~ this chapter is still being worked on :3 read at your own risk ~

"Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad..."

Somewhere in the wide sloping valleys of Wales, under the shadow of a castle who's name has long been forgotten, the warm comforting scent of her mother's cooking filled Helga Hufflepuff's nostrils, earning a yelp of joy from the young girl.

She had a roundish plump face, one that some children from the village did not hesitate to comment on; but it was only as a result of jealousy, and because they did not have anything else to criticise. Indeed, Helga was beautiful, inside and out; an angel on earth. Her round innocent eyes and soft laugh had charmed many young boys, and she was the most modest and joyful girl of their village.
She could often be found in the mountains, watching over the goats as she wove flower crowns for her mother. Her gaze would wander to the castle above them, excited and hopeful, sure that a miracle would bestow their family, and that the lord that possessed this land and his wealthy court would thank them all for their loyal work. Perhaps even free them; let them go wherever they pleased, away from this constricting village, with protection and money. She had been told that this was irrational, but she had never lost hope that one day they would be rewarded. Her mother was one of the cooks of the castle, and her father was a goldsmith, making swords and lances for the castle residents themselves.
Helga never lost faith in anyone, from the most despicable village members to the greedy rich residents of the castle. Perhaps that was why everyone liked her: no matter how screwed up you were, no matter how many faults, she would be there for you, approachable and kind. Trustworthy to any secret, bound to help you no matter how many wrongs you had done, Helga Hufflepuff would be there to talk to you.

She was only eleven, and though her curves were luscious and admired, she still looked like a child, younger than her actual age. She resented this; she wished to be tall and slim, like a princess. She was unaware of her own beauty and surprisingly, this quite added to her charm.

Yet today, Helga did not think about her age, nor her adventurous dreams, no; for indeed, today was a very very special day. It was her twelfth birthday, in mid-April, and she was excited to see what her parents had prepared for her. The gifts they gave her were not usually very glamorous: a rusty ring, a broken doll, a worn dress; but she always prized them beyond anything else she owned. Today, she could already taste the soft bread and warm soup that would greet her: her favourite breakfast to have.
Her father sat gravely on the table, a look of solemn decision on his face. Helga paused, wondering what awaited her.

"Helga," her father uttered before rising to hug her, "my darling princess."
She ran to fling herself in his arms.
"Yes father?" she said eagerly, beaming up at him.
He smiled at her, looking tired but proud of his only daughter.
"You are now eleven my girl." he said, "and your mother and I have discussed what is to be done with you."
She frowned at him... what was to be done with her? He was talking about her like she was livestock.
"What is to be done with me? What do you mean?"
Her mother, petite and delicate, carrying three bowls of steaming soup on a cracked tray, piped up.
"Why, what is to be done with you and your marriage, love."
"My... my WHAT?" the young girl spluttered.

"My dear, don't act so surprised! Just the other day, you told us how your friend Greta was married to Peter Rawl." giggled her mother.
Helga stared at her horror struck; yes, she had witnessed most twelve-year-old girls sent off to get married, but... but... she had never in her wildest dreams thought her parents would dare to do so. In her mind, they loved her too much to send her away so young. She felt betrayed, hurt that her parents would get rid of her like this.
Her parents exchanged a glance. Never had Helga expressed such dislike to an idea, to a proposition they had made.
"Listen, Helga... There is nothing to be afraid of. We have arranged a marriage between you and a rich merchant, Stan Gilyew," he lowered his voice then, "He's a wizard, a very capable one too. He's pureblood, and the dowery he asks for you is quite low. Your children will be as pure blooded as you and I."
She started mutely at them, her eyes wide and uncomprehending, silent in her shock. Then, her brain whirred, and she realised... realised what this meant... who he was...
"It matters not what blood runs through his vains! Father, Stan Gilyew-"
Her mother cut in: "Darling, we know you don't like him much, he might seem too old for you, but all in all-"
"TOO OLD FOR ME??" hissed Helga, suddenly furious, "TOO OLD FOR ME? HE'S FORTY FIVE MOTHER!"
"Your father was in his late thirties when I wed him", placated her mother, "I know this feels rash darling but-"
"I can't believe you. I thought... I don't know what I thought. I..." Helga stared at them, angry and confused.
Her hands shook as she turned her back to them. Her bowl of soup shattered, though no one seemed to have touched it since her mother had lain it on the table. Helga didn't care. One thought was clouding her mind, one shining, tempting thought. 'Get out of here, go far far away, run to somewhere where you can actually do something of your life.'
She closed her eyes. It was time to leave.
All her tantalising dreams of outrageous adventures and new foreign creatures flooded back to her, making her smile determinedly. In a flash, she was in her room, packing her things, rushing to her cloak and wand that lay on the table.

She paused, staring at the rather short wand in her hand. 9 inches, Alder wood with Kelpie hair, flexible. It had been her grandmother's wand, a gift given by her parents at the tenth birthday. Her mother had teared up of joy when her daughter had used it to accomplish her first spell; "lumos". Her father had told her that she was incredibly advanced for her age: indeed, Helga had shown signs of her powers at the mere age of five, which had earned her a good reputation among the witches and wizards in the village.
These memories, these snapshots of her young life, made her drop the rucksack she had been packing in; there was no way she could leave. Her parents loved her dearly. They had done so much to try to make her happy, and this was the least she could do to pay them back. She sighed, not bothering to unpack, and laid herself down on her straw bed, wishing she could be elsewhere in that moment. She wished she could simply leave, but all she had been told was true: wishing was simply not enough; there would be a point where she would have to stop dreaming, and would have to do the hard things that were expected of her by life itself.
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Helga's dreams were usually quite unoriginal; they were the same dream repeated over and over again: her leaving the village, venturing into new forests and lands that no one had ever seen. Yet that day, her mind was lain heavy by dreams she had never seen the likes of: a young girl, so skinny she looked close to death, running through moore and forest, as fast as an eagle. The vision of a huge castle, which for some reason, she had felt such a strong feeling for, a feeling she could not quite place. And the face a boy, broad-shouldered and strong, handsome even in her eyes. Oh there were so many emotions... And another boy, who made her feel so very sad... but why...

A roar, a scream, a symphony of horrified shouts and pleas rang out. Groggily, she opened her eyes. She couldn't remember what she had dreamed of... why was it so hot in here? She felt like she was burning in a furnace.
She looked around. And screamed. Apparently she WAS burning in a furnace; flames were licking the walls, so close to her that the tips of the straws that made her bed were singeing.
She sprang up, then recoiled coughing. Everything was scorching. The hole in the wall that made for a window was yet to be tarnished by the fire. She fell to the ground, reaching out blindly for her wand. Heavens this smoke made her blind. She finally managed to snatch it up. Panting, she pointed it in the black smoke, closing her stinging eyes as the crackling of the fire filled her ears.
"Accio rucksack!"
Nothing happened. She huffed. The summoning charm was still a working progress. She had started studying it only a day or two ago.
"Mom! Dad!" she cried out. They knew advanced magic, surely they had gotten out of here. There was no answer. She hadn't exactly expected one.
"Accio rucksack!" she shouted. This goddamn wand was useless, she had always known her parents should have tried to buy a new one instead of getting it second hand.
"ACCIO RUCKSACK!"
Finally the rucksack flew from out of the smoke straight into her arms. "Thank all the saints!" she murmured. And thank god she had packed before falling to sleep.
She crawled to the window, hopping over it, and landing on the other side. The street however, was no safer than her bedroom. Black smoke surrounded her, blinding her from all sides.
"Lu-Lumos!" she choked out
Though it did little good, she felt comforted to have magic on her side. She ran straight ahead, estimating where the bridge that permitted exit across the moat was. She whimpered in panic as screams and shouts rang around her, echoing in her brain. Of course, in different circumstances, Helga wouldn't have dared to pull out her wand in public: though many villagers were sympathisers, one word to the wrong person could end with her head on a pike. Tears rand down her face, evaporating in the blistering heat. She was shoved aside multiple times, so small amongst the high tendrils of flame surrounding her.
For a second, the smoke cleared, and she discerned the bridge, mere feet away. She dashed across it, and stumbled, stepping on a burning piece of wood that made her shriek in pain. She felt something slip from her fingers, but ignored it: better loose her rucksack than loose her life. Once she reached the other side, she rolled, making contact with soft, cold grass.
"Saints, oh thank you for your mercy!" she sobbed. She didn't even believe in God, yet right now she could thank anything. For what seemed like hours, she lay there, arms outstretched. Then, slowly, she stood. And realised that her rucksack was there, in her hands. Then where... she blanched. Her wand was gone.
'I have no wand' she thought. Her mind went blank. No wand? No wand?! She looked around her, stricken. She supposed she could get a new one, her parents could manage to... Her parents. She half ran, half limped; her legs screamed with pain. A huddle of people were gathered, some whose faces she recognised. But her parents weren't one of them.
"Where are my parents? Tell me where they are!"
"Whom? Thomas Hufflepuff and his wife?"
"Yes! yes..." her face fell when they turned their faces to her, pitying and sorry.
"They ran away, in the woods. They... they probably thought you were dead." they avoided her gaze, unwilling to witness her betrayal and grief.
Helga felt empty. They had left her. They had magic on their side, and they had left her in the flame ridden house.