The Real Story Behind the Founders of Hogwarts

Chapter 2 - Helga

Helga Hufflepuff woke up screaming. It was that nightmare again. It seemed she only had one nightmare these days. Unfortunately, it was a horrible one.

It started like a normal dream. Elle was hanging out with Olivina Oddwinkle. Olivina must have said something funny, because they were laughing. Elle's stomach growled, her personal sign that it was time to go home.

She knew something was wrong before she even went in. The chimney wasn't puffing out smoke, but it was a chilly day. As she neared the door, a shadowy figure brushed past her. When Elle turned around, it was gone.

That figure haunted her. She couldn't see his face, but her subconscious always painted one on it. Often, it was someone she had seen in town. One chilling time, it had been her own. This time was different. It was the face of someone she had never met, a woman, angular and tan, probably someone who worked in the fields.

Even though Elle knew what was behind the door, her dream forced her to open it. The cottage was dark, but the door let in just enough light to show a dark trail of fresh blood. The inky red lead to her dad, sprawled on the floor, blood spilling from his torso, eyes seeing nothing. Normally, this was when she woke up, but the world had no mercy.

She hadn't screamed. Her mouth fell open, trying to force out the sounds, but nothing came out. It was like she was broken. Instead of screams, Elle heard a small whimper. Her mother, if possible, was in worse condition than her father, but impossibly wasn't quite dead yet. Elle ran to her mother, cradling her head. As the light faded from her eyes, Kayana Hufflepuff spoke. The words rang through Elle's head. Promise me - you will be happy... Helga. That was the last thing she ever said.

That was when Elle woke up. That nightmare had jogged memories she hoped would stay hidden. Now, they came flooding back.

Helga - that word had echoed around her mind, lingering in its crevices, until she couldn't bear to hear it. She was afraid of her own name. That's where the nicknames came from. She had tried everything. Hel wasn't an option, for obvious reasons, and Elga, Ga, Helg, Elg, and Laga just didn't sound right.

It felt like forever that the grief had sat in her heart, though it had only been a few months. She had kept her promise - the outside world saw a happy, friendly girl. Her aunt Camrea, who came from the nearest Common, didn't suspect a thing.

Now that Elle was up, she quickly changed into a bright yellow dress. Yellow was her favorite color - plus, it practically screamed happy.

That day, she walked quietly to all-trade school, pondering the strange face in her dream. Elle was sure she had never seen that face in her life, and it wasn't the cartoony type of imaginary face. That was a real person, she was sure of it.

But who was she?

Elle had this terrible feeling she was going to find out.

                                                                                      ◐◓◑◒

At all-trade school, you chose your future, then got taught about it. Elle had chosen agriculture, like her mother. It was the one thing she truly enjoyed. Well, she enjoyed cooking, too, but you couldn't cook for a living. But making plants grow, and giving life to something that would, in turn, help other people, made a close secc]ond. Olivina had chosen to become a blacksmith, so Elle didn't see her often.

Instead, they hung out after school. Smithery was a more complicated trade than agriculture, so Elle always waited for her by the exit of the blacksmith workshop. Today was no exception. And that simple fact would change Elle's life forever. For if she hadn't been standing there, she might not have felt the tremor go through the ground.

Like any normal person, Elle went to check it out.

Scarlet Common bordered a marsh, and the blacksmith workshop was close to the Scarlet Fen. the bog was where the tremor came from. As Elle peeked over, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

Carson Rattle was the perfect example of human gone wrong. He was brutish and angry and a bully. The shadowy figure had been much too small and slender to be him, but that didn't stop his face from appearing on it often.

He was bending over a boy with dark skin and black hair. The boy was staring defiantly at Carson, who had his fist raised, like he was about to punch someone. Except he was going to punch someone. That boy was about to have a very close and intimate encounter with Carson's knuckles.

Elle wasn't sure what overcame her then, but suddenly, she started running. By the time she thought of any reason not to tackle Carson, it was too late. Her anger flooded through her. This brute was a bully. She had zero tolerance for bullies.

But Elle had made a slight miscalculation. That happens sometimes when you don't think. Carson Rattle was much, much bigger than her. Her punches barely phased him. He's going to lift me up and throw me away like I'm a piece of trash. The thought hit Elle like a brick wall. I can't let that happen. In her mind's eye, Carson became that shadowy murderer. Fury and power flowed through her.

Her next punch sent a shockwave through the air.

Elle got up. Her bright yellow dress was covered in mud, but other than that, she felt amazing. "Take that! No one messes with anyone when I have a say in it. Anyone! Got it?" She was proud of how formidable she sounded. She bet that Carson was quaking in his boots.

"Who are you talking to?" The boy asked her. How odd. Wasn't it obvious? She wasn't talking to him, so she must have been talking to Carson. It was quite simple.

"This bully here, of course!" Elle looked down at Carson, and her smile faded. She had knocked him out and hadn't even noticed. Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time that had happened. "Oh, right. He can't hear me. Sometimes, I can be such a butterbrain. Sorry."

"It's okay," He told her. "Hey - why did you help me? For the matter, why are you talking to me?"

"Huh?" Elle didn't understand the question. Why wouldn't she help him? "'Cause you needed help," she said. "By the way, my name is Helga Hufflepuff. But Helga is such a stuffy name. You can call me... hmm... Elle." Elle... she had finally found a nickname that worked. "yeah, I like Elle. Short, sweet, and not a swear word. What's yours?"

The boy looked confused. Why would he? This kid was strange. "Salazar," he finally said. "Salazar Slytherin."

"Well, Salazar," Elle grinned. "I think this is the start of something beautiful."

"Huh?"

"I mean, I think we could become good friends! Come on! Let's go see Olivina!"