Chapter Nine: Lady Helena the Phantom

After bidding farewell to Nicholas and the portly friar, Siwen drifted toward the library on the fifth floor of the castle.

He had long heard that Hogwarts boasted what was arguably the largest magical library in all of Britain, with its Restricted Section especially famed for harboring countless rare tomes forbidden from public circulation, including many unique volumes found nowhere else. Siwen had coveted those forbidden books for quite some time, and now, in his ghostly state, he finally had the perfect opportunity to sneak a peek.

Stepping into the library, Siwen was instantly stunned by the sight before him. Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched endlessly, vanishing into the distance, their shelves so densely packed with books that one could scarcely take them all in.

The outer areas of the library were lined with the books most frequently used by students—commonplace works, most of which could be found in any well-stocked home library. Ignoring these ordinary tomes, Siwen floated past shelf after shelf, heading for the heart of the library.

The Restricted Section was cordoned off with a rope, upon which a number of enchantments seemed to have been cast—presumably to keep unauthorized students out.

Of course, such spells were useless against Siwen in his ghostly form; he crossed the barrier with ease, his heart pounding with excitement as he drifted into the forbidden domain.

He paused in surprise.

Within the Restricted Section, he noticed another ghost, quietly reading a book.

She had sleek black hair that cascaded over her shoulder, and her fitted silk gown accentuated her slender, graceful figure. With her head bowed over her book, she delicately tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, revealing a flawless, porcelain profile.

Unwilling to disturb such a tranquil scene, Siwen slowed his pace and began searching the shelves on the opposite side for something that might pique his interest.

Through his magical senses, he could feel the powerful auras emanating from every book on the shelves ahead, their energies merging into a vast, overwhelming field.

Among them, one book stood out with particular intensity—a large, brown-bound volume radiating an evil, formidable power.

Unable to resist his curiosity, Siwen pulled the book from the shelf.

Secrets of the Darkest Art—the title stood out in bold black letters on the cover, from which wisps of shadow seemed to seep.

Dark magic, he mused with a frown.

The Rosier family library contained many advanced works on dark magic. Siwen, driven by curiosity, had once flipped through a few of them when Sandrine wasn’t paying attention, but he soon realized that the magic within could easily corrupt the mind; after that, he kept his distance.

Besides, his wand core was made from unicorn nerve—a substance fiercely resistant to dark magic—further dissuading him from pursuing such arts. After all, there were countless spells in the world, far more than one could master in a lifetime. Why risk one’s sanity for the sake of forbidden knowledge? On this point, Siwen had long since made his peace.

Still, the potent aura of Secrets of the Darkest Art filled him with curiosity. What kind of book could possess such overwhelming presence?

Eager to broaden his horizons, Siwen opened the volume.

A shrill scream tore through the silence as a black skull leapt from the page, hurling itself at Siwen’s body.

Startled, Siwen instinctively conjured a protective barrier around himself. With a snap, he slammed the book shut.

After closing the book, he suddenly sensed something amiss. Glancing back, he found the tall ghostly lady regarding him with a look of surprise.

With an awkward smile, Siwen quietly returned the book to its place.

“Hello, I’m the new ghost, Strangeworth,” he stammered.

The ghostly lady floated over with elegant poise, a frown creasing her brow. “You don’t seem like a ghost. I’ve never seen a spirit able to hold physical books—nor one so keen on reading them. Don’t you know that, after becoming a ghost, it is impossible to learn anything new?”

Only then did Siwen notice that the book she had been holding moments ago had faded away into motes of light, as if it had never been real. On her face lingered a wistful expression—envy, perhaps.

“Even as a ghost, do you still long to read?” he asked softly.

Her expression turned icy. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Reading is a noble pursuit—nothing to be ashamed of,” Siwen replied gently. “Perhaps I can help you.”

Because Siwen’s appearance was rather agreeable, the aesthetically-minded ghost didn’t turn away.

Instead, she regarded him with a hint of amusement. “And how do you propose to help a ghost?”

Siwen stepped closer, closing the distance between them. “I can’t change the fact that ghosts can’t gain new knowledge, but if you could touch the books, it might at least satisfy a little of your longing. Better than nothing, wouldn’t you say?” he smiled.

Let winning over the ghosts begin with her, he thought. He had to admit, if it was a matter of gaining trust, he’d much rather demonstrate the elegance of magic from another world to a beautiful lady than to those uncouth, oddball ghosts…

With a wave of his hand, a ripple spread through the space around them, as if the air were made of countless shattered mirrors.

To the ghost lady’s astonishment, she suddenly felt sensation.

Barefoot, she floated lightly to the floor, her toes brushing the wood in disbelief, only to shrink back. Her mouth fell open in shock. Tentatively, she touched the floor again, and then, her entire naked foot settled onto the cold surface.

“What magic is this?” she murmured.

“This is the Mirror Realm,” Siwen replied, settling onto the floor himself and offering a gentleman’s bow. “May I ask the name of such a lovely lady?”

“Helena,” the ghost replied with a faint smile.

It seemed Helena had not touched the ground in a very long time; somewhat awkwardly, she lifted her skirts and took a few unsteady steps.

Siwen, ever attentive, stepped forward and offered his arm, helping Helena grow accustomed to the sensation of standing on solid ground.

He turned to gaze upon her delicate profile, feeling something he had never known in more than twenty years at Kamar-Taj.

“Do you know why I insist on reading, even as a ghost?” Helena suddenly asked.

Siwen smiled gently. “I’d like to hear it.”

“My mother was an exceptionally gifted witch, admired for her wisdom and envied for her power. I was born in the light of her greatness.”

“Was it difficult, growing up in her shadow?” Siwen asked.

Helena nodded and went on, “She had such high hopes for me…”

From her story, Siwen gathered the outline of her tale. Helena’s mother was a wise and powerful sorceress who valued intellect above all else and expected Helena to meet her own lofty standards. But not everyone is blessed with such extraordinary gifts—Helena had not inherited her mother’s brilliance, nor could she reach her mother’s expectations, leaving her mother disappointed. Unable to bear the blow, Helena eventually chose to run away from home.

“I suppose I shall never meet her standards,” she said softly. “Reading has become an obsession etched into my very soul.”

Siwen sighed deeply. “Would you like to hear my story?”

Helena sat down on a nearby armchair and nodded.

“I was orphaned young, with no parents, but I was fortunate enough to be raised by a teacher. My mentor was also highly accomplished and strong, and he, too, held high expectations for me. In that, we are not so different.”

“Did you feel a lot of pressure?” Helena asked with curiosity.

Siwen shook his head. “No, I was quite lucky. I was always frail as a child, so most of my efforts were devoted to healing my illness, and in doing so, I largely overlooked my teacher’s hopes for me…”

He spoke absently, lost in memories, not noticing that Helena was already on the verge of tears.

“How is that lucky?” Helena’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Compared to what you’ve endured, my struggles seem utterly trivial…”

Siwen smiled. “Not at all. Each of us bears a different kind of burden, that’s all.”

…