In the realm of art, Ravenclaw's accomplishments surpassed most wizards. One needed only to look at Hogwarts Castle itself to see that depth and aesthetic harmony rarely coexisted so perfectly.
Yet the most striking feature of this "bedroom" was not the architecture.
It was the parchment.
Parchment everywhere.
On the desk. On the sofa. Across the cabinets. Scattered over the floor. Even beside the waste bin lay abandoned sheets.
Ravenclaw showed a rare flicker of embarrassment.
"Well… I am somewhat casual in daily life. When inspiration strikes, I simply seize parchment and write. Sometimes it is trivial. I often neglect to organize it. If I remember later, I return to look."
As she had said, this space had never been entered by anyone but Helena and herself. Even the other three founders had never stepped within. Gatherings with Helga had taken place elsewhere. There had been no need to tidy.
Tom smiled in understanding.
Women's rooms, he had discovered, were often more chaotic than men's. If not for house elves, Daphne's clothes might have formed a mountain at the foot of her bed.
More impressive still was that many girls could locate precisely what they wanted within such chaos. A peculiar talent.
Tom crouched and began picking up the pages one by one.
He did not use magic.
Though the parchment appeared unchanged after a thousand years, its fibers were brittle. One careless motion could reduce them to dust.
These were original Ravenclaw manuscripts.
Every ten pages likely contained a breakthrough in magical theory.
Ravenclaw wished she could help him end this awkward spectacle, but she could only watch.
"Your soul awakening was triggered when Helena entered the Room of Requirement, correct?" Tom asked as he gathered another stack.
"Correct," she replied, pleased by his deduction. "I wished only to see her once more. But my body could not endure. I severed soul and memory and sealed them away."
She sighed faintly.
"Who would have imagined she…"
Her tone turned rueful.
"It was merely a diadem. I denied her use because I did not want her to grow dependent on it. She stole it and fled so far away. As if she had committed some unforgivable sin."
Tom shifted a pen holder aside and retrieved another pile of drafts.
"Children steal from parents all the time. Why did she react so intensely?"
Ravenclaw frowned.
"External judgment and expectations create pressure. I told Helena repeatedly not to care what others thought. To focus on herself."
Tom shook his head.
"If parental advice were enough, rebellion would not exist."
He finally found a field where he held advantage over the legendary witch.
"You never truly stepped into Helena's perspective. Naturally you could not empathize. When cracks widen, even without the diadem incident, something else would have driven you apart."
Ravenclaw fell silent.
This was unfamiliar territory. She lacked the framework to refute him.
"Do not worry," Tom said lightly. "I will help educate your daughter."
She laughed softly. "By age, Helena surpasses you by centuries. By generation, you are peers."
"In the East we say, those who excel become teachers. In understanding emotion and human nature, I outclass her."
"That, I concede."
They reached the third floor.
It was divided in two.
One side held Ravenclaw's private quarters.
The other, larger side, was her study.
Their relationship had not yet reached the intimacy required for wandering freely into her bedroom, so Tom entered only the study.
Books lined the shelves.
Unlike the parchment drafts, they were preserved by enchantments. Even after a millennium, they remained pristine.
Tom's eyes gleamed.
Volumes he had never heard of.
Titles handwritten across covers in elegant script. Judging by the penmanship, many were her own works.
It felt like entering a forbidden paradise.
The books practically beckoned him to open them.
He did.
Afternoon faded unnoticed.
When he finally lifted his head, it was Sunday morning.
The archaic structure of Old English slowed his reading considerably. In an entire night, he had skimmed only three volumes.
Yet he noticed something unsettling.
Every book he had opened revolved around memory.
Studies on memory formation.
Spells manipulating memory.
Theoretical constructs surrounding memory alteration.
"You noticed?" Ravenclaw's voice was lazy, almost amused. "Yes. Memory was one of my principal fields of research."
She paused.
"Tom. What do you believe makes a person human?"