heiress

  The next morning, Dean found himself in the library, searching in the History books. But he came back empty. Nowhere it was mentioned a daughter of the founders - beside Helena, who had died young. Because she looked young, even younger than The Gray Lady.

She looked, just a year or two older than him.

"Dean?" a feminine voice he knew too well called for him. "What are you doing on the Library, on a Saturday?"

"Well, dear Ginny, sometimes people read for fun." He answered without looking up from the book he was skimming. "I know, it's a hard truth for you to process, but believe me. It happens."

"Woah, hold you horses. Where that attitude did come from?" the red head took a seat beside him, staring so hard that Dean had to give up. Sighing he turned to look at his ex girlfriend, now girlfriend of one of his friends. It's still felt weird sometimes, to talk with her, with him. But they seemed comfortable, and happy. So Dean just pushed his feelings down, drowning them with the happiness it brought him to see her smile.

A little shrug was the only answer he could came up with.

"...You didn't sleep last night, did you?" she whispered, looking away. He knew that she knew. The hell, they all knew. They all had them.

Nightmares. Or worst than nightmares. Memories. Memories of a war they didn't deserve to fight. They were just children. His eyes stung again, the tears pushing, trying to claim their place down his cheeks. But he wouldn't allow it. Not in front of Ginny.

"Yeah, but it wasn't that bad." This caught Ginny's attention, a frown on her face. "I... kindda, met someone."

Dean winced at how it sounded. It wasn't like Ginny was probably thinking. He did meet a girl, a dead one.

"Do I know her?" She pried, her frown disappearing and a smile curving her lips.

"Why do you assume it's a girl?" Dean asked back, biting his cheek. Ginny just smiled even more.

"D, there's something you wanna tell me?" He sighed frustrated and tried really hard not to smack his head against the table, while Ginny silently giggled. He remembered that giggle; a faint smile appeared on his lips. It felt nice, to be the reason for that giggle once more.

"It's a girl. But it is not why you think. She's a ghost." He explained, Ginny now looking more curious than anything.

"Myrtle?" she asked but Dean shook his head, although now, he had a new question for the mysterious ghost.

"No, I don't think you know her... Hell, I didn't even know she existed until last night. And the way she disappeared, like... the Cheshire Cat." He saw the blank expression on the red head and stopped himself before rolling his eyes. "Muggle reference."

"So, like Harry with his cloak, kind of disappear? Apparition?" she offered. Dean thought about it for a moment before nodding.

"But silently. She gave me a clue, though. She said she was the daughter of one of the founders."

Ginny went to talk but Dean stopped her with a hand gesture.

"It wasn't the Gray Lady."

This left Ginny in silence, asking herself probably the same questions Dean had. He looked at the books over the table.

"I've been reading but... Helena is the only one who died young."

"...what if...she died, but it wasn't recorded?" Dean blinked thinking about what Ginny proposed. "Who else had a daughter?"

Dean took a piece of parchment and started to scribble down. When he finished he gave the list to Ginny.

"Damn and I complain about my family." The list was big, it seemed like back then having at least three children was normal. Dean had written down all the children, not only the daughters.

"Let's see... Rowena only had Helena, Helga... Four?!" someone shushed making Ginny blush. "Godric had three... And Salazar had one... That makes eight candidates."

"I just can't start guessing you know." He whispered. He wasn't even sure if he was going to see her again. "She said she had seen horrors inside the castle... And I don't think she means the Battle..."

Ginny stared at Dean, thinking. Maybe they should ask Hermione for help. She didn't understand this sudden interest of her friend, but as long as it kept him distracted she was fine with it. Dean tried to hide it, but he was an awful actor.

It was obvious for her, and for anyone who had been there to fight. They were all experiencing the same. PTSD, Hermione called it. And everyone had different ways to deal with it. For her, was being able to play Quidditch again. For Hermione, it was the routine, the books, the study. The things she lacked when she was on the run, not knowing what was going to happen next.

Dean hadn't found his. She knew he had been trying. He tried studying, reading, playing again... Then it hit her.

"Hey, why don't you sketch her?" Dean looked at her like she had grown another head. "No, for real. That way we can compare with paintings. There has to be a portrait or a book illustration."

"Wouldn't be easier if I just look at the pictures?" Ginny bit her tongue down, a jinx on her mouth, ready to be fired.

"Sketch her. Or... ", she just let the phrase in the air, Dean's eyes widening before he took his belongings and quickly left the library. Ginny stared at his back, smiling to herself.

Dean panted as he leaned against the wall in one of the many corridors of the castle. He didn't know how serious she actually was about jinxing him but he did not wanted to check.

He gulped, thinking about what she told him. He hadn't drawn since he was on the run, unable to prove his half-blood status. There wasn't something he felt like drawing and the things on his mind... He just didn't want to draw them.

But... he could draw her. He could try.

Wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue he stood up and walked towards the Gryffindor rooms.

"Dean? Oh here you are..." the Irish accent on Seamus voice distracted him for a second, as he glanced up to his friend. The blond boy walked over him and after Dean moved aside, he slumped in the bed beside him.

"Who's she?" Seamus asked once his eyes found the sketch notebook on Dean's lap. It was a tall, slim girl. Her hair was long, and not as straight as it started to wave below her shoulders. It was a dark brown, reassembling black if it wasn't for the small highlights. Her face was slender, and her lips thin. Her eyes almost almond shaped bright deep green. She wore a dress, simple but that screamed wealth and power and it was half coloured in a soft sandy shade.

"An heiress."