Helena had strong beliefs on the school system. She got them from her mother. Not that she was complaining. Much to (future) contradicting beliefs, Helena loved her mother, she was just incredibly jealous of her genius.
She followed Harry, and her books, to the table, her stomach bottoming out. If they had to sit down for this, well, that was never a good sign. He was going to tell her some God awful news that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know, despite asking. Though she had asked with the intention of him giving her good stories about her life. She just knew that wasn't going to be the case.
With that question though, Helena bit her lip and chewed. History for him, it was still her present and she wasn't sure how she felt about telling how she had stolen her mother's diadem and ran away. But she had to keep in mind that this had happened hundreds of years ago, it was old news. And it was seeming less and less likely that she was ever going to get to go back and finish living what should have happened.
"Last I remember, I was in Albania. The Baron had come to find me, my mother sent him. She is sick, and despite the things I have done to her, she just wants to see me." Helena's eyes teared. Merely a few weeks ago, in her mind. It was still fresh. The way the Baron has made it sound, Helena wasn't sure her mother would have still been alive. "I refused to go back with him. And he.. he hit me." She still had the now yellowish and fading bruises covered by makeup to prove this story.