As the last chapter told, Helena's question about who had ended her life left Hermione with a deeply furrowed brow.
Hermione filtered through a thousand years of Hogwarts' hidden secrets; she weighed every strange tale and wild rumor she had ever heard. She wracked her brains and searched her gut, but all to no avail.
Seeing the group silent, Helena smiled. "If you cannot answer, I can give you a hint."
"The murderer is in the school."
Ron and Hermione were struck dumb by this. They cried out in unison:
"The person who killed you is in the school?"
"Is he the oldest ghost in the castle?"
The two chattered back and forth, but they had no clue. Harry, however, merely glanced at the wounds on Helena's chest and abdomen and called out, "Sister, are your words true?"
Helena was taken aback, but nodded. "Of course. When one correctly answers a Ravenclaw's question, one will certainly receive a reward."
"But... have you truly guessed it?"
Harry said, "Indeed! The one who took your life must be none other than the Bloody Baron!"
Ron and Hermione were completely baffled. The Grey Lady and the Bloody Baron? One was the moon in the water, the other a flower in the mirror. The two had no connection whatsoever; they were as unrelated as horses and cattle.
While those two were as confused as monks, Helena cried out in shock, "How did you know?!"
Harry laughed. "This one knew it at a single glance."
Hermione, seeing Harry hit the mark with one sentence while her own efforts led nowhere, was desperate to know the reason. "Harry, don't keep us in suspense. Tell us!"
Ron was also impatient. "Yes, Harry! How on earth did you know?"
Seeing them all ask, Harry pointed at Helena. "One only needs to look at this sister's wounds to understand."
Hermione and Ron stared for a long moment, then shook their heads, bewildered. "Harry, what's wrong with the wounds?"
"There is a great problem with them. The wounds are wide on the outside and narrow on the inside, shaped like an inverted willow leaf. They were surely made by a dagger. Furthermore, the angle of the wounds is from top to bottom, all on the chest. It is clear they were made with a backhanded, inverted grip."
Helena was stunned. After a long pause, she said, "You are correct... but... but how did you guess the Bloody Baron?"
Harry said, "When one is stabbed so deeply in the chest, the blood will flow, but it will not splatter. Moreover, this sister also has two wounds in her lungs; she must have coughed up a great deal of bloody froth."
"Now, look at that Bloody Baron. His clothes are covered in bloodstains. His face and neck are dotted with flecks of blood. The direction, the distance, the amount—it all matches perfectly."
"If it was not this scoundrel who struck the killing blow, who else could it be?"
Harry spoke eloquently, analyzing the thousand-year-old murder as if he had witnessed it himself.
Helena was stupefied. She, who had always prided herself on her intellect, now conceded defeat to Harry.
"You... are not wrong in the slightest." Her voice was complicated. "A thousand years ago, that is exactly how I was killed by him."
Harry added, "It must have been some kind of emotional entanglement?"
"You... how did you know that?!"
Ron and Hermione were floored. Harry had guessed right again?
Harry said, "Sister, there are five or six wounds on your body, yet none of them are fatal. This one presumes that this bloody scoundrel did not mean to kill you, but only to vent his rage."
These words struck Helena's heart one by one, leaving her utterly convinced, without a shred of doubt.
Ron and Hermione were also shocked, wondering when Harry had learned so many fine techniques of butchery.
Harry has only killed Quirrell, right?
He hasn't been... secretly killing other people behind our backs... has he?
"Harry, if you had lived a thousand years ago, my mother would have been absolutely fascinated by you," Helena sighed. "You are right. The Bloody Baron killed me... because I refused his proposal of love."
Hear the tale, readers, as Helena herself explained it: She had fallen in love with the beautiful sights of the Albanian forest and would not return. Rowena, worried, sent the Bloody Baron to find her.
The Baron had loved her for a long time. When he found her, he confessed his heart, but was flatly refused. When his proposal failed, his shame and annoyance turned to hate. He drew a dagger and stabbed her to death in the forest.
Only when her body grew cold did the Baron come to his senses and realize the terrible, heaven-storming mistake he had made. He was filled with regret. In a fit of despair, he turned the blade on himself and ended his own life.
Before he died, he bound himself in heavy iron chains as a form of self-punishment.
Hearing this, Harry roared, "The damnable wretch! This one knew at a glance that this crooked bird was a depraved, twisted beast!"
"What 'dying for love' and 'self-punishment'? What a load of bird-fart! That murderer was clearly just a coward who killed himself to escape his crime! And in the end, he had to wrap himself in chains, putting on a show of 'atoning for his sin.' Who is he trying to fool, the ghosts?"
"If this one knew how to harm a soul, I would certainly scatter this bloody scoundrel's spirit to the winds to avenge you, Sister!"
Hearing Harry's words, Helena felt a great sense of relief and nodded. "I must say, Harry, you are a far more charming wizard than Tom Riddle ever was."
"However, this is a matter I hope you will not interfere with."
"Now, please, take out your quill and parchment. Write down the recipe for the transformative potion you require: the Polyjuice Potion."
When she mentioned a potion, Hermione had a flash of insight.
Of course! Besides spells, potions have many wondrous uses. How could I have forgotten!
Helena dictated the ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion and explained the brewing steps in detail, saving the trio a trip to the library.
When she finished, she added, "When the time comes, you need only drop a hair into the potion, and you will take on the other person's appearance."
The three, having learned this wondrous secret, were overjoyed. They forgot all about the Deathday party, gave Helena a deep bow, and slipped away, their feet flying as they raced back to their dormitory to brew the potion.
"How did I not think of it! It doesn't have to be a spell, it can be a potion!"
As they left the dungeon, Hermione was poring over the parchment. She frowned. "But the ingredients on here are all very rare... Skin of a Boomslang? Where are we going to find that?"
Ron scratched his head. "Maybe Snape has some? He is the Potions Master."
As they were talking, Harry suddenly heard a hoarse whisper by his ear, chilling him to the bone.
"Kill... I smell blood..."
"So much blood... hungry..."
The voice seemed to come from beyond the ninth heaven, or from the depths of the netherworld. It was ethereal and hollow, and its direction was impossible to place.
Harry's heart leaped. He looked down and saw his bracer flashing, pulsing with light—a warning of impending disaster!
Faster than words could tell, Harry drew his blade and his wand, roaring:
"Sister and Brother, BE CAREFUL!"
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