careful, my Lady. I am not the only one carrying darkness within."

Helena's lower lip quivered, her eyes shining. "It was an accident," she whispered. "You know it was. I tried to fix him, but the diadem, it tricked me...it made him something darker. I did not know…"

"There there," the Baron purred, tapping the knife against his cheek. "I know. You were simply trying to help. But your mother and the townsfolk are angry, my Lady. Just follow me, and everything will be as it should be."

"NO!" she yelled, stepping towards him defiantly. "How can you not understand? I have hidden the diadem. It can never be found. Ever. And I will not return, not with anyone, and certainly not with-"

Helena never finished what she wished to say. Instead, she fell back, the moon reflected in her eyes. The Baron, looking down at his hand, felt a wave of remorse, for though he was not a particularly kind man, prone to impulsiveness, he was an admirer of beauty, and he had truly wished to marry the young woman before him. Realizing his error, he then turned the knife on himself, and slumped forward against the blade, dying beside the young witch.

The next morning, all was eerily silent as two ghosts drifted between the trees, watching as three crows picked at the mangled corpses on the forest floor.

I would like to thank The Teachers' Lounge for being so wonderfully supportive throughout this little competition, and to every other competitor, who contributed some truly incredible stories over the past few weeks. xx