Helga was in the kitchen, cooking as usual. Her mother was in the living room, having a cup of tea, tired after a long day of work in the fields, her bun messy, her clothes patched and torn. Helga finished the stew, adding a few pieces of meat. She bustled into the living room, squeezing her slender body through the various objects and ornaments on the floor. She approached her mother and murmured reassuringly to her: "It's alright mother, I'm here, super is ready."

                Her mother looked at her sadly. A few years ago, before Helga's father had been burned on a stake, before her mother had escaped out of the little village in Wales, taking Helga (then only 6 years old) with her, before they had had to survive alone together, their only hope a broken down farm and a dried field, Acciotra Hufflepuff had been a beautiful lady, with red hair just like Helga's and dark green eyes. She had looked so happy, but now.... now all Helga saw was an old woman, her bones visible through her skin, gray hair and dull eyes. Helga strived to make her as happy as possible, but the woman always stayed vacant, tired and sad. The woman's gaze never met her daughter's caring look or even talked to her, except to whimper or murmur confusedly. 

             Helga sat down, stroking her mother's hair silently, when suddenly, she felt heat near her. She looked around hurriedly, to find a swift fire starting to form on the table. Helga stood up, fear sprouting in her, when the flames became smaller and smaller, disappearing finally into the rotting wood of the floor. The young girl knew that it had happened again. Each time she thought of her father, each time she wondered what he had done to deserve such a horrible punishment, each time she reflected about what her mother could tell her, what she wished she could remember, the flames came. 

             They were there, burning, reminding her of her father's desperate face as he screamed to his mother to help him, begged the man who had lit the mound of wood. The people of the village had shouted at him, leering, restraining her mother and her. She had cried, stared, not understood. Then her mother had broken free, the people restraining her suddenly shrieking in pain, their hands smoking. She was sure that she could remember what the people of the village were shouting with a little effort but... it was just out of reach. The more she though about it, the less the memory came.         

              It was no use. The only thing she knew about her father, Herman Hufflepuff, was that he had clear blue eyes, swift fingers like hers, and dark black hair. And that he used to be a doctor of some sort. That was all. She also knew that her mother had loved him dearly, and she could only guess that he had loved her back.

              But why, oh why did flames appear? Was Helga becoming crazy? Maybe, like her mother, she was starting to be ill and needed people around her? 

             The eleven year old girl stared at the empty chimney and decided she would try and lit a fire. It would be hard, seeing as all the wood they had was soaked from the recent rain, but Helga had to do something to occupy her mind... She stroked her mother's hair one more time, clasped the hot bowl between the woman's cold hands, before walking outside to find some wood.