The four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were known as the greatest witches and wizards of all time. The names Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin are very widespread; there isn't a single witch or wizard that has not heard of the Founders' legendary works.
Although they have indeed made their mark on the Wizarding World, many are deluded into believing that the journey made by these four figures was an easy one. This, of course, is a lie, for the path the Founders took was not all rainbows and sunshine. It was a darker, thorn-riddled road with unexpected twists and turns; it was a dangerous path, one that would require great acts of bravery, steadfastness, intelligence, and guileful thinking.
Luckily, the four friends had just that.
Many people of the Wizarding community have idolized the Founders Four, but in doing so, they have failed to realize that these historical figures were once no different than you and I. They all faced struggles, challenges, and learned to overcome difficulties not by using magic, but by helping one another.
This is a tale of how the Founders came to be.
Wales, Great Britain, 10th century
The lonely cottage stood on the narrow dip of the valley. It was surrounded by lovely scenery – patches of vivid green grass woven into the ground and a thin tree with its slender arms reaching out to caress the roof – but the house itself was far from pretty. The windows were dented, the wooden door covered with aging moss, and the old pavement, winding away from the door, caked with mud.
A nine-year old girl by the name of Helga Hufflepuff sat slumped against the rusty chair on the front porch. Her eyes, normally a clear blue, were now clouded with tears that stained her cheeks.
It was truly a rare sight to see someone as cheerful as Helga look so defeated, but here she was, crying her face off rather loudly as she tried to wipe her tears away. The sleeve of her poor dress was wet, but little Helga didn't care. Nothing seemed to matter to her anymore, so she continued to weep.
As she dwelled in her misery, Helga couldn't help but think back to the disastrous event that occurred earlier. Her mind started to drift into the memories of the past.
"She's cursed, I tell you!" her father raged, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. Helga and her mother were huddled next to it, both of them wishfully hoping for his anger to die down. Sadly, Helga's father was far from finished.
"I knew there was something wrong with her since the minute she was born! The girl's been nothing but trouble. First the broken car, now this! I swear, if we don't do something about her, I'm going to leave! I'm so sick and tired of hearing the same excuse. 'Oh! I didn't mean to do it! I don't even know what happened!' She's lying, and she knows it. I will not tolerate such atrocious behavior in my house!"
The voice used by Helga's father was one that she knew far too well. It was the voice of someone who was bitter, resentful, and above all, filled with strong animosity for his daughter.
However, despite being frightened by her father's hostile tone, Helga also felt another emotion that was different from her fear.
That other emotion was something that was along the edges of dislike, for as much as Helga wanted to be tolerant and accepting of other's opinions, she did not like how her father referred to her as cursed.
She also didn't like how her father claimed that she had been nothing but trouble, for as far as Helga could remember, she had always been helpful and kind. Did kindness cause trouble? Helga didn't think so.
At that very moment, Helga Hufflepuff decided that she had had enough. She reached into the pocket of her patched dress and pulled out a thin object that resembled a stick. Her tiny fingers were clutched tightly to the wand as if her life depended on it. She did not let go.
Meanwhile, her bitter father continued to shout.
"This girl should not be allowed in our household anymore! She has done far too much damage and we simply cannot allow such-"
His voice faltered as his eyes drifted to the stick that Helga was now pointing directly at him. His face paled, all traces of color gone.
He knew very well what this stick could do, because he had seen it happen countless of times. He knew it could cause a lot of trouble, and trouble was the last thing he needed.
But rather than being afraid, however, his features contorted with fury and his eyes narrowed until they were nothing more than tiny slits.
"How dare you," he spat with disgust, not taking his eyes off the stick, "point that thing at me as if-"
But he never got to finish his sentence, because at that moment, Helga did something she would later regret. An uncontrollable anger started to build inside of her. Her hand shook as she raised the stick-like object directly level with her father's throat. Waves of rage washed over her as she felt a tingling sensation flow from her being and into the wand. She felt hatred she had never felt before, and then suddenly she could almost see it – the blinding anger that clouded her vision, turning everything red. Power surged through every vein in her body as it struggled to be let out.
And then all of her channeled fury was let loose from the object in her hand.
A flash of light,
then the sickening thud of her father falling to the floor,
then the agonizing sounds of her mother weeping,
then the sound of small footsteps pounding into the ground,
then the slam of the old wooden door as Helga tore out of the house.
Helga Hufflepuff continued to wipe away at her eyes, but the tears kept pouring relentlessly down her cheeks. She was a mess, and there was nothing she could do.
What have I done? What have I done? Helga asked herself forlornly, as she choked back another sob. She looked down at the sleeve of her plain dress. It was soaking wet.
There was nothing she could do.
For five whole minutes, the girl stared down at the floor, motionless and silent, with the occasional splash of her tears hitting the ground.
What have I done?
Helga continued to be still.
What have I done?
All of a sudden, she straightened in her seat, almost robotically. She reached out an unsteady hand, and with great effort, managed to wrap her little fingers around her wand.
What have I done?
The next thing she knew, her feet were hitting the muddy pavement, and she was walking towards the grassy valleys that stretched out over the horizon.
What have I done?
The old pavement came to an abrupt stop at the edge of the cottage's picket fence. Stiffly, Helga reached out her left hand to push open the fence door. The brittle wooden door gave way almost immediately.
Without hesitation, Helga stepped out, not bothering to shut the door behind her.
What have I done?
She walked away from the old cottage, tears still streaming down her cheeks, carrying nothing but her wand.
What have I done?
She walked,
And walked,
And she did not turn back.