Helena's form trembled when she heard this, and she asked in a wavering voice,
"Mother... did she truly forgive me?"
Phineas shook his head slightly and said,
"Maybe she never blamed you at all."
Hearing this once more, Helena finally broke down.
This ghost, who had drifted through Hogwarts for a thousand years, now looked like nothing more than a fragile girl in her late teens. She curled into herself, floating midair, and wept bitterly.
But it wasn't sorrow she wept from—it was release. As if a burden long pressing on her soul had finally lifted.
Watching Helena like this, Phineas gently turned away and descended the steps of Ravenclaw Tower.
By now, night had fallen, and no students wandered the halls. The silence of the castle only deepened Phineas's unease.
The shifting staircases, the armors stationed along the corridors, the carved stone gargoyles, and the portraits hanging all around—all of it, wrapped in ancient magic, filled the air with a sense of watchful anticipation.
For the first time, Phineas felt that Hogwarts might not be the sanctuary he once imagined. Perhaps it was the safest castle in the wizarding world, but also the most dangerous.
Maybe Voldemort hadn't attacked the school just because of Dumbledore. Maybe it was also because he understood the castle's secrets.
Shaking his head, Phineas dispelled the thought. Now wasn't the time.
Most students would be fast asleep, which meant Filch—and his ever-vigilant cat, Mrs. Norris—would be on patrol.
Not wanting to risk being caught, Phineas made his way quietly toward the eighth floor.
The Room of Requirement had become like a second dormitory to him, a sanctuary of solitude and study.
But to get there from Ravenclaw Tower, he would have to pass by several offices: that of Professor Jonathan, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; Professor McGonagall, the Transfiguration professor; and the Headmaster's office.
So he moved carefully, silent as a whisper.
It was this caution that led him to overhear something shocking.
Professor Snape, Head of Slytherin and Potions Master, was speaking to Professor Jonathan inside his office.
Whether it was due to the late hour or their intensity, the door hadn't been shut all the way. Phineas paused, unable to resist listening in.
"Jonathan, I know what you are," Snape's voice cut through the air. "I don't know why Dumbledore allowed you into Hogwarts, but I know how dangerous you are. Don't let me catch you harming students."
Jonathan responded mockingly,
"Snape—Professor—I didn't realize you cared so much for the students. Or is it because of the boy who'll enroll in two years?"
Before he could finish, Snape snapped,
"Shut up. I'm a professor, and I care about all my students. I know where you went recently, and what you were looking for. Keep your ambitions away from this school."
Jonathan chuckled,
"So, it's Dumbledore who sent you to warn me? It's funny. The 'noble' Dumbledore, now fretting over Muggles' safety. Has he forgotten that he was the one who woke me?"
Snape snarled,
"Don't twist things. I'm not Dumbledore's messenger. I couldn't care less about the Muggles. But I'll say it again—don't make trouble here, especially in two years…"
He cut himself off mid-sentence. But Jonathan seemed to already understand.
"So that's what it's about. You're still thinking about him, aren't you—ha—"
"Wait!" Snape shouted suddenly, his voice fierce. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
Phineas knew he couldn't stay any longer. He slipped away just in time, vanishing down the corridor.
As he moved, he thought over what he had heard.
He remembered the original books. The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had always been cursed. Every teacher had left after a year—Voldemort, frauds, werewolves, Death Eaters. Something always went wrong.
Jonathan had seemed different. He taught real defense, wasn't affiliated with the Ministry, didn't disappear during full moons… Phineas had begun to believe he was mistaken.
But now he knew he wasn't.
Jonathan was hiding something. Snape wouldn't have confronted him otherwise. And if Jonathan had truly been at Hogwarts longer than a year, it meant he was immune to the curse—or strong enough to suppress it. That was no small feat.
"Meow~!"
A cat's cry echoed from the corner up ahead.
Mrs. Norris.