A/N: So, I'm sorry for not having updated in forever my life has been insanely busy and I have been having trouble completing each day. I'm just going through a lot. Anyways, here is a story I came up with a while ago. It actually started as a Head Canon on the Facebook page I admin, but I decided to expand it. Enjoy.

"Mistress Helena," the maid's voice carried across Helena Ravenclaw's bedroom, "your mother would like to see you in the parlor." And with that the maid exited, her footsteps fading down the hall till they rang in the young girl's ears no more.

Helena Ravenclaw let out a sigh as she set down her quill. The picture etched out on the piece of parchment in front of her was almost complete, just a few more strokes and the eagle of her family's crest would be complete. She pushed her chair back, tucked a piece of jet-black hair behind her ear, and gathered her skirts of her powder blue dress, for she knew how her mother despised waiting. Her footsteps echoed in the same hall the maid's had, the same sound playing over in her head.


The parlor was a grand circular room bathed in dark shades of blue and in subtle shades of bronze. There was a large fireplace made of white stone, which was stained to be given a tint of bronze to match the room. On top of the fire place was a picture of Helena, her mother, and her father. A lump formed in Helena's throat as she started at the image of her father, who was killed in battle, the name of which was lost to the young Ravenclaw. She averted her eyes from the picture and they settled on the crest, which was branded into a plaque, sitting on top of the mantle. How different it looked from the crest of her picture; how trivial that ancient crest looked next to the one of her creation.

Helena's mother, Rowena, was sitting by the fire in the parlor, sipping from a small china cup of tea, when Helena arrived. She stood on the other side of the table. The setting sun shone from behind her mother, making her look even more prestigious than normal.

Rowena Ravenclaw was an elderly woman, just having passed the age of eighty- five. Age had done well for Rowena's looks, her long black hair, so much like her daughter's, had slowly turned into a shimmering silver; she had pulled off the thinning and color-change well. She was frail, her hands were thin and pale, like the rest of her, yet she didn't quiver while she moved like the other elders Helena had seen. Rowena Ravenclaw held herself with the same pride and dignity that she had when she was in the youth.

However, age had not blessed Rowena's health with the same mercy as it had her looks. While on the outside Rowena looked strong, she was slowly, but surely, withering away. In recent years, Rowena needed assistance with every small task, yet all in the privacy of her own home. If there was one thing Helena knew about her mother, it was that her mother was a prideful old witch. With the passing of her husband, she had proven to the world that she did not need a suitor to become successful. Yet, the sickness was slowly eating at her, and soon she would not be able to up-keep that façade and Helena knew that her mother would not go out if she needed assistance.

Rowena set down her glass, her posture never suggesting she was anything less than elite. As she pushed her silver mane of hair behind her shoulder, her diadem glittered on the top of her head.

"Mother." Helena greeted as she was trained to; with a curtsey, her eyes dropping to the floor as a sign of respect for her elder.

"Helena." Her mother acknowledged back, bowing her head by a fraction, allowing Helena to be seated on the sofa chair that was placed behind her, and directly across from her mother.

"You requested my presence, Mother?"

"Yes, Helena. I would like to know how your studies have been going."

Helena fiddled with the hem of her sleeve.

"They have been going very well, Mother. I have reviewed the House Elf Rebellions and have found them quite interesting" she lied. No matter how improper, disrespectful, and un-lady-like lying may seem, Helena would never willingly admit to having shirked off her lessons to pursue her creative dream.

A flash of suspicion crossed her mother's worn face. A flash so brief, that Helena questions whether or not her creative mind had simply imagined it.

"'House Elf Rebellions'?"

Helena was speechless. Surely her mother wouldn't ask her to explain the rebellions.

Rowena let out a sigh, "Helena, what have you been doing all day?"

Helena's fiddling intensified, her fingers slipping on the smooth fabric of her silk dress.


"Helena, if you had truly been engrossed in your studies all day," Rowena's voice was tired, with an underlying layer of irritation mixed with frustration, "you would've known that the House Elves did not rebel, due to their nature to serve their Master.

"Helena, lying does not suit you. I would like the truth this time. What have you been doing all day?"

Every second her daughter stayed silent, Rowena's calm demeanor visibly deteriorated until her elderly face was transformed into a mask of frustration.

"Helena, I know that you do not hold knowledge at such a high level as I do, but I do wish that you at least make a small effort in your studies. I know your heart is dedicated to the arts— please, Helena, do give me some credit. I have known for some time that you have been using your time, which is supposed to be dedicated to your studies, to dabble in different mediums of art.

"That being said, I am severely disappointed that you have not only disobeyed your orders and responsibilities, but that you have taken the habit of lying to me. In lying to me, you have not only momentarily forgotten where your loyalties should lie, but you have also disrespected me, Helena."

Helena looked away from her mother's disappointed stare. How many times had she seen that stare, not only from her mother, but from the entire Wizarding Community? Here she was, Rowena Ravenclaw's, the founder of Ravenclaw, home of the intelligent and knowledge-thirsty, daughter. She just couldn't take it.

"Mother," she started, biting back her anger, "I did not mean any disrespect to you."

"Helena," her mother interrupted, "I do not care if you had meant it or not, the intention of keeping a part of the truth was there. You should know by now that you must think before you —"

"I did, Mother!"

"—Helena! You will not interrupt me. I am your—"

"Oh that's right, you are the famous Rowena Ravenclaw! No one must ever interrupt you. No, I must hang off your every word just like everyone else in this entire forsaken world! As if your grocery list will somehow hold the key to curing Dragon Pox!"

Helena's vision turned red, her mother's shocked expression blurred and was replaced by the disappointed one, and one-by-one, every person who had ever held that expression after finding out she was not a fraction as brilliant as her mother, appeared behind her mother. It wasn't long until the entire room was filled with the phantoms of people of the past, all staring at her with disappointment. Her blood boiled.

How dare they assume she was her mother's exact carbon copy. How dare they have the gall the expect her to be as brilliant! Didn't she already have enough to worry about? Didn't she already have enough weight on her shoulders?

Helena felt a sort of energy flow through her, like it was mixed with her very blood. It pulsed and pounded so hard that she could hear it. It was like nothing she had ever felt before.

In a flash she was standing on her feet.

"You expect me to be the next you! Everyone expects me to be just like you! They expect my ambitions to be the same as yours, my likes and dislikes, they expect my thirst for knowledge to be just like yours! Everyone expects me to be you! Well, Mother, I am not you! I am not, and will never be like you! You must accept that! I am not as brilliant as you would like me to be! You must see that and stop trying to cram every single fact into my brain! If you haven't noticed, my mind is not wired like yours!" Helena screamed. She felt the blood in her face, and knew her face was red with anger, unlike her mother's face which was ghostly pale, which clashed with her silver hair. She looked older in this moment than she had ever before.

Helena turned before anything else could some out of her mouth, before her heart could out-pace her brain again. She stormed out of the room, for once ignoring her mother's instant cries for her to come back.


She met no one on her rampage to her room. For that, she was glad. Glad that the maids had probably heard the fight, and decided to stay out of both of the younger Ravenclaw's way. She did not wish to let out any more of her inner feelings to anyone else.

But why shouldn't she? Shouldn't she show everyone that she wasn't her mother? Shouldn't she show them that she wasn't molded to be a Ravenclaw? That her brain didn't function that way?

Helena let out a cry of frustration, turning to the desk right next to her, where her drawing sat, waiting to be finished. Drawing had been her escape; a way to let out her tension of being suppressed by the world, of not being able to be herself. However, she had never been this mad. She had never felt anger quite like this. This anger was one that her drawing could not solve. This was a wound she could not heal with the smooth flow of her quill.

She stared at her drawing, longing to pick up her quill and finish it. Her eyes followed the sharp lines that made the crest, the jagged lines that made up the cracks in the crest and the jagged shards that flew out of their spots. Her eyes followed the strong, yet soft lines that wove together to form the eagle of the Ravenclaw crest, bursting free of its mold, shattering the crest it had been forced to mold to.

In a quick, impulsive moment, Helena grabbed her wand from next to her quill and headed over to her dresser.

She was the eagle of her drawing, and she was going to break free.

A/N: I was going to make this a one-shot, but I realized it would be too long. So, this will be around 2-3 chapters; maybe a fourth. I'm not quite sure. Anyways, I love reviews. They're what keep me going.