Only then did Helena lift her head and look at him.
This Tom was even better-looking than the last one. More elegant, too.
She kept to herself and rarely spoke to anyone, but even she had heard the stories. How he had protected the school's property. How he had killed the Basilisk. How he had invented alchemical tools that turned the field on its head.
"You say you are Mother's student. Then what exactly did she leave to you?"
"Memory magic." Tom tapped his temple. "And true authority over that room. Everything in the library on the third floor is mine to use."
Something in Helena's wariness loosened at that. She studied him for a moment longer, then seemed to make a decision.
"Would you be willing to transfer to Ravenclaw?"
"It's not impossible," Tom said, with a small shrug. "But in Hogwarts' thousand-year history, there have been transfer students, expelled students, even dead ones. There has just never been a student who changed Houses."
Helena went quiet.
She had already understood the problem herself. Even if the school had some obscure rule permitting it, a House transfer would be the ultimate humiliation to the one he left behind. Every Slytherin student, every Slytherin graduate, would despise him for it. That would do him no good at all.
"Forget it. The House doesn't really matter. Mother has already acknowledged you, so why should I be hung up on something so trivial?"
She lifted her chin.
"If you ever need my help, send Ravenclaw students to find me. I may only be a ghost, but even Dumbledore and Flitwick show me respect."
In terms of seniority, she could bury quite a number of people.
"I do actually need your help with something," Tom said, without any particular pretense at politeness. "The conflict between you and Lady Ravenclaw began with the diadem. I want you to tell me where it is so I can bring it back, and then take you with me to that room on the eighth floor."
Helena's form wavered again immediately.
Ghosts could not blush, but something shifted in her translucent face, a heaviness gathering in her cheeks like colour trying to surface. Her voice came out halting.
"I... I can't give it to you."
"You think I covet the diadem's wisdom?" Tom let a thread of displeasure into his voice. "True wisdom cannot be borrowed from an object. It comes from the collision between knowledge and thought. I don't believe that diadem can genuinely transform anyone. If it could, you wouldn't have died at Barrow's hand over it."
Helena lowered her head.
Her mother had said things like that to her countless times. Back then, she had never really heard them. And now this younger student, this boy who had never even held the diadem, had grasped what she hadn't, and dismissed the thing entirely.
"Sorry, Tom." Her voice went soft. "I lost it."
"That's alright. If it's lost, I can find it."
Helena shook her head slightly.
"I mean I was tricked. The person who tricked me was also called Tom Riddle. That's why I reacted the way I did when I heard your name." She paused. "He used kind words to get the location out of me, and after that, he never came back. I'm certain he took it."
...
While Tom spoke with Helena, he had kept the learning space open the entire time, though only to Ravenclaw and Ariana.
When Ravenclaw had first seen her daughter, the corners of her lips had lifted, almost without her noticing. Then Helena had broken down, and that small warmth had given way to something quieter and more painful.
Now, though, she had gone completely silent.
She pressed her fingers to her brow, unable to summon even the energy to be properly exasperated. A thousand years. A thousand years had passed, and somehow not a single lesson had taken root.
Beside her, Ariana gestured vaguely at herself, then glanced out at Helena and asked, "Sister Ravenclaw... when Helena died, was she really not even grown up yet?"
"Yes," Ravenclaw said, only half-present. "Helena was sixteen. Still a Hogwarts student. Why?"
Ariana stared.
She said nothing for a long moment.
At sixteen, still that foolish? There was simply no excuse for it.
...
Outside, Tom let out a quiet breath.
"No wonder you were so hostile the moment I stopped you. It was Voldemort all along."
He raised a hand, moving to rest it on her shoulder, then his arm passed straight through her, meeting nothing but a faint coldness.
"Don't be upset. If he stole it, we'll steal it back. This isn't your fault. The only one to blame is Voldemort for being exactly the kind of person he is. People like that are rotten from the start. They're simply very good at hiding it."
He let a beat pass.
"And you weren't the only one he fooled. He was Head Boy, wasn't he? Even Headmaster Dippet never saw through him."
Tom had a gift for this particular kind of comfort. Find someone worse off, drag them into the light, and suddenly the person in front of him had company in their misery. It worked almost every time.
Sure enough, the tightness in Helena's face eased.
"Tom, you must study everything Mother left behind properly. And bring the diadem home."
"I will." He nodded, then his gaze dropped to her chest. "Is that the wound Barrow left when he killed you?"
"Yes." Contempt moved across her face. "He was a madman. I never liked him. He would fly into a rage over a single word, and then still wanted my forgiveness?" She let out a short breath. "The scar on my body will never fade, not in ten thousand years. And I will never forget that ugly face of his."
Helena lifted her cloak, revealing the black wound scored across her pale white chest.
Tom looked at it carefully. Seriously. He studied it for a long time, saying nothing.
Then, quietly: "That scar is so deep... so white..."